that’s what she said. Of course, I begin to find fault: a shrub partly obscures the view, there’s a glint of car windows and, if I listen hard enough, I sense the thrum of traffic. I’ll admit the colours are strong, mid-summer: yellows of wheat-fields, oaky greens, and the hills’ hazed blue. A single cloud hovers off-centre, elders waft, sheep bleat, swallows jaunt. Yes, it’s lovely. But the Best View? It’s like someone telling you their top three films. You’ll disagree. Instantly. Plus, there isn’t a river, the valley could be deeper, the blue bluer. Had she not said a thing, I’d have sat here, quietly smug, feeling I’d discovered this place, would have gone home, told everyone I’d found the Best View in England.
Katrina Naomi
The Best View in England
issue 16 May 2015
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