Peace in Dorset
I wouldn't really know about any pre-Christmas shopping frenzies, bulging shops, crowded shopping malls, places where goods are stacked high and the very latest 'must have' gadgets gleam and sneer at you tantalisingly out of reach as you stand bewildered by it all. The pushing, the shoving the noise of the piped jolly music assaulting you, people talking animatedly into their mobile phones droning on about inconsequential dross mainly.
Sure I popped into the local Farmers Market in the Arts Centre, all rather quaint with the rickety wooden floor, tested some home-made pork pies, took note of the locally caught fish, stared hard and longingly at the sugary whipped flirty meringues alongside the seductive, thick deep creamy yellow local clotted cream with the slightly crusty top. Not that I would say I was easily led astray or tempted... I hurried out before I was overcome with desire and indulged unduly without remorse.
It was one of those glorious winter days. A slight frost on the ground with a piercing blue sky where even the branches of the trees look beguiling as the sun dances on their outstretched arms. We hopped from one foot to another on the muddy ground as we struggled with wellingtons for the walk to the peak of Golden Cap the highest point on the South coast of Britain affording panoramic views of the Jurassic Coast of Dorset. When I reached the top and stood stock still I listened to the sea greedily sucking in and spitting out the millions of tiny stones that tumbled on the steep ledges. I gave an involuntary shiver, someone had just walked over my grave as well they might, this place was laden with ghosts of the past.
Later on we sat and watched the sunset. Inside my head a list of all the things I wouldn't really mind finding under the tree were forming. As the huge golden orb sank slowly and peacefully my brain was filling up so fast it was fit to burst. The perfume, the exquisite jewellery, the highest count Egyptian cotton sheets, the sparkling home accessories, the silk, cashmere, velvet attire that would hang gracefully in my wardrobe, the exotic wanton underwear, the scent of the finest leather shoes, the vouchers for a quick 'nip and tuck' and some botox while we're about it. The image of my car burning unmercifully into my retina was the most painful or was it the last rays of the sun ?
A voice beside me cut into my thoughts. 'No amount of money in the world can buy a moment like this'
I shook my head resolutely as the images tumbled out into the cold air and dispersed into the wary shadows of the night and agreed.
Peace in Dorset.