There is a new regime in force at Mission Control: Up early for a bike ride or a walk or run around the Hemingford Round. I would not necessarily describe it as ghastly but at the moment let's just call it "interesting".
This regime change has been on the cards for a little while now and so Preparations Had To Be Made.
You just can't slip on any old pair of running shoes and jogging bottoms and get out there and break world records and so a Thorough Training Programme needed to be set out. It started off with a trip to the Pyrenees.
Now, the Pyrenees are a range of big scary hills to the south of Great Britain in a little place called Europe - but to nail it down a bit tighter, they are sort of squeezed between France and Spain. Those two places jostled each other a bit and the hills were formed just to keep each other out of their respective countries. And it sort of works: Just wander over the border and they all speak totally differently. You would have thought that with the advent of the Euro they would all speak the Queen's English by now. But No. They chat away quite happily in their native tongues scarcely a few miles apart, either side of the border.
So - the Pyrenees are obviously working just as they should be.
So, being totally fluent in my own native tongue I thought we should introduce these natives, albeit fluent in the Euro, to Mother Nature's Natural Tongue: Estuary English.
The Expeditionary Force was carefully selected and comprised "Jungle" Worrall as Leader of the Assault and manfully supported by "Binder" Sloman. Jungle had been high before and it was felt could go higher still. She was fluent in the peculiar tongue of the natives to the north of the border. It was of little concern that at the time of selection she was having problems with finding North. Binder was a willing companion but had not been as high as Jungle. It was felt however that his experience of length might stand him in good stead.
The team set out at the back end of June, as Missionaries do, with an unconquerable zeal to convert the Border tribes.
Er, does this mean we're all going to have to get horribly fit for Peebles > Moffat v2.0?
ReplyDeleteJJ
It can go, and will go. Though squat and intransigent they immensely strong. Where is the elusive Camp 1? Send 1m escudos c/o The British Resident, Tierra del Fuego . . .
ReplyDeleteWord = ParDit
It does strike me that you could map out quite a good culinary tour of the High Pyrenees. Start in Cauterets and cross over the Col des Mulets and descend to Torla. A lovely town with a stunning restaurant. Nothing too fancy though it is proper. They do wonderful pigs feet (and all manner of other piggy things ....)
ReplyDeleteJJ: Yes. Or I will have died a horrible death of over-exertion by then. Or Both. Perhaps.
ReplyDeleteHumph (or should I say, "Burley"): Word = "unsins"
Andy: I once had a wonderful lunch at Torla. So wonderful I cannot remember a blind thing about the menu...