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30 Life


Rambling… or believing the


lie of the land. Public footpaths are a wonderful thing says Lynn Smith


As a writer I tend to ramble for a living; albeit – hopefully, but possibly not always - with a little structure and a pertinent point made at the end of things.


Earlier this year we were in Dorset, our annual creative week with the OB chucking out perky tunes left, right and bloody centre, whilst I’m usually reeling from the repeated banging of the head against the nearest brick wall, thanks to the lack of writerly inspiration. Anyway, I digress, - or ramble. We stayed in one of the county’s many picturesque villages.


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manor house and attendant Norman church, complete with ancient yews and crumbling tombstones - sadly both edifices now locked and silent, and more chocolate-box cottages than you could comfortably shake a stick at. Pretty though the mellow stones, thatched roofs and cottage gardens were, there was neither village pub nor shop within a mile and a half. Still, the peace and quiet really was sublime and the views were, as the saying goes, to die for.


Whilst there we enjoyed a couple of those early spring days, the sort that take you by surprise and make you feel that a fresh start is just around the corner. You know the type of thing – the sun comes out, the rain stays in and the birds start chorusing like billy-oh, so we decided to take advantage of the first fine weather we’d seen for a months and explore the local countryside on foot. We were prepared for a light ramble in all respects, except one, we had no idea where to go or from where we should start to get there. In that brief moment of time when broadband surged into, and on out of the village, I managed to fire up the internet – superfast broadband being something the good folks of this particular rural idyll clearly only heard about as a whispered marvel, the local postie atop his boneshaker delivered mail faster than the electronic version - jotting down directions for what seemed like a pleasant and interesting walk.


And, it was. Following directions from the front gate of the cottage, we ambled happily along a practically deserted lane until instructed to “walk into Yew Farm yard and follow the path around the


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SUSSEX LOCAL


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