Why England is green...

Ah, Somerset. What a lovely place. Lovely, but not at all to be confused with Summer-set. Oh, no no no.
We made like Londoners and left the big smoke for a bank holiday weekend in the English countryside. We braved the 5pm Friday night traffic, hurtling down the motorway amongst green hills, verdant hedges and fields of flowers. "It's so lovely and green" I remarked. Our driver, the local, just laughed. "What's funny?" I asked. He muttered something about how did I think it got so nice and green. Whatever. Nothing could spoil my Friday-afternoon-weekend-in-the-country buzz.
Saturday morning, I awoke to crisp, fresh air and was glad I'd grabbed my coat on the way to breakfast (where I stuffed myself silly with the Full English - eggs, bacon, sausages, etc...). To burn off the calories, I decided on a ramble through the countryside. In Australia, I would have simply gone for a walk, but as I was in England, just a hop, skip and jump from the film location of Sense and Sensibility, a ramble it was. [It should be noted at this point that Michael was competing in a super-strenuous 3-day bike race called The Tour of Wessex so I was rambling solo].
Over stiles I went. Through paddocks, past ponies, over streams, across overgrown fields, in and out of tiny stone-walled villages. There were houses with roses round the doors, thatched-roof cottages and old barns full of mooing cows being milked. Someone was baking gingerbread and the scent wafted out the open windows, combining with wet grass, spring blossom and the ever-present whiff of manure for the most amazing Eau de English Countryside. I had to pinch my arm to remind myself it was 2007 and I wasn't the heroine from a Jane Austen novel. Frankly I wouldn't have been surprised if I'd started scribbling down poetry in a journal and saying things like "Good morning sir, and what a fair day it is for a ramble. I do so love a ramble, don't you?" while dipping into a curtsey. Luckily, before I regressed back into hoop skirts and a bonnet, the wind changed. Suddenly the sky was full of black clouds. Ominous. Crows flew overhead, cawing menacingly. Now I was up to the part of the Jane Austen novel when the hero gallops up on a horse, flings me over the saddle, and escorts me to the saftey of his country mannor for hot tea in front of the fire so I don't catch pneumonia and have to spend the next week in his guest room. Unfortunately my hero was somewhere south of the Piddle valley (no, not a joke) on a bike rather than a trusty steed. So I did what any self-respecting Austen girl would do, rolled up my trousers and plodded home. Suddenly it was freezing and I was cross and far from home. After plodding for about an hour, I could see my destination, The Walnut Tree Hotel. Only problem was, I had to walk down a very narrow path and over a stile to get there and between me and the stile was a very large cow. We stared at each other. I stepped forward. It stepped forward. I stopped and waited for a tumbleweed to blow past and to hear the strains of The Good, The Bad and The Ugly theme. This bizarre waltz, which must have looked tres comical to an ousider, continued for about five minutes until I decided I'd had enough and was not going to be intimidated by this giant bovine any longer. After a small scuffle, it rushed past me, moooing angrily, and I was able to continue on my way. So dramatic for a Saturday morning. I arrived back at the hotel exhausted from my exertions. The rain continued through the evening and all the next day. "So that's why it's so green" I thought to myself as it pitter-pattered down and the temperature plumetted to a mere 6 degrees. This is supposed to be Spring, people! The next day, I put on my woolly socks and watched bad sitcoms on Sky TV. Wonder what Jane would have done?