Over-indulgence in the forest
We got back yesterday evening from a week of over-indulgence in the Forest of Dean, which was followed by a day falling asleep all over my parents' house and a day struggling to find the energy to dance at a folk festival, after which we decided that we were Too Exhausted Even For Bellowhead (and this is truly exhausted indeed) and came home a day early.
A sample day in Mitcheldean went something like this:
7.30: Get up. Eat toast and honey. This is breakfast.
9.30: An everlasting supply of pancakes starts issuing from the kitchen. This is breakfast.
10.30: Kevin-the-butcher's entire stock of pig is deemed cooked. This is breakfast.
11.30: Go to a castle
12.30: Go to tea room for "tea and a cake." However, not really a fan of cake, except for lemon cake, and lemon cake is either not there/ridiculously expensive/too sugary, so decide to have some savoury instead. Only savoury thing that appeals is enormous panini overflowing with cheese and bacon, so have that.*
1.30: Go for a walk
2.30: Walk is too hot. Refresh self with enormous ice cream
4.30: Get back to house. Realise that dinner is a long way away, so grab packet of crisps. Also, pour pint of cider for relaxing in the garden with.
5.30: Walk through kitchen just as vast quantities of rice crispie squares are being cut up. Grab one.
5.31: 25 people have spontaneously generated around the box of rice crispie squares, and are hoovering them up as if they've not eaten in a week. Only 3 remain. Grab another before they've all gone.
5.45: Feel in need of something savoury to counter the sweet.** Grab large packet of crisps. Everyone else descends on it. It lasts ten minutes.
5.55: Grab second large packet of crisps, rinse and repeat.
6.30: Thirsty from too many crisps. Pour another pint of cider.
7.30: The children have left some of their dinner uneaten! Join crowd of hungry carrion birds who pick over the remains.
8.00: Eat enormous dinner
9.00: Eat enormous pudding, washed down with beer/more cider/diluted wine
9.30: Go to comfortable dark room to watch a film.
11.00: Wake up at end credits.
2.00: Lie awake in bed, far too full and hot to sleep. Resolve to eat less next day.
7.30: Return to top
* I have long ranted about the lack of a savoury equivalent for the cake component of tea and cake - i.e. something cold and snack-like, that keeps the wolf from the door, without being a proper meal. I always end up having to have sandwiches or a panini, when all I want is a quick snack. I know I could have crisps, but they don't feel quite filling enough.
** Am I the only person who would quite like to eat meals backwards? I'm not averse to sweet things in their place, but I don't like having a sweet taste left in my mouth. I always eat starters instead of puddings when eating out, but I would be quite happy with a three course meal that went pudding then main course then starter. I'd never dare ask for it, though. I wonder if they'd oblige me if I tried.
More specifically:
Saturday
Pellinor and I went to Goodrich Castle. A nearby church bell was ringing high and fast and urgent, and did so for about an hour. We decided that the English were invading, until we realised that we were actually still in England, so blamed the Welsh. We watched a while for smoke and screaming, then wandered on to Symonds Yat Rock, where we saw a peregrine through a telescope, but no wild boar, despite all the terrifying warnings. The upshot of the boar-related posters seemed to be: if you see a wild boar, you're DOOOOMED! Abandon your dogs! Abandon your children! Stay very still and you might just live, but, frankly, the chances are slim.
At Symonds Yat, we decided to follow the trail with red arrows. After several miles of extraordinarily twisting path, we concluded that the chap with the red paint had used a d20 to determine the route. "We've been here before," we said suspiciously, at one point, then looked more closely and cried out decisively, "We have been here before!" It even taunted us with a glimpse of the car park at one point, before veering off like an unravelled ball of wool.
There were a lot of large ants on the path, fully equipped with motorway services for all their shopping needs.
There were also weirwoods and strange watchful nature gods:
Sunday:
On Sunday, several of us went to Berkeley Castle, where the local paper promised an English Civil War re-enactment done with medieval knights in Tudor times. Only the medieval people materialised, though, but it was all a bit much for Pellinor, who wandered off shaking his head, muttering about ill-fitting helmets, anachronistic armour and non-existent fighting skills. He perked up in the medieval shopping tents, though, and the horsey re-enactments were rather better. The wild boar burgers were very nice. I wonder how many people died to get them.
I think we might possibly have played a game of Caylus on the Sunday night. 60% of the players had the same name, which made for some confusion when anyone asked "Who's turn is it?"
