The church is Edburton but we shall not be visiting it as it is far too far downhill.
Obbsy has just pointed out that Foggy is whittling a piece of wood, Compo is working out the weather forecast and the speed of an African Swallow carrying a coconut on his wristwatch, and Clegg is blogging via his telephone.
Such is the broad church of the modern day rambler.
We will take his word for it as we walked in the clouds all day. The walking was delightful on springy sheep nibbled grass. The rain was (mostly) soft and warm to the skin.
Lord Elpus denies all involvement in the morning's directional challenges as he 'was only obeying orders.' He's been hearing those voices again ~ it must be his medication.
So it's off to the pub in a moment to revitalise and refresh the parts that the Doom Bar didn't reach.
We are currently heading west on the South Down's Way. The party consists of Obbsy, Lord Elpus and myself. We should have brought Miss Whiplash; at least she has a sense of direction. We started in fine form, and strode manfully up the Down unil we reached the top. A quick glance at the map and a check of the compass brought on a scratching of the heads, re-orienting of the maps and quzzical glances at each other.
I stuffed my map back furtively in my pocket and innocently asked Lord E for his decision on the way to go.
Of course it was back the way we had come. We had been manfully striding uphill in the driving rain in an easterly direction for the best part of an hour.
It's good for the soul.
It wouldn't have happened if Miss W had been with us and even if it had we would all have enjoyed the whipping she would have dealt out for the rest of the day.
...that I wouldn't go near the keyboard after I have been down the pub. 'S'obvious why really, as your thingers and fumbs don't work in the right order and your grey matter comes out with all the outrageous stuff that you always wanted to say but were far tooooo sensible to put into print - well, cyberspace, anyway.
Tonight, 'I has mostly been' a whirling dervish of activity. I have packed the most humunngously huge rucksack for the coming weekend. I have cooked and eaten a wonderful dinner, watched the woefully won Masterchef, finished off Torchwood and been down the lane to see Dave the Chicken and the Farmer in the Axe.
It's all go in this village idyll, you know.
The humungously huge rucksack is in fact the normal job, but filled with delicacies such as binoculars, Boss jeans, bacon sandwiches and good shoes (and a little flask of the good stuff too) as this weekend, Lord Elpus and I are not roughing it. No. Roughing it we are not. In fact it will all be rather civilised as we stroll westwards on the South Downs Way to our B&B and then westwards again until we have had enough, admit defeat and take a cab back to the car.
You do realise that we are only demeaning ourselves like this for Phil's B-in-Law, Hobbsy, (Miss Whiplash's brother) so that he can return home in some sort of ordered, and sanitized state. Not for him the smelly armpit. Oh no. Not for him the rumpled hiking hotel trouser. Not for him the unshaven cheek and tousled greasy mane.
No: David has had enough of all that nonsense; he spent two weeks dragging his smelly carcase across Scotland with Lord Elpus a few years back on the TGO Challenge. Our 'Obbsy has got older and smarter and has persuaded Lord E and I to lean back and smell the roses. To lighten our loads. To go Ultralight.
This ultralight thing is easy with no tent, mattress, sleeping bag, cooker, pots, food.....
More from the front-line with live on the trail blogging tomorrow!
It's a big day today for Richard Barr - He has just set out from John O' Groats to walk to Land's End.
Richard is a retired physicist and has made the trip over here from New Zealand to to do the walk. He is walking in memory of his brother, Gordon, who died from Leukaemia and is hoping to raise money for Leukaemia Research and also the Malghan Institute in New Zealand, which is undertaking research into a vaccine based treatment for CLL (Chronic Lymphocytic Leukaemia)
He is blogging as he goes and has invited walkers to walk with him for the odd day or so to keep his morale up. It's not the standard route, as you can see by clicking HERE
He nipped out to Duncansby Head yesterday and today is off to Dunnet Bay. He hopes to complete the walk in 65 walking days.
He sounds like a bright bloke and writes very entertainingly, so we should all support him. So - nip over to his blog and bookmark it! Go on - You know you want to!
Last Friday evening, there was a torrential downpour here in the village for a good hour or so. It rained cats and dogs, no - it was sheep and goats - or perhaps even cows and shire horses. It was pretty impressive as I was looking out from the kitchen as I was cooking supper.
Then were was a strange ticking noise coming from my drinks area in the dining room... Water was dripping from the ceiling onto the wooden floor. A bucket sorted that out. No sign of it upstairs though - strange.
