Climb every mountain...

In an attempt to fill our days with lovely stuff now that the children have left home, I suggested a walk yesterday.  Not just any walk mind you, but one with a map and written directions downloaded from the internet.  This was a six mile hike, culminating with a roast dinner in a pub, after which there would be a mile and a half walk back to the car.

How hard could it be....

Well, what a map doesn't show you is the gradient of the paths we would be walking.  I said to the husband that perhaps telling you this before you embarked on your adventure might have been wise.  This was said as we hauled our sorry carcasses up a hill so steep that all I could see as I looked forward were the husband's mud caked boots.  Talking of mud, I think I was three inches taller after the walk thanks to the claggy mud.

Anyway, we sweated our way up the hill, with the dogs dragging us up like a couple of dwarf huskies. I was very excited to get to the top, as I'd brought my camera, and was keen to get some lovely scenic shots from the summit.  Turning the last corner, I regaled the husband as to where I was going to put my photographs and how beautiful it was going to be.

Getting my camera ready for the last few steps, I was primed.  You will sense my disappointment when I tell you that the view consisted of the M40 and not much else.  'Look on the good side', yelled the husband, setting off down the path, 'at least it's all downhill now'.

I'm not too sure which was worse, going up, or the top speed romp down the face of a chalk cliff.  What made it worse is that we had a dog each, and being closer to the floor (not that closer on a couple of occasions I have to confess) their centre of gravity was a lot better than mine.  But at least the second half of the walk was quicker than the first.  A lot quicker actually...

The husband was by now getting fed up at my suggestion that we were lost, and my plaintive cries of, 'Will we ever see civilisation again?' were beginning to grate.   

When we'd left home at 10.30, the husband had told daughter number one, who was meeting us at the pub, that we would be there around 12.00.  This calculation was based on a five mile walk taking us around an hour and a half.  Over the course of the walk there were three phone calls extending this time, and we eventually turned up at the pub at 1.30. 

After plying daughter number one with a rather lovely meal, she finally agreed to give us a lift back to where we'd left the car, rather than walk the mile and a half back.  Now her car is lovely, white and very new.

After having the husband, me and the two dogs in there, it's now just new...



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