Monday:
On Monday morning, Pellinor and I took Foradan and Meglorien to a supermarket, where we all proceeded to buy so much that for a few anxious minutes, it looked as if we could bring the shopping back, or them back, but not both. Pellinor and I then headed to Tintern Abbey, but it was Too Hot and Too Humid to really enjoy it, so we had an ice cream instead ("It contains clotted cream," the chap told me very solemnly and seriously when I asked for the blackcurrant and clotted cream flavour, as if he was the bearer of terrible news) and went to Chepstow Castle, which was breezier and cooler and very good indeed, but very dangerous:
Then Pellinor and I cooked dinner. Several hours into this operation, we remembered a rather vital step in this whole cooking lark: switching the oven on. (In our defence, it a was very silly oven, since you had to turn a dial marked up with gas mark numbers, and this made the oven start roaring and all its "I am on!" lights come on. However, to get any actual heat in the oven, you had to turn a second dial marked up in centigrade numbers. Fortunately, the house contained enough microwaves that the jacket potatoes were saved.
Tuesday:
Several of us spent the whole of Tuesday playing Axis and Allies. The Axis won, since the Allies conceded in order to go and eat fish pie.
Wednesday:
Four of us heroically went off to climb mountains. We travelled in two cars, one equipped with a detailed map, and one equipped with a map in which the whole Black Mountains area fitted into the size of a postage stamp. Bethran, armed with the latter map, decided that we were going to meet in a teeny tiny car park half way up a mountain on a road about 4 feet wide, on the side of a mountain that wasn't even marked on his map. The predicatable consequences duly ensued, but the magic of mobile phones allowed us to meet up.
We climbed Sugar Loaf first, which has a proper summit, with views all over the place, where we spread out the map and tried to decide which mountain to climb next:
The lucky winner was the mountain in the background of this picture.
Unfortunately, to get there, we had to descend to the valley floor and up again. Two hours later, we had just about made it down, having fallen foul of a whole variety of hazards, including monstrous bracken, nettles, and "paths" on the map that turned out to be the green line marking the edge of National Trust land. I don't think we actually got lost at all, but several paths were so tiny and overgrown that it was hard to believe that they really were the paths they claimed to be, until we emerged at the end to find the arrows.
We perked up somewhat when we noticed that our path took us through a village with a pub, but sadly it was shut, so we had to content ourselves with sandwiches in the churchyard, before a well-nigh vertical climb up Table Mountain, and then up to the mountain behind it, whose summit was much less summity than Sugar Loaf's. As soon as we reached the summit, rain started falling from a clear sky, for no other purpose than to allow Bethran to say "I told you so" about his decision to bring a waterproof.
The pointy hill on the left of the picture is Sugar Loaf:
We then descended to Crickhowell for a drink, but it was 5.30 by now, and the cars were still 4 or 5 miles away. Our experience with cross-country footpaths made us doubt our ability to get home before midnight if we ventured onto them, so we did a quick stride out along the river and the main road, returning to the cars not long after 7. In total, the walk was a little under 20 miles, with over a kilometre of altitude gained and lost.
Thursday
I hadn't felt very broken after the walk, but Thursday found me totally lacking in energy. We popped down Clearwell Caves, visited Wench Ford and Blackpool Bridge for old times' sake, and trudged wearily around the Dean Heritage Centre.
Skeleton in the caves:
A drider attack:
Friday:
Leaving at 10, Pellinor and I headed to my parents', where we both struggled immensely to stay awake; I'd slept really badly all week, slightly due to the inevitable noise that comes from a shared house, but mostly due to the heat. We did manage a quick trip to Tewkesbury, more to stay awake than anything else, which was looking very pretty with all its Wars of the Roses banners everywhere:
Saturday:
The Oyter Girls were dancing at a festival in Wickham, Hampshire, so we headed down to that, but went home as soon as we could. We'd planned to camp for the night, and watch Bellowhead, but the lure of a good night's sleep was just too strong. We arrived home just in time to see a display by the Red Arrows, who zapped madly over our house and cavorted hither and yon, but eluded my camera.
A sample day in Mitcheldean went something like this:
7.30: Get up. Eat toast and honey. This is breakfast.
9.30: An everlasting supply of pancakes starts issuing from the kitchen. This is breakfast.
10.30: Kevin-the-butcher's entire stock of pig is deemed cooked. This is breakfast.