I had the local thatcher round the next morning and we found the source of the problem - there was quite a bit of a slump in the valley junction between the two roofs. So this evening he was round to patch it with a sheet and he made a very tidy job of it too.
So yes, the apostrophe in the title of this post is in the correct place: They can fit me in in Spring of next year; and that's by pushing me up the list as I have a leaky roof. I suppose it's good to hear that one part of our building industry is busy but it does mean I shall have a nice blue patch on my thatch for a little while. Ho hum!
Regular members of the congregation will know that I live in a bit of a rural idyll - a thatched cottage in a sleepy little dead-end road village on the banks of the Great Grey-Green Greasy Limpopo River.
Thatched cottages are great in the hot weather, as long as you know how to drive them. The thatch keeps it cool in the hot sunshine, but open the doors and windows on a hot day at your peril as then all the hot air comes pouring in and is then retained beneath the wonderful insulating blanket of the thatch, ensuring an uncomfortable night unless you vent upstairs by opening all the windows - and that can lead to unexpected visitors.
The undercut of the thatch is home to gargantuan spiders, daddy-long-legs and the biggest fattest nastiest mosquitoes known to man. And they all want to make a meal of you as you sleep.
Well, I left home in a bit of a hurry this morning for a day in Cambridge and foolishly left quite a few windows open. It was a scorcher of a day and I returned to a sweltering house.
There was no way I was going to sweat it out at home so I nipped upstairs and changed into some kit that hadn't seen the light of day for quite a few years; my running kit.
I made it round my local track - the 'Hemingford Round' only pausing for a few minutes to watch a Kingfisher flashing from his perch above the river, darting in the evening sunlight. I wasn't the mean, lean, running machine of twenty years ago - but I made it. There was hardly a breath of air, so jogging along actually felt cooler than standing still. The old Walsh PB's fell running shoes weren't ideal so I may try my old Mudrocs in a few days time.
By the time I arrived back at the cottage, it was still just as hot and humid, so I sat in the garden sipping a well earned pint of Olde English cider.
Quite perfick!
I have been following with interest the comments made on the lightweight debate over on Shirley's Place.
Shirley decided to leave the discussion over at Andy's Place because it seemed principally directed at a comment made in the TGO Challenge Final Report and she wanted to discuss the more interesting topic of lightweight kit and safety. She wrote an excellent piece and some contributors added greatly to the discussion in the comments made on the post.
Then up pops a gentleman, going under the nick-name of "Mike fae Dundee". I invite you now to pop over to the discussion and take a look at his third comment.
I thought the dinosaurs were extinct - but apparently not. We have a red in tooth and claw, real, alive here and now, dinosaur in this gentleman. Try it for yourself: After reading his third comment, Google "Mike fae Dundee" and see what you think!
I have posted this in my blog because I didn't want to clutter up Shirl's place with this sort of discussion.
It's true. I am a miserable, woeful, shocking, backslider.
Having worn the new plimsolls around the house for a couple of days, I came to the dreadful conclusion that there was not enough room in the toe-box. So it was a trip this afternoon back into the less frequented part of Cambridge where the awfully nice pimply yoof who purports to be a shop-keeper (and is in fact a wonderful shopkeeper, despite his age and skin condition) very kindly took them back and gave me a refund as he did not have any other plimsolls that I liked in his emporium.
So with a heavy heart I meandered heavily back into 'proper' Cambridge and fixed on a beer and double espresso at Don's. Standing there, in my own little half-world, with the whole of Cambridge passing the doorway and Mario expertly coaxing his gargantuan Italian Espresso machine to make the most perfect coffee in the world, the sudden rush of caffeine hit my veins and I resolved to have another go. But this time, I would look in at my favourite outdoor emporium; Open Air.
An hour later I was jauntily clutching a new box of shoes for the great outdoors. Alas, even I could not describe the new beasts as plimsolls. They look like a traditional boot but are made from modern lightweight materials. They weigh 208 grams heavier than the Fastpackers, but they still give me a 265 gram saving per boot over the old faithful Scarpa Nepals. That's 9 ounces per foot. It's a step in the right direction, I suppose...
So - I am no longer a super dooper ultra-light gear fetishist. Sigh... They are jolly comfy though. And Lord Elpus will be happier with my choice too. Can't go frightening the horses all in one go now, can we?
So, a warm welcome to my new "Salomon Quest 4D GTX's" -that's another great mouthful, isn't it? I shall christen them "Slippers".
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