Southwater - Bax Castle

Southwater - Bax Castle

Tuesday 10th December

In which we make a spectacle of ourselves.  No change there then!

Walkers: Eight legs, Farty, TB, and me.  Clat joined us for lunch.  She's trying to find a new pair of walking boots with no success.  Dan the boot man makes her sound like she's got half her leg turned up, describing her feet as long, thin, and flat.  Cheek!

Find of the walk: reading glasses

The day started badly as I'd stopped at the bakery to buy our favourite flapjacks only to be told that they were too hot to cut up.  "What!", I shrieked, "What a disaster, are you sure, my friends will be distraught, can you please check again?"  The assistant looked nervous at this slight overreaction, but confirmed this was the case.  On arriving at the pub I relayed this news.  Couldn't you have brought the whole tray, Chris asked.  That girl's got an answer for everything.  She was suffering today having been bitten on the heel by a bug while in the garden.  She was worried it might have been caused by a lethal spider, and kept checking her leg for signs of rising inflammation, or damp.  Luckily she made it through the night but I'm not sure wearing flip flops in this weather was a good idea!

the bar at The Bax

This pub is a bit off the beaten track and some of us had gone wrong and overshot the Cock (pub). We've all done it.  We got underway and soon found our find of the walk, a pair of reading glasses which some of us tried out.  I peered through them at Farty's map and seemed to be reading something about Roy Castle until I realised I was looking at her notes about the pub.  They were a bit on the weak side.

We were soon plunged into mud, the claggy stuff.  You could throw a pot, said Farty, but we weren't that angry.  Yet.  We passed a farm and the mud turned to cow slurry.  This walk is shitty, I said to Farty.  She looked offended.  I only meant underfoot.  A lot of the pathways had been churned up by horses, and we decided that they really shouldn't be allowed on bridleways.  At this point we'd gone off track a bit and TB's compass was playing up, probably due to our magnetic personalities, but Farty got it sorted and we were on our way again.  The next obstacle was a field containing a horse wearing a balaclava. (Honestly).  This sort of thing is always a worry for Sue and Chris.  Who could forget the Dorset stampede?  We scuttled through and threw ourselves over the stile at the other side of the field.  The horse looked at us disdainfully.  We reached a crossroad where bizarrely a Bill and Ben scenario had been arranged.  As you do.  There was no sign of Little

Weed,  but I seem to remember she spent a lot of time in the potting shed with the gardener.

We were musing about the great and the good who were attending Nelson Mandela's funeral.  All are there except the Queen.  Apparently she's gone on to shorthaul, and Charle's is doing longhaul, but not back to backs.  We're full of admiration at how the Queen places a wreath at the cenotaph and walks backwards down the steps.  If it was our mothers there'd be carnage.  They can't even walk forwards, and the wreath would fly through the air ending up round Philip's neck.  Lots of signs today warning that no dumping was allowed, so we resisted the urge.

Nearly there now, and we found ourselves on a disused rail track, which was a relief after all the mud.  We got back to the pub and quickly peeled off muddy boots and gaiters and legged it into the pub to be greeted by signs saying "Deadline for complaints was yesterday" and "No specials due Xmas", but a very nice young man gave us a warm welcome - cue kittenish behaviour by some of us (TB), and we were soon ensconced at a table.  No sooner had we got settled than Sue and Chris announced that they were slowly cooking due to warm air vents under their banquette.  Nothing worse.  Sue had to move.  After much huffing and puffing two charming gentlemen at the next table kindly offered to move so we could sit together and avoid the vents.  We thanked them and said we'd tried this ploy before, and it worked every time.

Minnie had her glam/military look in her combat jacket, but Sue changed her for lunch into a festive number, and back to combat later on.  Minnie had a bit of a growl at this.  You could almost hear her thinking "I may look like Naomi Campbell, but I'm not a piece of meat you know"  Sue said she'd got a bit grumpy as she'd got older, and so had Minnie.  We're all sweetness and light of course, especially at this time of year in Tesco.  A man entered the pub with two gorgeous black labradors.  They were beautifully behaved and obeyed the owner's every command - gestures only.  This was all too much for Minnie, they were showing off, making her feel quite queasy.  She'd already had a nauseous moment earlier, fortunately before the food arrived.  Speaking of which, the food was great.  Fish pie, steak pie, channel cod......a rather off-putting description, making you think of pollution and shipping lanes, but it was delicious.

Time for TB to regale us with snippets from the health pages of the Daily Mail informing us of the many diseases we may contract.  One story concerned someone with a permanently runny nose.  "Nasal drip", said Farty.  Don't take that tone with me!  Apparently it's due to a permanently damp vestibule......some of us have that problem, and it's not necessarily in the nasal area.

 

Just time to admire Farty's new Peruvian-style hat, which goes beautifully with her middle-east style scarf. Very multi-cultural. You can tell she's from Carshalton. 

See you next week for probably the last walk of the year.  Where did that year go?

TTFN, love Wendxx