Sunday, August 15, 1982
We drove to to Coverhouse in torrential rain so it was obvious our planned 15 mile hike across desolate moorland wasn't going to happen. We did a walk from Thorncotes instead, which I began in my usual listless, resentful and leaden-legged mood. The silence was heavy, pressing in on my skull.
Our path wound through limestone pastures populated by hundreds of rabbits; their white tails flashed in alarm as they streaked away. We saw lots of decomposing rabbit corpses and heard the death shrieks of one as it was plundered by a stoat, no doubt. On the way back we got wet but the broody weather gave magnificent vistas across light mottled moors. Many times we stopped to watch the colours change through gold greens to the deepest blue blacks and as the mist and drizzle shrouded us the fine silver quality of the white light caught the rain glistening on limestone slabs. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Later I watched a TV programme on Zanskar, happy Buddhist society with no money and a simple agrarian lifestyle that's being threatened by the building of a new tourist road. I thought about the destruction of the limestone reef knolls around Thorncotes all of which leads me to the same conclusions about big business and stinky western money ethics; it's all corrupt. The whole shitty mess should be completely erased from the face of the earth. Politics, power, capitalism, communism, money as an end no matter what the means . . . people kill each other, destroy nature, fuck up the planet. . . .
Is there no end to my bitter ravings?