I am writing this half way up a hill. This hill forms part of a hike which is denoted as ‘blue’ in our Ordanance Survey Book of Hikes, but which I have decided has been miscategorised. Badly. I shall take a red pen to it.
I allowed Eldest to navigate the route, and had not pre scanned the narrative, which includes words such as ‘determined climb’ and ‘energetic paths’. These are euphemisms for ‘bloody hard work’. We have a good number of these walking books and really I should have learnt my lesson by now.
I my early marriage we tackled red walks in West Yorkshire on a weekly basis. I can remember those days. They are long gone.
For it turns out 6 months of no exercise, mending a fractured vertebrae, is not good preparation for a blue walk.
I have spent most of the walk trailing at the back of husband and Eldest and, having achieved point A, which remains a frighteningly long way in the alphabet from the return to our car at point F, and seeing that the climb to point B (the worse is apparently behind us, the view of the hill would suggest otherwise) is superfluous and the route returns via point A, I set free the mountain goats and here I sit awaiting their return, surrounded by French people.
This latter fact surprises me.
But anyway the view at Point A is stunning. I can envision point F, and a tea room and some well earned shortbread. The midges are only mildly annoying. And I am practising French, by eavesdropping. The workd fatigue features heavily.
And it could have been worse, I could have been the French man carrying his daughter, who is bizarrely wearing Jesus sandals, on his shoulders.
No, I am better off here, writing this blog and letting them motor on. For at 56 I have achieved the level of ‘she who must be accomodated’. Plans have to be curtailed to acknowledge my advanced age, poor fitness and lack of speed. Its hard not to feel it.
The view, however, is well worth it.
musingsponderingsandrants 