As all my friends know, going on a new walk with me usually involves getting lost. If it's a new walk, getting lost is a prerequisite. Not that I plan it that way - it just happens. In fact the picture above was taken from a walk I know so well because I've done it many times over the years. It's a quiet creek near Truro that, when Carol and I went last week, was perfect - a bit of rare sun, a burst of birdsong, carpets of primroses, shy violets and the first bluebell buds. We were able to take pictures for the first time in what felt like months of grey, drab weather.

On Saturday I went to a walk organised at Polly Joke - there were 30 of us which i found a little daunting, but everyone was very friendly and I knew several people, and we ended up walking in lots of little groups, swapping round, so we talked to lots of different people. Mind you, Moll quickly decided she was going to Lead The Way, so I ended up at the front of the pack, running to keep up with her.

Polly Joke was Pip's favourite place, having spent some of his teenage years with his uncle and aunt who lived there, and I have many fond memories of visits there, picnics with my family, friends, and burying tin on a part of the cliffs near the tamarisk trees. It was a bittersweet day that suddenly, for some reason, made me miss Pip with a hollow ache that made me howl my eyes out the following day.

I was talking to Viv about it and she said, "I know just what you mean. I felt like that about Mum today," (her mum died last year).

And while no, I don't believe I do have suppressed my feelings for Pip at all, I do think that if you love someone, grief does bubble up like that. It's not a bad thing - it's just part of how those we love, live on with us. And every now and again give us a little nudge...