Things that go bump in the night

One of the drawbacks of walking a long distance path is it's a new hotel each night. 

You don't get to know the place before you move on again. In particular, you don't get a feel for where the little glass shelf in the en suite is.

So when at 4am I went to the bathroom for some water and thought I was putting my glass down safely, I wasn't.  It crashed to the tiles. 

'Crap.'

I began the painstaking process of picking up fragments. Awake now, Nigel decided to join in the fun and when we had collected all visible shards, he used the bathmat to wipe the area.

Since there were then tiny crumbs of glass in the mat, he opened the window and shook it. A gust took it. 

He dressed to go downstairs and pick the mat off the pavement. But when he got there, no mat. He looked up to see it draped inelegantly over one corner of the hotel's imposing portico, out of reach. 

Yet another corner of Britain where we have left our mark.

Pembrokeshire Coast Path with knees!

In 2022 we walked Hadrian's Wall. Beforehand I was apprehensive - my various arthritic joints wouldn't hold up. But despite ominous twinges, they did. Same story with the South Downs Way last year. 

So when Nigel planned a large section of the North Pembrokeshire coast path, I grumbled again - the Cassandra of the achey knees.

However, he'd soon booked it, all planned in meticulous detail. We were going, and my knees were coming with us. 

Unfortunately, the first day was going to be the hardest with what the guidebook said would be 14 miles of distance, but turned out more like 16. And moreover was 1240 metres of ascent, and then the same of descent - almost as much as Ben Nevis. 

It was the descent which really did it, and despite knee straps and walking poles and Nigel carrying the day sack, I was limping badly for the last four miles. 

However, once I recover, I'll try again!

Oh dear, we shall just have to be tourists for a couple of days. In scenic Pembrokeshire. What a burden.

When a hobby comes to find you

 

I’ve always had plenty of greenery in my house, but I would never have called pot plants a hobby.  They are just part of the household, and we get along fine together.  A bit like Nigel.

However, recently Perran left to live in Brussels.  Pot plants very much had been his hobby, but rules forbade the import of his green friends to Belgium. I volunteered to caretake some of his large collection until the day he returns.

His plants are different to mine.  I am ignorant of the names of most of mine as they are propagated from bits friends gave me, or kind donations from the odd stately-home conservatory (‘I tell you, that bit was just lying on the floor!’).

Perran’s darlings however have Latin names and very specific care regimes on their pots.  Also, because he had been preparing to move abroad, they had been somewhat neglected and appeared lacklustre and gloomy.

I took home ten of the fading beauties, and have been repotting and repositioning ever since.  How can a plant demand both bright light, but also not want it ‘direct’?  One plant loves nothing more than wet roots, while another should be kept Sahara-dry.

Generously, Perran has said he does not mind if not all his plants make it.  The only one he really cares about is a crassula (jade plant) which I gave him as a tiny sprout when he first left to live in London.  Through several moves and changes of job, he has nurtured this companion, and like his life, it has grown big and strong.  This is the one he most hopes will be there to greet him when he returns.   I’ll do my best.

Well, I can’t write any more now – I need to get back to my new hobby.