Over the hills and far away...
It was decided that we would walk to Beer this morning. Note I say 'to' and not 'for' in case you think I am turning into some cider fuelled lush. This walk entailed half a mile of sheer hell. Imagine hills steep enough that the grass grows horizontally and where there is not a sheep brave enough to graze...well that's the first bit. And then, just as you take your ease on the bench dedicated to PLOB (Ancient Devonish for F**k me, that was steep') you look behind you to see ninety steps, carved into the hillside. At this point, I should mention that I had already taken my asthma inhaler four times, drunk half a bottle of water and possibly wept a little. The steps are apparently used in some testosterone competition, which are very popular with men of a certain age just now. I wasn't to be beaten though, and forced my legs to do their job and get me to the top.
Once there, it was downhill all the way. The sun was shining, the breeze was warm, and all was well in my world. I was wearing my FitBit, and gave Miss R regular updates as to how many calories we'd burned off. Getting to the café on Beer beach (Ducky's - fantastic place) we both ordered sausage sandwiches with a carrot cake chaser, calculating that we still had calories to spare after the mammoth walk. We used these up with rather lovely cornets.
We had taken the dogs with us, and the husband, ever keen to show how responsive they are to his call let the dogs off to run free. This was fine until other dogs appeared over the horizon. Reg seems to have started a new habit of punching new friends on the nose, and expecting them to want to play with him. This ended as you would expect, with the husband running down the steep hill home after the dogs. If he had been entered into that Cheese Rolling competition, I think he would have done rather well.
Back to the sheds, and it was time for more pints of cider as a reward for getting back in one piece. It was at this point that the mother and her beau, Step Daddy Dick, turned up. They were swapping with Miss R and living in the shed for the second part of our week. Miss R showed them round the shed, and the mother was quite taken with it. She headed back to the car to get her luggage, and reappeared at Miss R's shed about twenty minutes later, looking very red-faced. It would appear that the mother and her beau had walked into what they thought was Miss R's shed, and started unpacking, only to be surprised by a couple in bed (clothed thank goodness). The gentleman very politely asked them if he could help in any way, at which point the mother, realising what had happened, reversed slowly out of the shed next door muttering how sorry she was. Many, many times.
Our day ended sitting on the beach eating fresh fish which the husband barbecued, washed down with cold beers. As it got colder, Miss R left to go home, and the rest of us decided to call it a day. I was quite relieved that we weren't heading off to the pub again. Mainly because I seemed to have lost two kneecaps, one hip, three toes and my sanity on the morning's cliff walk.
Oh, and Poldark was on...
Once there, it was downhill all the way. The sun was shining, the breeze was warm, and all was well in my world. I was wearing my FitBit, and gave Miss R regular updates as to how many calories we'd burned off. Getting to the café on Beer beach (Ducky's - fantastic place) we both ordered sausage sandwiches with a carrot cake chaser, calculating that we still had calories to spare after the mammoth walk. We used these up with rather lovely cornets.
We had taken the dogs with us, and the husband, ever keen to show how responsive they are to his call let the dogs off to run free. This was fine until other dogs appeared over the horizon. Reg seems to have started a new habit of punching new friends on the nose, and expecting them to want to play with him. This ended as you would expect, with the husband running down the steep hill home after the dogs. If he had been entered into that Cheese Rolling competition, I think he would have done rather well.
Back to the sheds, and it was time for more pints of cider as a reward for getting back in one piece. It was at this point that the mother and her beau, Step Daddy Dick, turned up. They were swapping with Miss R and living in the shed for the second part of our week. Miss R showed them round the shed, and the mother was quite taken with it. She headed back to the car to get her luggage, and reappeared at Miss R's shed about twenty minutes later, looking very red-faced. It would appear that the mother and her beau had walked into what they thought was Miss R's shed, and started unpacking, only to be surprised by a couple in bed (clothed thank goodness). The gentleman very politely asked them if he could help in any way, at which point the mother, realising what had happened, reversed slowly out of the shed next door muttering how sorry she was. Many, many times.
Our day ended sitting on the beach eating fresh fish which the husband barbecued, washed down with cold beers. As it got colder, Miss R left to go home, and the rest of us decided to call it a day. I was quite relieved that we weren't heading off to the pub again. Mainly because I seemed to have lost two kneecaps, one hip, three toes and my sanity on the morning's cliff walk.
Oh, and Poldark was on...
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