This is a personal blog mainly to do with hillwalking things but with other stuff as well.....maybe the odd rant..
Sunday, 30 May 2010
Meanwhile (Tall TGO Tale)
Meanwhile in the kitchen of the bungalow at the Mains of Inversquirty, Mrs Primula Brown was watching a chocolate digestive slowly disintegrate in her mid morning cup of hot, sweet tea and pondered over the fact that had her dear old mother not had an early pregnancy craving for cheese triangles she could have had a completely different christian name. This, though was of no note compared with the drama being played out on the road at the front where a tall and well-tanned and substantial figure of a man exactly of the kind our Prim had been having fantasies about only the other night had been click-clacking his way towards the pebbly beach at Scurvy Zawn and being completely incapable of getting a song about his old man being a council refuse collector out of his head had not noticed the treacherously intent approach of the Mains of Inversquirty’s Main farm sheepdogs sneaking up towards his juicy sweat-glistening calf muscles. Why a farm specialising in the growing of peas and oil seed rape should have two sheepdogs and not a sheep for many miles is a question which could only be accurately answered by the Farm Manager who had a soft spot for yer canines. The lack of anything much to round up (apart from two long-suffering cats and an old goose) lead to Rover and Charmer being a bit wayward with the boredom of it all. A shiny, unsuspecting leg was, in fact, just the thing to cheer our doggy pals up no end, as it happens. And so, as Primula’s biscuit finally fell to bits and floated around in the cooling beverage, the opportunity to tend to the several neat holes in our hero’s legs was completely missed. This was such a great pity in many ways. Primula did, however , get the opportunity to sooth the perforated pooches hind quarters with various antiseptic unguents. This does demonstrate just how quick even a tired TGO challenger can be with the sharp end of a walking pole. The moral of the story is that a retreat should be just as well planned, and quickly executed as a sneak attack. The other moral is to keep a close eye on your biscuit and the road at the front. The next opportunity will likely be next May. It wont be me, though as I’m intent on a year off.
I am a retired NHS Personnel person. All I do nowadays is walk about.
I used to have my pet dog Bruno with me (in the front page pic). he was Superdawg but he died. Now I have Lucky the pup. He's a bit like Bruno, only smaller and more suspicious.