Looking at the map and simply deciding where to head for on a whim takes me to the village of Blackfordby - or very nearly. I park in Moira and walk back along the road towards the village. On the way I pass a very discrete sign and following it, go off down a pathway created between two fields and into a small copse. This is one of those small parcels of land that are intended to create The National Forest over the next thirty years. This one has been planted for a decade - one of those created in the first flush of enthusiasm and commitment to the project. It is a quiet tranquil spot but with these electrical pylons driven straight through the centre of it.
Although the formal characteristics of them interest and intrigue me it seems a shame that this forest environment has to be bisected in a such a brutal manner. On into the village I stop at the Bluebell Inn - although it is early days in this project it is evident that this public house is something of a rarity. It is both relatively unspoilt (unaffected by 'modernity') and - more surprisingly still - open. I have already encountered any number of rural inns boarded up and either for sale or lease. Settling into a seat at the bar I listen to the three way conversation between the landlady and two gentlemen of 'a certain age' - the only three people in the place. Evidently the landlady has a small flock of chickens that occasionally stray onto the adjoining properties - one of which is the grounds of the Methodist Church. Evidently the Minister is none too pleased but the landlady says they are all God's children and that's that. One of the old fella's suggests that "the big cock is a real Steve McQueen in the Great Escape" - there's really no answer to that observation.
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