Torre Torre Torre

Most Saturday’s Therese and I pop over to a farm nearby and collect some eggs (and leave some money).

Change of plan this Saturday.

Walking along the path to the smallholding, we come across something like this:

A young bull has escaped and is running down the lane.

My life repeats itself in slow motion. Well, certainly, a vague semblance of a near death experience. Honestly.

We run back to the car. The bull runs past and just avoids a man walking his dog.

Back on track we collect our hour old eggs. The owner laughs : she saw us walk up the lane then run away. The “responsible adult” for the bull appears latterly in his 4×4. No lasso though.