“Look, Dad!” I say. There’s a kestrel sitting on a pole by the side of the road, just by the bridge over the motorway. Expect he’s waiting to swoop down on a squashed rabbit.
Dad is too far ahead: he’s much faster than me at the moment. His bike is speedier anyway, and my chest and arms hurt from all the irradiated skin peeling off. Dad doesn’t turn round.
Don’t manage to photograph the kestrel, but here’s one just like him:
It’s our first Proper Bike Ride since my operation. Can this be true, am thinking. Anyway, it’s the first time in a while that we’ve cycled up to the mill and back. It feels great to be zooming past the fields: a palomino horse and a fluffy Shetland pony saunter over to stare at us. Am getting the hang of clicking my cleats in and out of the pedals.
Here’s this evening’s Amsterdam cocktail: gin, Cointreau and orange juice:
Happy Monday everyone!
*1994. By Kate Ross. Book One in the Julian Kestrel mystery series, set in 1820s London.