Out of the Woods

I met a girl a year ago. I’ve seen her twice since then. I asked on Friday if she wanted to come to a hut in the middle of the woods with me for the weekend. We’d met once on purpose since I was back from LA. Go big or go home. Her response was “Say What…!? Woah… !! Ermm…ok…” The proviso, which was smart, was that it should be for one night, not two. Sensible – It’s a three hour drive to where we were staying. You never know. We might have discovered that we couldn’t stand each other. Or I might have been an axe murderer. If I was an axe murderer, keeping this blog would be awkward. Or would it be the perfect cover…?


We got on really well, and not just on the journey down, and her head is still attached. After all, we went in her car, so if I’d been an axe murderer I’d have had nobody to drive me home.

The place was a converted horse box in a field by a wood. It’s far enough away to feel isolated and near enough to the bothy that you can have a shower without too much of a walk. The owner of the property had a big marquee in the garden that stank of petrol and you could see that he had a number of projects on the go. There were two boats outside it, and a gigantic army truck parked in the drive way. I asked him about it: “I’m going to turn it into a Campervan,” he told me, and started talking me through his plans. “I want to take it to Glastonbury.” That’s bloody brilliant. He just likes turning things into homes. I wanted to see the inside of his house. I bet it’s full of cool things that have been changed from one thing to another.

The hut he had made us had everything we needed. Cooking facilities and things to cook, radiator, fridge, toaster. And a fire outside and woodburner inside, both of which of course I lit at the first opportunity. At night while we were sleeping the hut was surrounded by deer. The petrolhead told me it was amazing to see from a distance. It must be the warmth of the woodburner inside. I heard them scraping their flanks against the metal as I dozed in the small hours. Last night we slept at the centre of a circle of deer.

We spent the day wandering from patch of heat to patch of heat. We hung out with horses in scrubland, doing yoga and occasionally being harrassed for carrots. One horse in particular started actively trying to eat us. I think he’d been fed too much by visitors and now he thinks of them as food. We later saw the same one chasing a guy ages for an apple. This is the sort of day we had. Chilled. Bucolic. English. And utterly lovely. I’ve made a deep connection with a new person, and I’m off to bed happy and calm, ready for the next week.




Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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