The summit party comprised two beardy gits, one dapper gentleman and a dominatrix. The dapper gentleman was carrying full Challenge kit. The lazy beardy bastards were carrying their packed lunches. Miss Whiplash was carrying the full regalia; whips, barbed wit and sarcasm. One way or another we were definitely getting to the top.
And summit, we did. Twice.
And yet, there were no pens or ghents on Pen-y-Ghent. This time there were no circus elephants or parakeets either. At noon, the little shelter was full to bursting with Three-Peakers and a pack of chocolate labs, Irish Wolfhounds, Jack Russells and men with ferrets down their trousers muttering; 'grim-up-north,' her-in-doors thrashing himself to within inches of his life' and 'what's a bloody trig point doing up here?'
It was getting crowded and after defending our lunches from the ravening hordes, we staggered on over rough moorland, peaty bogs and the last snow patches to our next objective. It was hard fought, with lowering dark clouds scudding between us and cold winds nipping our naughty bits.
I was attired in my newly acquired 'stealth' jacket from Paramo's latest Paris catwalk, to enable the stalking of mountain wildlife. Indeed, so good are its stealth qualities, to blend and be at one with nature, that I came across a pair of Morse Code birds (Golden Plovers) on the top of Plover Hill.
So, are we likely to find hell on Helvellyn or a whorl of wherns on Whernside? Or perhaps bells on Ill Bell.
At the end of our battle with the Great Outdoors, we didn't find any golden lions but we did stumble across a very nice pint of Black Sheep.
The stealth qualities of that jacket are bloody good. I assume that's you sitting between the lady and the old geezer with the beard?
ReplyDeleteMs W looks so happy, is she upset that Phil is stuffing his face (again lol)?
ReplyDeleteHave you captured conflict between Mistress and subject?
That looks like the bus stop outside the golden lion you are all sat in. Are you absolutely sure you got to the top?
ReplyDeleteI fear Lord E will get it in the neck when Miss W gets him home.
ReplyDeleteThe Pieman on the other hand looks well contented as he appears to be enjoying yet another non-pie pie.
The photographer is well out of it - taking cover behind his camera.
Word: flowerin. Well spring IS upon us.
JJ
I had just caught Lord E indulging in an illicit substance - namely CAKE! Not just any cake, but Lindsey's ultra yummy home made cake (with extra calories).
ReplyDeleteThis will not do. It's lettuce and cucumber salads for him this week.
Miss W.
(word = 'crain'. That's what Lord E will need to get him out of his chair at this rate)
...just got my eyesight back after the reflections from the new jacket caused by a sudden outburst of unseasonal sunshine.
ReplyDeleteThe lunch was a co-op chicken salad sandwhich and a banana. I failed to eat my Boost bar.
Plover Hill really is beloved of plovers, amazingly. We pitched there once and they were beeping all around.
ReplyDeleteBlack Sheep bitter...eee dear, on a training diet!.
Des: Yes. that's me. Good, innit?
ReplyDeleteDarren: So much conflict, indeed! that's extra fattening cake, that!
Alan: Shame on you for doubting our stout endeavours! I'll have you know I had a very cold bottom sitting on that cold stone seat with the clouds whistling over our heads.
JJ: The Pieman has forsaken pies. He's more a "Mange-Tout Mike" these days.
Miss W: Whip the blighter back into shape!
Mange-Tout Mike: You won't get curly hair if you don't eat your Boost Bars.
Geoff: All aspects for the Challenge must be trained for. Beer is part of my calorie controlled training regime.
This is deeply unpleasant. The Style Police are on yr case as we speak. Teaming a Lowe Alpine Cap with generic gaiters may be amusing in Cambridgeshire but frankly, darling, you can do better. Any more of this and we may have to roust Connie from her lurve-pit.
ReplyDeleteWord = undsess
Humph: Black is SO last year. But! The Lowe Alpine Cap is a generation II cap - not the modern counterfeit. And Lord E's Gaiters are Mr Carrington's finest with no expense spared. Forgive His Lordship's foolish ways as an Aristocratic Foible.
ReplyDelete