High days in Haworth

Last Sunday afternoon, solstice, visited the Bronte mecca of Haworth. Bizarrely, a sixties weekend was in full swing; the home of the world's most famous literary family, was taken over by Bee Gees impressions, pink flares and bad Elvis wigs. Brilliant.
Hiked up to Top Withens, remote farmhouse ruin and supposed inspiration for gothic masterpiece Wuthering Heights. The stone plaque, placed there by the Bronte society in 1964, assures 'in reponse to many enquiries' that the farmhouse could only have been an incidental inspiration, as even when intact it bore no resemblance to WH. ('wuthering' apparently describes the kind of turbulent weather found on the yorkshire moors. Fortunately when I went, it was sunny).
On the way up I passed two friendly young women out to get trim. And then I passed them on the way down. Took a detour, and passed them again. And again. At one point I even back-tracked, thinking I hadn't come the best way, so passed them in reverse before revising my decision and overtaking them again. Frankly, it all got a bit silly. But we laughed about it.
Back in Haworth, stopped at the Old Hall Inn for a slap-up bangers and mash. As the outdoor table I sat down at was on a bit of a slope, the gravy flowed inexorably to one end of the plate and had to be marshalled with some dexterity.

On a (recently rare) spiritual note, I'm reading through Oswald Chambers 'My Utmost for his highest'. Let's be honest, for both atheists and Christians/people with a faith - we have some common ground here - God's reality and presence is far from 'obvious' all the time. It's quite possible to get through a day giving Jesus or the divine barely a thought. But OC constantly challenges me with the message that the spiritual is real. And that by 'doing the duty that lies nearest', taking a step with the little light you have and thus living in dynamic relationship with God, life can become a scene of constant unexpected delight, wonder and surprise. Rock and roll.