Day 5. After yesterday’s high level of social intercourse, I decided to treat myself to a lone run to the far end of my village. This carried the risk of bumping into people I know and deciding to run on thus leaving them with a feeling that I don’t love them enough to stop and chat. This only applies to non runners, of course. I ran for 26 minutes in total and it was far from incident free. My end of the village is populated by normal, reasonable people like myself. Beyond the crossroads is the other half of the village where, on the weekends, one has to look out for marauding gangs of Townswomen Guild and local interest groups who detain innocent pedestrians and press gang them into serving the cause. I easily ran past an origami club because they saw me too late but I had a close call with the campanologists, and the yoga club distracted me by striking bendy poses which I forced myself to ignore. I ran free and fast. My generous spirit attracted a large heron who flew alongside me on my return journey and scattered the shock troops hell bent on enforcing membership. The heron requested me to stop on my “safe” side of the crossroads and proceeded to lecture me on my folly in running through an area populated by zealots, knowing the dangers. Mea culpa I admitted! He flapped away, shaking his beak as if he was admonishing a wayward youngster.
This episode left me unnerved. It might explain my understandable error committed when I prepared the evening meal. I was convinced that yellow split peas were grown up lentils but they didn’t cook like them. We had a very chewy absent-lentil wannabe dahl. I also cooked enough to feed half the village. Guess which half!