Brilliant day! Woke up alive, which is a plus in my book! The tent – you know I love it – kind of snapped in the night. But only on my side of the tent.
Anyway, up and at ’em! It was a glorious day. We were going UP! And that year I’ve got on cousin Stu was bloody marvellous! Oh, I’m pretty sure we were in Glencoe. See? I was feeling better. I even knew where we were, what day it was, and that we just had a couple of days… a couple of freakin’ days… to go.
Here’s that link again for the official West Highland Way website which will tell you everything I haven’t. Which, when you think about it, is a hell of a lot!
I love Glencoe.
Couldn’t tell you why. But there it is. Declaration of love.
Just like I love cousin Stu’s sodding tent!
Anyway, I’m digressing and forcing countless folk to stop reading this blog. But I was in pain. My feet were flayed, I was walking slower than dead people, which is, to be fair (as cousin Stu often said), well… it’s quite slow.
Patience of a saint, that man.
And needing a wee break at the top!
Me? Glad you asked.
I was doin’ just fine at the top!
UP! was good. I could go UP! all bloody day. Even into the night. Just point me UP! and I’ll be there. No problem. I’ll even get a bit of speed UP! on the way UP!
Of course, you’ve guessed it – gravity and all that. What goes UP! must come down.
down is lowercase.
Doesn’t even merit a capital ‘D’.
Down is bad.
And the saint’s patience was put on trial for the umpteenth time on the West Highland Way. But, to be fair, and I’m saying this. Cousin Stu never complained about my speed. Not once.
Did a lot of waiting, though!
But even though my toes – what was left of them – turned to mush in my boots, down (lowercase, no exclamation) was necessary, and I’m pretty sure cousin Stu said there was cider at the bottom of the hill.