Walking… one of the things that we have, as cool and scientific humans, eradicated. Why walk when we can drive, ski, and grab onto the legs of genetically supersized eagles?
One of the internet’s foremost authorities on walking is Wendy Bumgardner, and that’s the fearsome truth, sister. Go on, google it. With Wendy Bumgardner at the helm, I had to get me a piece of the hot walking action. So do you know what we did? We took our asses to Haslemere, damn! I’m talking South of Gibbet Hill!
I slept on the drive to Haslemere, stirring from my hangover only to shout “fucking hell”, and “stop turning left so much”.
The first thing that happened when we arrived was a hailstorm. So we sat in the car for a while, figuring that the car would be getting hailed on in any event, and there was no point us getting out. I mean, us getting hailed on wouldn’t help the car, and it was warm, too. So we listened to music for a bit. And almost – for a beautiful minute – forgot the reason we were there.
But the hail ended, like all dreams must.
PURE NATURE. Note in particular the book that dictated our every footstep, which is made from the trees that are nowhere to be seen in the background.
Following the directions of the Time Out Guide To Fucking Walks let us know, immediately, what hopeless city boys we were. One of the directions told us that we would need to “turn right by a prominent beech tree, then walk in the direction we were previously walking”.
So, what the fuck does a beech tree look like? Trees are just trunks and branches. Rob suggested that beeches were probably a bit more golden than other trees, which – in the absence of any golden fucking trees – helped us about fuck all much.
Plus, what’s walking in the direction we were previously walking? How FAR previously? Does that mean go the same way, or double back on yourself? Walk INTO the direction we were previously walking? Does it mean that? In a compromise manoeuvre, we walked around in a circle, to see if any of us had an arboreal epiphany and thought – “oh yeah, that’s a beech, I knew that, I just forgot thanks to all the USEFUL information I’ve been picking up throughout my life”.
These are the guys I went with, by the way. From the left, Dan, Rob and Darren. What the fuck they’re all smiling about is beyond me. Perhaps they were on a different walk.
I have, however, discovered how camp I can actually be. I’ve always known I’ve had a touch of the theatrical in me, but when I’m running down a muddy 1 in 1 incline (and I swear to you that I am not exaggerating when I say that this slope did a fucking LOOP THE LOOP) then I am a screaming, gay-ended faggot. This is the sound I made;
“Oooooh omigod jesus christ fucking hell ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah wooooooooooo FUCK STOP STOP NOW PLEASE SHIT FUCK GODDAMN PISS CUNT oh shitshit wheeeee”
Plus, trees kept hitting me in the face, and that’s not cool, no matter how many supermodels it happens to. Oh, here’s a picture of some nature. Awesome, huh?
Half-way around the walk, the book scheduled a break in a pub. Yeah. That happened. The book said “cross the road, walk 400 metres up a hill”. And I was trying to do that. Like the book said. But my friends thought that the book was somehow mistaken, so we decided to walk along the A287 for a mile in the wrong direction. Then walk back. Then walk past the hill again – the hill we were supposed to be walking up, and the hill that those other thirsty-looking walkers had just gone up – and instead of going up that hill, we walked down the A287 in the other direction. They should have called this book…
“Time Out’s Guide To Walking Along Major Roads With No Adequate Footpaths Or Even Any Horses To Entice To The Fence By Pretending You Have A Sugar Lump In Your Hand, Because The Only English Words Horses Understand Are Horsey And Sugar Lump”
We eventually hit Haslemere, and went to a Wetherspoons. I won Â£10 on a fruit machine, which made me do a little victory dance, and buy some celebratory flapjack. Perhaps, I thought, today was going to go my way after all!
On the way back, I played Bunyip and the irritating noise game with Dan. This was the most fun I’ve ever had, even though Dan won the irritating noise game by holding a gurgle for about three minutes.
WALKING IN THE COUNTRYSIDE IS THE BEST. I GIVE IT NINE OUT OF TEN.
This is me. In the hail. Hail doesn’t really show up in the photo, so you’re probably thinking I’m being a big puff, but it was there. And each hailstone was bigger than a church. (You can see some of it on my shoulder, though. It only looks normal because I’m so huge.)
This was taken from a previous blog that I forgot about in 2004 sometime.
2 thoughts on “Walking In The Countryside Is The Fun”
when standing still with a fellow male, or when sat down, i find banter very easy. Then, suddenly if we’re ‘walking’, it becomes stilted and awkward.
this i cannot explain.
“walking doth murder talking”.
I have been reading this blog for a couple of months now, because it makes me chuckle, and thus happiness enters my life for a few seconds. Thus you have pleasured me. But this was done through the anonymity of the interweb. I never imagined I would see a picture of you. Now I have an image of you in my head, and the words are being spoken through the beard-surrounded mouth of that sullen face in a hood. I somehow feel I’ve seen you naked.
Does this mean we have to marry?