Falling upwards
Kate and Matty down on a day trip to Brighton, to take a bracing walk followed by some cheeky beers. We were going to do a walk that I'd done once Anton. Due to complicated train scenarios, however, we decided to go instead to do another walk which Matt and his family do regularly. The walk started well with competitive photography, some advanced hat wearing from Matty and myself, and poppies splashing the fields with colour, not to mention Guernsey cows pulling at the grass.
As you know, I collect phobias like other people do stamps. My occasional horror of wide open spaces, I think started when I was four years old and living in Guernsey. I went through a phase convinced that I was about to fall up into the sky, and would hold onto adults or hedgerows to prevent this.
Standing on top of high, grassy and treeless hills surrounded by the yawning horror of the existential nothingness affects me even today. Our hilltop route was essentially a Peter Kenny worst case scenario walk. One which had me cringing like the most eccentric mad person you can think of, from scraps of cover to scraps of cover, and blundering across the exposed bits as if all the hounds of hell were pursuing me.
This of course added interest and local colour to Matt and Kate's picturesque experience. Thankfully, with their great help and forbearance, after a couple of miles of horror, we began to walk in less exposed places and I felt fine again. Kate feeling free to advance certain theories about it all being an attention seeking ruse. But, frankly, I am the least attention seeking person I know.
The rest of the day was fabulous. We walked past floating hang gliders down into a beautiful valley with the wind ruffling the cornfields, into the village of Firle and its idyllic pub called The Ram. We spent a couple of happy hours there, drinking Harvey's beer and special cider, and scarfing their fine pub grub, Matt and I having half a pint of prawns each to start.
Then, sufficiently refuelled, we walked to the next village of Glynde, where we paused for a little more refreshment and some pork scratchings. Then the splendid Lorraine met us and drove us back to Brighton, where we all met up with Matty's sister Kate her partner Dunc, and pals of Matt's Anna and John in the Battle of Trafalgar. This all exceedingly jolly and cheery.
Rather well refreshed towards the end of evening, Lorraine and I bought fish and chips and I felt suddenly rather sleepy and it was suggested I go to bed. So I did.
Below the long suffering Kate and Matty, from here on a jolly time was had.
Kate and Matty down on a day trip to Brighton, to take a bracing walk followed by some cheeky beers. We were going to do a walk that I'd done once Anton. Due to complicated train scenarios, however, we decided to go instead to do another walk which Matt and his family do regularly. The walk started well with competitive photography, some advanced hat wearing from Matty and myself, and poppies splashing the fields with colour, not to mention Guernsey cows pulling at the grass.
As you know, I collect phobias like other people do stamps. My occasional horror of wide open spaces, I think started when I was four years old and living in Guernsey. I went through a phase convinced that I was about to fall up into the sky, and would hold onto adults or hedgerows to prevent this.
Standing on top of high, grassy and treeless hills surrounded by the yawning horror of the existential nothingness affects me even today. Our hilltop route was essentially a Peter Kenny worst case scenario walk. One which had me cringing like the most eccentric mad person you can think of, from scraps of cover to scraps of cover, and blundering across the exposed bits as if all the hounds of hell were pursuing me.
This of course added interest and local colour to Matt and Kate's picturesque experience. Thankfully, with their great help and forbearance, after a couple of miles of horror, we began to walk in less exposed places and I felt fine again. Kate feeling free to advance certain theories about it all being an attention seeking ruse. But, frankly, I am the least attention seeking person I know.
The rest of the day was fabulous. We walked past floating hang gliders down into a beautiful valley with the wind ruffling the cornfields, into the village of Firle and its idyllic pub called The Ram. We spent a couple of happy hours there, drinking Harvey's beer and special cider, and scarfing their fine pub grub, Matt and I having half a pint of prawns each to start.
Then, sufficiently refuelled, we walked to the next village of Glynde, where we paused for a little more refreshment and some pork scratchings. Then the splendid Lorraine met us and drove us back to Brighton, where we all met up with Matty's sister Kate her partner Dunc, and pals of Matt's Anna and John in the Battle of Trafalgar. This all exceedingly jolly and cheery.
Rather well refreshed towards the end of evening, Lorraine and I bought fish and chips and I felt suddenly rather sleepy and it was suggested I go to bed. So I did.
Below the long suffering Kate and Matty, from here on a jolly time was had.
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