I saw a kingfisher on the river; this darling flash of electric blue, like the brightest blue you've ever seen, flitting across the sludgey brown water of a slower bit of the river Wharfe, across from one willow to a big old ash on the opposite bank. And there was all wildflowers in the fields, swaying amongst the tall grass they stemmed from straw to a deep purple. The sheep looked like that Pre-Raphelite painting of 'The Scapegoat' in the Tate gallery, you know, opposite Ophelia, because they're just been sheared and you could see their masses of angles and udders and muscle and spine underneath their summer wool and the lambs were still full of the joys of life. The moors were all green and lush and nowhere near as intimidating as they usually are.
And I might have gotten a job! And now I'm sat in my nice quiet bedroom listening to Beat Happening.