I walked twenty-six miles today. From Beadnell to Lindisfarne - a Brobdingnagian trek to raise money for Alzheimers UK.
My feet are blistered, my lower back feels like it has a knife embedded in it and I am so hungry I could eat a cow.
I am lucky enough to live in this area so the sights were not unknown to me, but it was nice to catch the comments of others who are not locals. Most were positive, but the woman in front of me who complained all the way from St Cuthbert's Cave to Fenwick about the amount of nettles and thorns there were on the paths deserved to fall off a cliff. The fact that the silly cow was wearing Daisy Dukes and wedge trainers didn't factor in to her whiny rants. I overtook her near a particularly boggy bit in Kyloe Woods and laughed my ass off (quietly) as she slipped in it and was covered in bog from her ankles to her hips. Retribution. Her companions carried on slagging off the area as they helped her up. Apparently Alzheimers UK should have put straw down on all the stretches of the twenty-six miles that were slippy. I didn't see her again for the rest of the walk.
At about 9pm I had a glass of whisky and I was ready for bed. All my joints are achy, especially my hips. Husband said, "I suppose a shag's out of the question?" He supposed right.
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