Watching nature take its course, from the top of a hill in northern England

Unidentified Emotions


As a friend put it on Friday, in the wake of the EU referendum results ‘I’m experiencing emotions I can’t name, I certainly haven’t felt them before’.

Politics isn’t something I’d normally mention here, but the referendum and  decision  for the UK to leave the EU is to big to walk on by.  I’m gutted. Horrified. Sad and bitterly disappointed for my boys. A few of those unidentifiable emotions my friend mentioned are swilling around in the mix too.

A conversation I overheard, seemed to me, to capture the fact that many folk hadn’t got a handle on the chain of events voting ‘leave’ would set in motion.

First women. ‘My son says Nando’s are leaving the UK because of Brexit

Second women. ‘Oh my god, you’d think it was the end of the world, all we did was put a cross in a box on a bit of paper!’

I wasn’t sure if to laugh or cry, so I  just stood in front of the newspaper stand in crushing bewilderment.

Mr Uphilldowndale and I were set to go to Loweswater, in Cumbria on Friday, in preparation  for Daz’s Memorial  fell race.  We didn’t like going and leaving Joe home alone, he’d been up all night watching the results come in and was as down as we were; but Spud the dog stayed at home to keep him company, as ironically Tom is away, in Europe, working (we cast a proxy vote on his behalf).


We stopped by at Dodds Wood and climbed up to the viewing point to see the osprey’s  this  and a walk in the woods did us good and soothed our souls a little.

What now

The next day I had chance to contemplate the hills and some of the many emotional events of the last few weeks, and some of those emotions spilt out. The sheep was my confidante .

Don't ask me. I didn't vote._

What more can I say.

Tek Care

Author: uphilldowndale

Watching the rhythm of rural life, from the top of a hill in northern England. Having spent most of my life avoiding writing, I now need to do it! I am no domestic goddess, but if I were expecting visitors to my home, I would whisk round with the duster and plump up the cushions and generally make the place look presentable. I hope that by putting my words where others may see them it will encourage me to ‘tidy up and push the Hoover around’ my writing. On the other hand I may just be adding to the compost heap. Only time will tell! Pull up a chair, sit yourself down, I’ll put the kettle on.

16 thoughts on “Unidentified Emotions

  1. Believe me, there’s a lot of empathy (and more, but to choose one word) over here in America.

    Also hoping we don’t have a similar unthinkable result later in the year.

  2. I can entirely sympathise with your feelings.

  3. It is something that us Australian’s having been following with most interest, albeit at a distance.

  4. I don’t normally discuss politics either – based on my grandparents assertion never to discuss them along with religion.

    However – those amongst us who consider ourselves to be liberal, reasonably intelligent and cosmopolitan sometimes forget (or perhaps don’t even realise) just how difficult life is for some people in the UK, how very parochial some people are and how badly the education and social support systems have failed some others.

    The net result of that is that it was easy for them to fall prey to the simplistic arguments put forward by those who pandered to the hard-working parents on low paid jobs, who can’t get their children into the overcrowded schools in their area, have to wait weeks for doctors appointments, share their council house with their adult children who see (desperate and genuine) migrants being state-aided apparently easily and in preference to themselves.

    I am bitterly disappointed that the arguments on both sides were not presented in a more rational, less dramatic and well-reasoned manner.

    The bottom line is that we don’t know if we would have been better in or out originally, and we will never know if we will be better off in the long term in or out.

    Sometimes democracy sucks!!

  5. What some don’t seem to realize is that this is only the beginning, not an end. Sorting all this is going to be a difficult, long-term project. From what I’ve been reading about, for example, the inclinations of the Scots, it may become much more complicated than anyone understood.

    I think a walk, a sheep-confidant, and a little fresh air were just the ticket. That last photo, with its sign, is unbelievably touching. I hope all the lambkins make it home safely.

    • This institution has been brewing for a long long time. If we can get to a situation of honesty, respect and dollop of kindness to each other it would be a good place to start, you are right. It is only the beginning.

  6. Good post and nice pictures. I’m feeling very unsettled recently. xx

  7. I am just . . . so . . . sad. Best to you and Mr Uhdd and Tom and Joe and Spud and to lambs ont road. I’m going to go confide in the woolly Cowboy and tidy Miss Sadie.

    • I think those two will be good listeners, but I bet this topic will get their leads in a tangle. I do worry that if we can take this route, what might happen in your elections, mentioning no names… ?

      • Don’t tell anyone, but I’m hoping that Elizabeth Warren has a wand with a phoenix feather in it somewhere about her person.

  8. I think everyone’s been distracting themselves in similar ways. Bike riding and cake eating for me, but we wake up in the morning and it’s still there

  9. It’s a strange world these days there and across the Atlantic, but your photos (& sheep) do cheer me up, so thank you.

  10. Pingback: Sometimes a little magic flies by | Uphilldowndale

Come on, join in.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s