Those of you who return regularly to read my blog — and bless you for that — must, by
- Been abducted by aliens and as a result of the mandatory memory wipe have no idea of the time lapse between posts.
- Changed my name to Tica Conde and emigrated to Peru to avoid an unpaid catalogue bill from 1978.
- Fallen down a well without access to a mobile phone or possession of a GPS locator and had to wait until an unsuspecting dog walker stumbled across it, needing a drink for his thirsty hound.
Well, I’m pleased to report it wasn’t any of those things. Unfortunately, it wasn’t time spent holed up with my writing either. I did manage to pen another letter to the TV Times, which was published last week, and also managed to finally persuade the Financial Ombudsman to uphold my claim for a full refund of packaged account fees, after eighteen months wrangling with my bank, thereby netting a tidy return. Writing skills not too shabby, on this occasion.
Much of the last month, though, has been spent generally gadding about, but hubby and I have also invested some time in walking: our new pastime. I’ve struggled to travel long distances in the past before my feet begin to ache. However, following the purchase of a pair of walking boots — glorious creatures — I find I can last longer and the perspective on foot is much more interesting. So far, we’ve walked in the Goyt Valley of the Peak District, areas of the Lake District and tomorrow we’re off to Haworth and the Brontë country to take in Top Withens, the reputed inspiration for Wuthering Heights. There are elements of frustration: namely misdirections to starting points on so-called established trails and a distinct lack of toileting facilities. One walk we attempted in the Lake District directed us to a car park and advised we take the path off to the right; unfortunately, it failed to mention that the right-hand path was a third of a mile back up the road. Without any working toilets for miles, there is evidence everywhere that others have found themselves caught short; in fact, the smattering of tissues in their wake was somewhat reminiscent of Hansel and Gretel nursing a box of Kleenex. They failed to abide by that countryside rule: Leave no trace. I am not one of them.
Quite prophetically it would seem on our part, the month of May has been designated as National Walking Month by the charity Living Streets, in a bid to encourage people to become more active. We had no idea this was the case when we took up the challenge, but our collective unconscious was obviously well tuned to the national psyche.
Hopefully, it won’t take me another month to post again and when I do, it’ll be a much fitter and healthier me, I suspect.