Sunday Afternoon Drive
Mrs Blythe looked at the buckle and spat on it. Her brow furrowed and her…
Mrs Blythe looked at the buckle and spat on it. Her brow furrowed and her tongue stuck out as concentration rubbed at the brass, threatening to wear it away.
Mr Blythe sighed and scooped the reins from the floor where they had slipped to yet again.
‘thats it lass’ he grimaced, holding his back as he stood. ‘Done in I am! They are spotless and you don’t have cause to complain’
Mrs Blythe straightened the buckle and tweaked the fitting. Head on one side she inspected the leather for any sign of wear.
finally satisfied, she followed her husband to the cart and helped him tack up Maisie, then Georgie.
when all was done and ready Mr Blythe helped her up with two hands on her bottom, listening to the creaks of the wood and the clatter of the horses hooves as they shifted restlessly.
He followed her up thinking, not for the first time, he was getting too darn old for this lark. Taking up the reins he clucked to the two ponies who set off happily, ears pricked, tails flicking.
no, he thought to himself, I won’t retire for a while yet, then he settled back to enjoy the view, his wife’s chatter, and the thought of the pint of real ale when they reach the pub.
