Home time


This morning I returned the maps to the library, hung out the last load of washed walking gear and slumped into the glooms of sedentary city dwelling. Generally holidays segue fairly smoothly back into everyday life, but not this time. Boooo. I keep returning to the highlights: the sneaky swim in Figheldean, the over-sharing B & B guest with a torrent of anecdotes about her cat that were so boring I began to suspect a set-up, the apple trees dropping lunch onto grassy verges, and the ever-renewed sense of triumph when a footpath appeared where the map said it would. Naturally, the morning after the finishing line the weather turned glorious; for four out of five days of the walk itself the light wavered between milky, murky and mizzly. Walking into the sun would have been a bore, and yet, and yet. I just love that bright autumn sunlight.
Oh, and a postscript. I was describing my walk to a cousin who is a couple of years older. He sounded unusually engaged in the conversation – turns out he likes walking too, though he ‘doesn’t like a roof over his head’, preferring to sleep under the stars and start each day at sunrise. He’s always made me feel small. 10 out of 10, again.


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