Ok, Own Up, Who Is Sick of hearing About the TGO Chally?

I must admit – having not even been rejected for this year’s TGO Challenge, (I didn't actually apply ( but they would have given me a place, surely…?) I am just a bit fed up of reading blogs about people just about to set off and their route plans, boozing plans,  exhaustive and exhausting fucking kit lists complete with weights and so on and so forth blah blah..


And I expect there’ll currently be a coterie of serious-looking young men with ultra-light packs and wrap-around dark specs currently camping in some damp midge infested bog or up some seriously windy bealach trying to think up excuses why they didn’t quite make it to Montrose (knee injuries, death and funeral of mother-in-law’s “special” uncle, failure of ultra-light stove, forgot to bring any food… and so on…)

And then there’ll be the old hands, currently snoozing cosy in their bags waiting for a visit from Mr Bladder, having just sipped just a little bit more than their nightly ration of Fine Malt and full of the sirloin steak and peas they had for their tea and unbothered by the sizzle of drizzle on their tent flaps during which they decide on a the wisdom of a late start in the morning (probably around lunchtime providing its not raining)

Oh no, I’m glad I’m out of it.


No really.
But I’m collecting stuff together and packing for an episode of TGO-related activities involving the erection of a tent and basha in Glan Mazeran for the provision of solace and caffeine to slightly-fragged individuals having just crossed the first bit of the Monadhliath Mountains. I will carry 10 litres of Black Paw Bishop’s Best Bitter for their consolation and hope to raise a few bob for Mind.
In the meantime, I’ll be worrying about Bruno’s health. he had his check up a couple of days ago. His attack of diarrhoea which started on Druridge Bay beach, just got worse but he got medication for this which seems to have worked, which seems at least to exclude one thing . And whilst his lumps are only a bit more obvious than before , his passenger-side front leg stopped working  briefly but almost completely the other night and he couldn’t get up the stairs, but it seems OK just now. We’re doing daily 2-3 mile walks after which he seems to be briefly knackered. I think his days of big hills and leaping fences (in one mighty bound) are ended. His fate now seems to lie in his ability to to poo nicely and in lumps of a certain colour and consistency,  to retain a voracious appetite, to keep the ears and tail erect and be interested and playful. I’m going to be away for two weeks and I’m going to be worrying that one or more of these rules are going to be broken. He’s still happy and enthusiastic but there’s a creeping number of negative symptoms.
We have to accept death, I suppose. Its a natural process and we hope to manage it as well as we can, but its difficult if we’re not actually there to do it. I’m a bit torn about going at all. I can always come home a bit early, I suppose but I feel I should be on poo watch and boiling the chicken (don’t ask…).  I’ll only be six hours drive away at the most, though…. 
Had we nae’r lov’d sae kindly…