Easter weekend on The Glebe.

Saturday morning has almost gone, and I've been on the go since sunrise, so I definitely need the remainder of the day to get cleared of all the fatigue from my recent walk in France, and the long, endurance sapping, journey back, to some semblance of restfulness and clarity. Today I'm up in Kirk Deighton to watch after Emma's dogs while they've headed to Spain. The weather is splendid. The dogs are happy and the nettle tea is on top form. There is nothing better than the first wash of tender tips. I took Charlotte out for a gentle stroll, as she's a little under the weather, and picked a large-ish arm full of the purple heads. The cows have returned to the Glebe, but not so many so far (I wonder if they are coming in stages), the bull is yet to put in an appearance. The field is lush and I know the calves will be getting the best milk direct from grass to teat! So far 2019 is a good year: and it's heating up nicely as they kick off the new cricket season on Mark Lane where KDCC host Dacre Bank, Pateley Bridge: but I'm here just to dog sit.

It's lunchtime. Leftovers for me. Good organic stuff. A rye and barley pilaf and an olive, basil, artichoke, chickpea affair. Now to wash it down with more nettle tea. Then peace for the remainder of the day as we watch the sun settle behind Rookgarth Hill.

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Sunday morning and it's so sweet. The sun is in opposition to the moon on The Glebe and the dew is heavy underfoot. The grasses are calf deep and nettles hang languid and sublime in the mist, which sits midway across the field, and hides the cows in a dip nearest the walled perimeter of the rectory. The dogs are fed and so am I, but Zeus still wants me to fuss him. If there is a little more cloud this morning we'll head out for a little longer, but it's just a little too warm for April. Easter Sunday across the Christian world and the world I inhabit is truly risen.

Maybe we are best getting out before it's too high in the sky.

To the Bay Horse for a couple of too expensive ales. The dogs are clattered after a busy morning, but I'm off back to feed them shortly. They're so excited, as I've baked them garlic and herb Lyonnaise potatoes (no salt and other badies), but they simply don't understand the term patience, and why should they? There is only ever now. After dinner back on the Glebe. The cows came to see me just now. Not that I was carrying anything special and it was only me: no need to freak out the youngsters before they are large enough to fight back.

Bad jokes being told as I hasten off the second ale: should I stop by the cows on the Glebe and see how funny they find those cracker gags?

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Hazards to be avoided: fat Tory landowners on Easter Sunday! Out with them dogs down by Broad Wath I bumped into a guy I'd met once before in the Bay Horse, where we got on just fine, but put me and my smiling face anywhere on his land - boo hiss - because the dogs were not on a lead ... They were obviously under my control (which I see as close(highly subjective concept)) and having a wonderful morning following me up to where the path joins the road to Cowthorpe. As we were heading back on our hour spin he was on the lane coming down from the farm. From afar I hollered hello and thought he was up for a tête-à-tête, but no he told me instantly to get the dogs in leads. As I did as he asked he hollered back that there are birds nesting this time of year - as though I am out to do any damage. My guess his experience of life made him bitter to have acres at his disposal and I only have six feet to walk upon: and Christ rose for such as him and his selfish personal ways? His parents should never have packed him off to Boarding school at five and I can overcome this cross man: as I fart on his land and us guys head back to the safety of the Glebe.

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A bad night's sleep. For some reason Betty, the cat, wanted to be in then out, then in, then out and she scratches determinedly at the patio doors so it's impossible to ignore. When we went onto the Glebe I guessed why: frost, however she's definitely got enough fur to cope? So the rest of us walked wearily up to the fence by the churchyard - not sure the dogs cared as they never need the same sort of sleep us primates do.

There is no way I'm walking to the east of the old A1 with so many dogs again, Juno and Zeus must weigh 110kg combined alone, and I can't manage them by myself really on the lead all the way in and out of the right of way. It's amazing that this landowner values his property so highly that he doesn't relish me and the dogs treading either side of a path, which is virtually invisible on the surface, and will only give us peasants a six foot wide space. Why do the rich and wealthy have this possessiveness when they've already got everything they ever needed?

