What is this design fault that makes you unable to sleep when you are overtired? Felt shattered and sicky first thing, but nevertheless I found myself labouring up the hill to Anton's house.
When I arrived Anna revealed an unexpected talent as a bookie's runner, despite being nearly full term on her pregnancy. After all, it was Grand National day, and we all chose a horse to bet on while Anton and me would be walking. My choices revealed themselves later to be a brace of utter donkeys.
As we were driving to our start point Baby Klauds puked copiously over herself in the back of the car. This set Anna off and she had to open the car door to puke quite a bit too. As Anna recovered and Anton put sicky clothes into plastic bags, I found myself mopping vomit from shivering but placid Baby Klauds standing by the side of the road, and remarking cleverly that the family that sprays together stays together. Nobody thought it was funny.
And onto the walk. Four and a half hours today around Ashdown Forest and the Weald Way, which was originally a Roman road. Anton in full regalia, although having to be helped on with some accessories he called ankle gators, and stuffing the map in upside down into the advanced plastic bag accessory. Wonderful walking through the country that inspired A.A. Milne. Discovered a lovely church at Withyham with its graveyard full of daffodils. A perfect resting place in the English countryside.
Our trek ended in the village of Ashdown. As we'd walked we had envisaged a nice pub where we could wait until the train came. But there wasn't one, so we ended up having a beer much later in my local The Battle of Trafalgar (or the Batty, as Anton is now, questionably, calling it). Anton had also been harping on about how the perfect accompaniment to a pint of Harveys would be a bag of pork scratchings. Ate half a bag of these and felt like doing a Baby Klauds.
Mad Dog had phoned me while I was walking, and it turns out he was stalking about on the South Downs scaring the locals in a way that would interest Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The Mysterious Hound met us in the Batty... Looking very healthy, carrying a incredibly heavy rucksack that contained a full sized-tent, having walked about twice as far as me and Anton.
Bob and Anton hadn't seen each other for 8 years, Bob having been Anton's lodger and colleague many years ago. They have the same birthday (though different years) and their daughters were born within a month of each other. Jovial reunion.
Then home for showers and me and Mad Dog went off for a curry in Preston Street which the chef for reasons known to himself had poisoned with sugar. Then off to the Tin Drum where we met Anton and drank those bad Polish beers again till I could hardly keep my eyes open.
From the walk today... Anton in full regalia...
When I arrived Anna revealed an unexpected talent as a bookie's runner, despite being nearly full term on her pregnancy. After all, it was Grand National day, and we all chose a horse to bet on while Anton and me would be walking. My choices revealed themselves later to be a brace of utter donkeys.
As we were driving to our start point Baby Klauds puked copiously over herself in the back of the car. This set Anna off and she had to open the car door to puke quite a bit too. As Anna recovered and Anton put sicky clothes into plastic bags, I found myself mopping vomit from shivering but placid Baby Klauds standing by the side of the road, and remarking cleverly that the family that sprays together stays together. Nobody thought it was funny.
And onto the walk. Four and a half hours today around Ashdown Forest and the Weald Way, which was originally a Roman road. Anton in full regalia, although having to be helped on with some accessories he called ankle gators, and stuffing the map in upside down into the advanced plastic bag accessory. Wonderful walking through the country that inspired A.A. Milne. Discovered a lovely church at Withyham with its graveyard full of daffodils. A perfect resting place in the English countryside.
Our trek ended in the village of Ashdown. As we'd walked we had envisaged a nice pub where we could wait until the train came. But there wasn't one, so we ended up having a beer much later in my local The Battle of Trafalgar (or the Batty, as Anton is now, questionably, calling it). Anton had also been harping on about how the perfect accompaniment to a pint of Harveys would be a bag of pork scratchings. Ate half a bag of these and felt like doing a Baby Klauds.
Mad Dog had phoned me while I was walking, and it turns out he was stalking about on the South Downs scaring the locals in a way that would interest Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The Mysterious Hound met us in the Batty... Looking very healthy, carrying a incredibly heavy rucksack that contained a full sized-tent, having walked about twice as far as me and Anton.
Bob and Anton hadn't seen each other for 8 years, Bob having been Anton's lodger and colleague many years ago. They have the same birthday (though different years) and their daughters were born within a month of each other. Jovial reunion.
Then home for showers and me and Mad Dog went off for a curry in Preston Street which the chef for reasons known to himself had poisoned with sugar. Then off to the Tin Drum where we met Anton and drank those bad Polish beers again till I could hardly keep my eyes open.
From the walk today... Anton in full regalia...
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