Running up that hill...

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It looks like the psychological after effects of the dog bite will take longer than the physical.  Faced with two over exuberant retrievers in Somerset over the weekend, I did what every rational human being would do, and burst into tears.  This was the cue for another caravan site guest to clutch me to her heaving bosom whilst telling me all about her experiences of being bitten by various dogs over the years.  All I needed was a cup of tea and a hug from the husband, but as neither were accompanying me on the walk I suppose the 42DD's had to do.  

Getting away from the scene of the crime did do me a bit of good though, and walking through woods and by rivers is by far the best of medicines.  The husband had booked a campsite close to a river which we have driven past a hundred times before.  As he reminded me on Friday, of those hundred drive bys I have said on at least seventy five occasions how much I would love to walk there.  Actually, I really wanted to kayak, but the closer I get to the dreaded 'upper middle age' the more I recognise that the chances of that ever happening will get slimmer and slimmer (unlike me who managed to put on four pounds while the husband was away).

So this is why he had tracked this site down and booked us in for a couple of nights.  We had a lovely time, alternating wood walks and river walks with pubs and cafes and lazy breakfasts. Mind you, I'm not too sure that we have walked as far as we usually do this weekend. The husband, who if you recall was on his motorbike up a mountain, managed to dismount unintentionally on a couple of occasions, giving his ankle, knee and a couple of ribs a fair old whack.  Because the injuries are all on one side, he developed an interesting gait as we wandered around the countryside.  I did try and keep my usual galloping pace reined in, but even so, it was like taking Quasimodo out for a stroll on the steeper bits.

Talking of steeper bits, the husband was in charge of map reading as I had left my varifocals at home.  I was extremely trustworthy and followed him blindly with no complaint, but after half an hour of negotiating a 1:1 hill, I started to get a little snippy.  If I'd known that we would be climbing the Somerset version of Everest, then perhaps I might have packed my clamp-ons and some Kendal Mint Cake instead of a mac and a pocket full of dog biscuits.  I did joke to the husband (through gritted teeth) that I was going to buy some of those kids' trainers with the wheels on so that the dogs could pull me up the hillier parts.

'That's all very well', panted the husband, 'But what about me?'

I'll be honest with you, at that precise moment, I didn't really care...

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