A Boat Called Yoghurt

"Go for a walk,  they said. "It will be fun!" they said...
"It is forecast to rain," I said.
"Take a coat," they said.
"My boots leak, and I hate having wet feet!" I said.
"Buy some new boots!" they said.
"I haven't got time. I don't want to rush in and feel I HAVE to buy boots NOW. I want to get a pair that are just right.."
"Just stick your foot in a plastic bag" they said, "and put your boot over it" they said.
"Yuk, my foot would get all sweaty!  What a gross idea" I said.
"Take your camera.." said someone.
"I think it would be a really good idea to go for a walk." I said.

We put on our boots, and waterproofs and got in the car.
Fifteen minutes to get to the car park.
Perfect.

DH has a letter to post.
We stop by the post office.
There is a queue...

Ten minutes to get to the car park...we should just about make it.  We did. We took one of the last available spaces in the car park.  There seemed to be about seventy people, and about a dozen dogs, gathered to do the walk. There could be more. There could be less. They milled around so much that only the person who ticked the names off on the clipboard would have known.

"See you later!" said the KHT
"We are coming with you!" we replied.
"What!" responded the outraged KHT, apparently oblivious to our waterproofs and boots. In fairness last year, we were double booked and dropped her off and picked her up afterwards, but you would have thought she would have clocked the gear...




We set off, down the hill and along the canal.









A boat called 'Yoghurt' passed by... Is it just me, or is that a really strange name for a boat?

By the time we reach the second lock keepers cottage we are s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d out by several hundred yards. Smaller persons have been installed in baby carrier rucksack thingies.  Walky-talky communications devices maintained contact between the head of the procession and the tail and several points in between. We waited for the stragglers to catch up, before heading away from the canal to our first stile. Young agile people can shimmy over such an obstacle in a second or so, less agile types take a little longer. Multiply the average time taken to negotiate by seventy, and that is a lot of time standing around. The plan is checked
"There are sixteen stiles on this walk," someone cried out, joyfully.  We prayed for gates. We prayed sincerely for gates. We scrambled up a muddy bank, grateful that we are at the front. It is only going to get slippier and slidier. In the distance, we spot the radio masts at Wychbold, indications of civilisation in a strange land. Deep in a sheltered ditch, the remnants of last weeks snow lurks.

We passed close to a farm. The cows keep a close, but stern eye on this strange herd of mainly two-legged trespassers. Unfortunately, we are downwind. Nearby a tanker waited to take away their offering. We headed off across a field, following the footpath. At the bottom of the field, there is a stream too wide to jump across. Many of us retreated back to the lane, and enter the next field via a different gate. The foolhardy, those wearing wellies or with world records at long jump, traversed the stream. Finally, we walked around half of the perimeter of a large field of cabbages, only to discover there was a shortcut across the middle. Repeat after me, 'Steps are good. Steps ARE good" A footpath took us back to the car park, without a palm branch being waved...

On the way home we needed to go to the supermarket, however, the KHT and I had failed to take shoes to change into, and our mud-caked walking boots are safely stowed in the boot. We waited outside whilst DH buys bread for lunch.

After lunch, I washed the trousers and socks from this morning's expedition and start to wrap the lucky dip parcels for the local Easter Fun Day on Good Friday.

From plod to plod, but not always across the sod.