There is another way and today we walked westward towards Spofforth and the Crimple Beck, so they could have a dip. Today we came back covered in nettle stings, but it's worth it for the luxury of seeing Emma's dogs freak out back at the Glebe, when they had time to consider that this tingling sensation doesn't end soon. Once, many years ago, I went along a very unmanaged footpath near to Ripon, along the Ure, in very short shorts and was literally covered from arse to ankle in stings, but it was a pleasant experience really considering what was going through my mind at the time? The dogs are wasted: even Zeus went to lay in the shade, alone, which is a kind of relief: he's totally stuck to me and, actually, the feeling is mutual (Dobermann's are skill).

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This morning I dropped a lead, which I noticed almost instantly (as I tucked them into my copious jacket pockets) as I returned for it another dog walker told me she'd hung it up on a leafless hedgerow back the way I'd come. Not such an issue I thought, but as I walked up and down the short stretch I'd passed, it was nowhere to be seen. Bugger. It was quite worrying as I'd three dogs, and now only two leads, and two were guest boarders. After walking twice or three times up and down the short strip of hedge between Garth End and where the cow field gives way to barley on Ashdale Lane I realised it was probably pilfered by the one pair of dog walkers I'd given wide berth to with over-eager Zeus. It was only a minute after I'd passed by, and look, pensioners doing it again: upsetting the apple cart of stability - obviously losing a lead is more concerning at 8am than the overwhelmingly backwards step of Brexit we've got to live with thanks to that generation who think an era of three cheeses and rationing is better than the modern era. But I thought what can I do? Caffeine withdrawal is making everything a bit fraught and we continued on up to the Copse, before heading back. Luckily Charlotte is so good at recall, and walking at heel, that once I'd crossed the main road back towards Scriftain Lane I could rely on her to keep me safe. Now it's time for a beer.

During the early morning walk I noticed a lot of wild garlic, and mid morning wild spinach, then Charlotte and I returned after the controversial trip and I picked enough for the rabbits, me and my hosts and made a lovely chilli with them, as another element - the dogs were looking at me longingly as the smell coming from the kitchen pleased them. Ransoms don't usually float my boat when chefs only wilt them(as though they are terrified of anything not delivered by Brakes, Etc) as they seem too oily/greasy, but I streamed them then added them to the rest of the ingredients (as anyone could who had more than a pub kitchen for experience) and they taste superb - the flower heads are super onion-like but the leaves are not once treated this way.

Yesterday afternoon I'd heard that the Swan & Talbot has closed it's doors again, no wonder as it's an Enterprise pub co outlet , and I don't think the Bay Horse can last for ever depending on food to bring the bacon home(because I believe it too is a Enterprise outlet at heart?) The owner of Timothy Taylor's lives at the hall in Little Ribston, but Landlord is £4.05 here - daylight robbery and the wrong pricing system. If this establishment is no longer Enterprise - which is of course possible - it's too expensive really as a village pub. It's entirely catering to the gluttons not the boozers! Change your business model chaps. Work on margin on your largest seller and those in the village, tilling the land, will flock in instead of drinking cans of piss next to the Telly. It's true that our betters don't want us gathering to discuss things, as we Brits can get a bit out of hand with eachother, and the police force could hardly handle the huge divisions which are occurring in London, etc. also happening in a village pub: it would be a civil war, but I don't know if the Bobby's would re-enforce the government or take up arms against it?

Back to Ma's at half past midnight and straight back to sleep. Four days dog sitting/walking(three times daily), no coffee, cat waking me every couple of hours to go out/in during the night(weak bladder), little alcohol, snoring Juno(Italian Mastiff) and running out of antidepressants yet I am up at five am. However I'm back on the coffee; such a naughty bean(technically it's a seed), because it's late April, the birds have my attention and the Sun never ceases it's approach until the planet is sucked up in one small nibble!