These Boots Weren’t made for Brexit

I’ve been enjoying my new foot recently.  Gradually over the nine months since surgery last summer, it has been becoming more robust.

So Nigel and I were able to chance the second People’s Vote March last Saturday, although we cheated and headed straight to the rally in Parliament Square on the basis there would be something to lean against there.

We straight away found a good stretch of empty railing, but soon realised why it was vacant – it was just behind a small bunch of Brexit demonstrators and it looked as if we were of their number.   Before our faces appeared in the Mail as Brexit supporters, we slunk off.

But, having done what we could by joining the march and the petition and writing to our MP, my feet served quite another purpose the rest of the week.

They have been getting me out of earshot of the incessant roilings of the Brexit debacle.

 I went to Greenwich with friends, climbed the hill to the observatory and revelled in clear blue views across London.  From up there, you would never guess how troubled it is.

And I visited Heartwood with Nigel where we were soothed by the song of skylarks.

It lifted our hearts.   Maybe they should pipe it into the chamber of the House of Commons.