Social joys ...

There is a well-known hymn in probably older Anglican circles called Jerusalem the Golden *- a title that rings a tad strangely in these days - which I didn't know until my early 30s. In it there is a wonderfully twee line "what social joys are there" - a line which, to my recall, is really referring to a heavenly bonanza when we meet up with all our old pals in the life herafter. I found myself silently humming the tune in my brain this afternoon, and can only attribute the phenomenon to all the socialising that today brought...

First was Pilates class, always a situation that makes my Mondays a jollier place even when, as today, there were several exercises, mainly of the stretching variety, that I didn't attempt. But on my way back along the
 road afterwards I was hailed in Italian by a friend whom we rarely bump into these days, but whose son, a talented trumpeter in Himself's band,  I taught in his Higher English year. She is Italian, and knows my enthusiasm for the language, so she crossed the road for quite a long blether in three languages (somehow French came into it) about our respective forthcoming trips to Italy and the doings of our grandchildren (hers are still at the pre-school stage)... I then went home and did an absurd session of Duolingo to use up bonus points that seemed to have accumulated - I was still at it when Himself staggered in from his Pilates class.

I had plans for this afternoon - mainly involving ironing - that I couldn't bear to stay in for, despite the continuing greyness of the day. So because we were both knackered we went south to walk round the lighthouse area at Toward. And that is where I got this photo. As we came towards the school, outside which there is a car park where we often leave our car, we realised that the other side of the road was blocked by a succession of vans. Another van passed, screeched to a halt just ahead of us, and a man leapt out and into the ditch. We parked, left the car, headed back the way we had just come. Then we realised that there was another man in the ditch. I caught his eye, mouthed "What's up?" He gestured us over to look. It turned out to be a burst water main, somehow gushing water into the ditch. They were trying to work out what to do. Then "You taught me" he said, and told me his name. I remember the name, but it belonged to a youth - not this middle-aged man in the wellies. All very discombobulating. (He gave me permission to take his photo) Seems we'd also taught the guy in the mini-machine that had started up - he grinned. We parted amicably and went on our way ...

And it was lovely - wonderful vibrant greens, the bright white of wild garlic flowers and the blues of bluebells all along the hedge. Birds were singing with increasing fervour in the woods, a blackbird taking the solo. The sun began to penetrate the thinning clouds. And a man on a bike, who'd already passed and said hello, came back and turned out to be a former colleague. And we must have talked for half an hour at least - about his sons and going to university and what had become of the school (he's not long retired) - and time just flew. 

We met another man we tend to talk to as we finished the walk, but I'm afraid he got short shrift - I had a chicken to cook. 

By the time we reached the car, water was flowing along the side of the road and making a lake in a dip. I can't help wondering if the row of houses down there is without water tonight ...

* Jerusalem the golden, with milk and honey blest,
Beneath thy contemplation sink heart and voice opprest.
I know not, O I know not, what social joys are there,
What radiancy of glory, what light beyond compare.
- see what I mean about the poetry? I see a modern version has had a go at improving it, but ...