East Grinstead - Dunnings Mill

Tuesday 26th March
 Before I start today's missive, we haven't been able to walk for two weeks, due to weather conditions.  Last week the extreme snowy weather had virtually cut off some of our members (oo matron) in the South, and in the North, the bitter, biting wind was enough to bring on severe bouts of earache, jaw ache and face ache.  We stayed home, and watched events unfold on the telly.  Farty and T.B. have been decorating the kitchen, and painted the walls with 'Soft Sunlight'.  Personally, I find shiraz and toblerone can give the same effect...................
So, here we go
 Ice Station Grinstead

 Walkers:  Farty, T.B., Windy and Clat.  No Lil and, erratum horribilis, I made a mistake with the previous blog , cos she wasn't with us at all!!  Today, she was out collecting a car - it's called a Duster, which is ideal, as she loves cleaning.  No 4 Legs either.   So, a cold quartet assembled.

Find of the Walk:  pork scratchings

Distance: 6 miles - ish

Good heavens, this place has changed.  The big sports building has been razed to the ground, and even more new houses are going up beyond.  So much activity, and new horizons to see.  Clat was amazed she arrived on time, as she somehow ended up in Tandridge, but due to a cunning manoeuvre, managed to track down south and find the right route - phew.
Farty was sporting a new pair of tiger-print glasses, which she gave to Windy to examine, should she wish to tread this pair into the mud, too.

It wa sooooo cold - we didn't waste much time in our assemblage and decided to risk the field route to a main road.  How wrong we were - within seconds we encountered quagmire conditions and much slippage.  We don't want any accidents  - like a fibia fall-over, or a tibia tumble, cos it wouldn't be very humerus  - ha ha ha ha ha.  We made it safely, and decided to road-walk to East Grinstead Station,the home of the recently restored section of the Bluebell Railway to East Grinstead, which now links on to the main rail track to London and beyond.  It has taken a lot of voluntary work, and £11m to get this done, so we had to see it.
A converted railway carriage is where we stopped to have a coffee, whilst waiting for the chuffer to arrive.  T.B. mentioned his brother had bought a model railway set - 'Hornby?' we asked.  'Not at the moment' , was the reply - time to go train spotting then.  Soon, we heard the toot toot and saw the smoking chimney of the loco, as it pulled its lovely old wooden carriages into the brand new
station.  Anoraks galore as they clustered round this marvellous sight, and we spotted a man with a weird head - bald, domed and bumpy, as if he had been a forceps delivery, and the bones hadn't gone back again.

We were cold - we got moving - up and over the bridge, noting a big clump of primroses, bravely facing the elements and telling us Spring is here - er no, it isn't.
  This path then led us onto the Sussex Border Path, which was a godsend as no mud was encountered, although there was  plenty of it, plus waterlogged fields either side.  We found a tree, then a bridge, covered in icicles, absolutely frozen.  Farty gave us an acting masterclass, snapping one off, and re-living the shower scene from Psycho - Anthony Perkins eat your heart out, I say.
We walked as far as Gullege - a rather dark and forbidding, Jane Eyre-type house, looking derelict and sinister - we decided to investigate.  We discovered it was inhabited and swiftly moved on, right into the easterly wind.  Heads down and hatches battoned, we made our way back towards civilisation, and much track and road walking, before finally arriving at the car park.  No time was wasted getting into the pub, and the barmaid remarked on our rush towards the table near the open fire, where we sat and thawed out.  Good food and good service followed, and although slightly dearer than our usual fare, it was worth it today.
No walk next week, due to most of us being otherwise occupied, but the week after we shall do something, although Farty and T.B. will be doing something else, cos Uncle is due in town and it will be time to get the martini glasses dusted off and ready for plenty of action.

In the meantime, we wish you all a warm and happy Easter - and no hot cross bunnies  xxxxx

Icicles

Godstone - The White Hart

Tuesday  5th March

The Hairy Hikers

Walkers:  Farty, T.B., Windy, 2 Legs, Lil and Clat.  Chris is appointmenting, and Mrs P is visiting her father-in-law.

Find of the Walk:   The Car of The Year Entrant

Distance:  8.1 miles !!

Oh what a beautiful morning, oh what a beautiful day, as the song goes - and something was certainly going to go our way.  This must be the best weather-day of the year - we met, accompanied by the sounds of tweeting  birds, and the crackle of gaiters being strapped on, and we were on our way.

We headed northwards, over fields and the roaring M25, and very upwards, through woods to attempt the summit.  On the way, some smuttiness occurred after finding a loose footpath sign, and more, at the top, when Farty found The Mound, and did some very decorative, and inventive posing and straddling, from all angles.  We entered the village of Chaldon, circa 1086 a.d., and found a hostelry called The Harrow which had coffee written all over it.  The bar staff kindly served us 'early' and that's when the hairiness started.  We had all got a bit hot, or, slightly warm in Clat's case, and various garments had to come off.  Before we knew it, T.B. removed all of his upper clobber, and revealed a white and hairy torso - all dark hairs too - quite a revelation to some of us.  This rippling example of manhood then re-arranged himself, and we all calmed down.  Time to move off...

 The views from the top were rather good, and we walked further over, and through some very naice posh houses, giving each one a mark out of ten on the way.  We arrived at Queen's Park - not the Harry Redknapp kind, and not one for the gays either - but very pleasant.  Some more naiceness followed, and we started for downhill.  Halfway down, T.B. slithered and fell - cushioned, conveniently, by Farty.  He damaged his hand and little finger, which hardened and swelled a bit, so from then on he became known as Mr Stiffy.   Clat was anxious to use the ice packs bought after her fall last year, and once she realised how to use them, the swollen pinky was wrapped in a blanket of icy fabric.

We arrived at the bottom of a hill, and Caterham School, which is also very naice - they play hockey here, don't you know.  The path then went upwards again - a sheer 1:1 we reckon as it was soooo steep.  Windy had to have a rest even before she started, and we puffed, panted, stopped and started (and something to rhyme with that), as we made our way to yet another summit.  Water was administered at the top, and inevitably, we had to go down again.On the map, it looked like a man's appendage, so we reached the tip, and turned left, coming out to a viewpoint - marvellous, but spoilt by a couple of idiot boys sitting in a car, blasting all and sundry with their music(?)  I guess you could now call this place Berk's Peerage  - hahahahahahahah

Time to go again, and we carried on doing more down-hilling towards Godstone, over the motorway - we even got the horn from a lorry driver.  Eventually we were back at base, and we wandered into the eaterie and had an excellent meal, even though it was just us in there.  The food was freshly cooked, and on offer were the bottomless chips - as many as you care to eat.  Windy as always, was served an enormous skewered chicken, and the prices were very acceptable.

So, next week, we have already decided to try Leigh again.  We shall eat in the restaurant, rather than the bar, which has gone a bit sterile, and this will only change if we have torrential rain between now and then.  See you then, then.