Come, let me clutch thee. I have ye not, and yet I see thee still. Macbeth. Act 2 Scene 1 Without hurry, the walkers reached the top of the hill on the dusty track and paused for a welcome break. Panting from their exertion, the sweat glistened and ran down their faces. ‘Thank God it’s not a Sunday morning in December or the local hunters would be out in full force with their shotguns, and I wouldn’t like us to be their target. They’re particularly good at missing their birds and hitting each other you know.’ Steve mopped his face with the front of his white t-shirt while Diana grimaced at the thought of washing it. It was fast becoming a streaky-grey rag covered with yellow sweaty stains. Men! Irritated, Di turned around to look at the view, which from here was staggeringly beautiful. Forgetting her earlier little flush of annoyance she relaxed letting out a sigh of pure pleasure. Almost the whole of their hill was covered with grapevines set in little terraced fields originating from the Roman occupation.
