Yesterday evening, during the power cuts in Wotton, I called my Mum. Naturally she’s interested in what we’re doing and where we are but what she really wants to know is how we’re feeling, and by that she means our health. Ever the dutiful daughter and brought up to tell the truth I confessed that I had been suffering a little during the day with cramp. Mum is of the generation which would suck on nutmeg for toothache and treat a burn with a bicarbonate of soda poultice and although she’s often right, I would generally go away and research her suggestions (as much out of curiosity as to validate what might otherwise, in the new millennium, be considered slightly wacky ideas) but I wasn’t able to do that so, smiling to myself, I simply did as I was told. Earlier I had learned that my blogging progress through the alphabet has generated a little interest and indeed some are having fun pre-empting what might be coming next. It was for this reason as much as any other that I was grateful to Mum for solving a small conundrum and hopefully for keeping my readers on their toes. We headed for the bar and with no further hesitation, I followed instructions. Cheers Mum (and Mr Schweppes). Her orders were to increase my intake of quinine!
Today’s walking has had a rather different feel to it. Thankfully we were back in shorts but the terrain ahead was described as ‘lacking in as much drama’ as in previous days. Apart from climbing out of Wotton under Edge up to Tor Hill for a fine view over Nanny Farmer’s Bottom, much of the 13 miles has been across open countryside, via the occasional small village and up and down through woodland. Perhaps with fewer of those 1s and 2s to concern me (ref yesterday), I spent quite some time thinking about the variety of underfoot surfaces we have experienced and their impact on the long distance walker (i.e.me – nothing seems to affect Stephen). Long grass requires picking your feet up or wet socks depending on the weather, dry leaves hide sneaky tree roots, wet ones can be treacherously slippery, thin mud makes me feel slightly insecure, thick mud cakes your boots making them weigh more, dung is, well, dung, and don’t get me started on stones which seem to lie in wait for me to try turning an ankle or losing my footing at every opportunity. I was therefore particularly grateful to those long gone drovers who left the legacy of a wonderfully wide, flat, smooth mile or so along which we passed early afternoon. For once I was able to walk sure-footed and really look around, rather than where I was putting my feet, to appreciate the magnificent views. Good on’ya drovers.
By now the monument to General Lord Robert Somerset (thank you for having perfect initials) was behind us and ahead lay St Adeline in Little Sodbury where Tyndale is honoured. It is fitting that he should be my T since today is the 475th anniversary of the date on which he was martyred for translating the bible into English.
In the past 7 days we’ve enjoyed unbelievable views and it’s been a wonderful experience. If you’re confused however as to why I’m rather force fitting this commentary and racing through the alphabet with 19 miles and 2 days still to go it’s because it’s unlikely that we’ll have access to a wifi connection tomorrow so this may be my last post before Saturday. I hope you’ll join me for a final time then, to conclude our adventure.
Yours,
No comments:
Post a Comment