Soon (next break from catalogue-setting) I will give an illustrated account of the 05/06 Woodford Folk Festival. First, however, I'm going to have a whinge. I'm walking like a 90-year who has just had the shag of her life, but without so nice an excuse. And here is the culprit:
Actually, Best Beloved is the culprit, as I asked him to take me on a nice steady walk in the Blue Mountains, nothing too taxing, just a pleasant day's stroll. Sure, he said, and took me down the Giant Steps on the way to the nice 'flat' stroll. Here he is, disappearing down the steps, wearing a red hat:
I didn't realise that there were about 900 steps with no respite until I was a third down, and I asked my girlfriend (who was also going a bit slower) if we were there yet. She'd been down them before, and had given me an odd look when I quite
If you've ever been on this climb, you'll know what I'm talking about. For those that don't, it is 900 steps, quite narrow, some carved from the sandstone cliff, and others built from slippery (it had been raining the week before) steel grating. there are no flat bits, just steps, almost vertical, with the occasional gap and a bench to rest. It starts just next to the Three Sisters, and ends a reasonable way below, at the path that leads to the scenic railway.
I finally got to the bottom, swearing that when I next clapped eyes on BB it would be to serve him with a divorce paper. By the time anyone gets to the bottom of these stairs, their legs are wobbling uncontrollably. I got to the last little section and fell down them because they had no handrail! I started laughing because I couldn't believe how out of control my legs were. A shortish rest and some water helped, and the rest of the walk was a breeze, because the 'down' muscles in my legs were reacting in opposition, throwing me forward all the way.
I didn't divorce BB (I try to think of our marriage in the Patrician Roman sense of marriage-for-life), but I'm not a happy girl. I told him quite openly when we married that I'm not a fit, outdoorsy sort of lass. I'm a bike-riding, big-bottomed, book-wormy sort of lass. I do like walks, but I don't like hills. He didn't listen, and now I'm walking like one of the flowerpot men. He thinks I'm trying to guilt him out when I stumble and lurch, but Zoe can testify that I do it even when he is in another town! I can't wait to get back to normal. I rode my bike today, and I think that helped, as did the numerous Radox baths, but sitting at the computer is very bad, and unfortunately I can't escape that at the moment.
OK, that's my whinge. Time to get happy.
BTW: The cats are ever-so-happy to see us. I think they've been spoiled rotten by their house-sitter, a lovely nurse who worked all the holiday shifts and bought them little treats constantly. Mr Padge purred in my ear all night.