11.30: Go to a castle
12.30: Go to tea room for "tea and a cake." However, not really a fan of cake, except for lemon cake, and lemon cake is either not there/ridiculously expensive/too sugary, so decide to have some savoury instead. Only savoury thing that appeals is enormous panini overflowing with cheese and bacon, so have that.*
1.30: Go for a walk
2.30: Walk is too hot. Refresh self with enormous ice cream
4.30: Get back to house. Realise that dinner is a long way away, so grab packet of crisps. Also, pour pint of cider for relaxing in the garden with.
5.30: Walk through kitchen just as vast quantities of rice crispie squares are being cut up. Grab one.
5.31: 25 people have spontaneously generated around the box of rice crispie squares, and are hoovering them up as if they've not eaten in a week. Only 3 remain. Grab another before they've all gone.
5.45: Feel in need of something savoury to counter the sweet.** Grab large packet of crisps. Everyone else descends on it. It lasts ten minutes.
5.55: Grab second large packet of crisps, rinse and repeat.
6.30: Thirsty from too many crisps. Pour another pint of cider.
7.30: The children have left some of their dinner uneaten! Join crowd of hungry carrion birds who pick over the remains.
8.00: Eat enormous dinner
9.00: Eat enormous pudding, washed down with beer/more cider/diluted wine
9.30: Go to comfortable dark room to watch a film.
11.00: Wake up at end credits.
2.00: Lie awake in bed, far too full and hot to sleep. Resolve to eat less next day.
7.30: Return to top
* I have long ranted about the lack of a savoury equivalent for the cake component of tea and cake - i.e. something cold and snack-like, that keeps the wolf from the door, without being a proper meal. I always end up having to have sandwiches or a panini, when all I want is a quick snack. I know I could have crisps, but they don't feel quite filling enough.
** Am I the only person who would quite like to eat meals backwards? I'm not averse to sweet things in their place, but I don't like having a sweet taste left in my mouth. I always eat starters instead of puddings when eating out, but I would be quite happy with a three course meal that went pudding then main course then starter. I'd never dare ask for it, though. I wonder if they'd oblige me if I tried.
More specifically:
Saturday
Pellinor and I went to Goodrich Castle. A nearby church bell was ringing high and fast and urgent, and did so for about an hour. We decided that the English were invading, until we realised that we were actually still in England, so blamed the Welsh. We watched a while for smoke and screaming, then wandered on to Symonds Yat Rock, where we saw a peregrine through a telescope, but no wild boar, despite all the terrifying warnings. The upshot of the boar-related posters seemed to be: if you see a wild boar, you're DOOOOMED! Abandon your dogs! Abandon your children! Stay very still and you might just live, but, frankly, the chances are slim.
At Symonds Yat, we decided to follow the trail with red arrows. After several miles of extraordinarily twisting path, we concluded that the chap with the red paint had used a d20 to determine the route. "We've been here before," we said suspiciously, at one point, then looked more closely and cried out decisively, "We have been here before!" It even taunted us with a glimpse of the car park at one point, before veering off like an unravelled ball of wool.
There were a lot of large ants on the path, fully equipped with motorway services for all their shopping needs.
There were also weirwoods and strange watchful nature gods:
Sunday:
On Sunday, several of us went to Berkeley Castle, where the local paper promised an English Civil War re-enactment done with medieval knights in Tudor times. Only the medieval people materialised, though, but it was all a bit much for Pellinor, who wandered off shaking his head, muttering about ill-fitting helmets, anachronistic armour and non-existent fighting skills. He perked up in the medieval shopping tents, though, and the horsey re-enactments were rather better. The wild boar burgers were very nice. I wonder how many people died to get them.
I think we might possibly have played a game of Caylus on the Sunday night. 60% of the players had the same name, which made for some confusion when anyone asked "Who's turn is it?"
Monday:
On Monday morning, Pellinor and I took Foradan and Meglorien to a supermarket, where we all proceeded to buy so much that for a few anxious minutes, it looked as if we could bring the shopping back, or them back, but not both. Pellinor and I then headed to Tintern Abbey, but it was Too Hot and Too Humid to really enjoy it, so we had an ice cream instead ("It contains clotted cream," the chap told me very solemnly and seriously when I asked for the blackcurrant and clotted cream flavour, as if he was the bearer of terrible news) and went to Chepstow Castle, which was breezier and cooler and very good indeed, but very dangerous:
Then Pellinor and I cooked dinner. Several hours into this operation, we remembered a rather vital step in this whole cooking lark: switching the oven on. (In our defence, it a was very silly oven, since you had to turn a dial marked up with gas mark numbers, and this made the oven start roaring and all its "I am on!" lights come on. However, to get any actual heat in the oven, you had to turn a second dial marked up in centigrade numbers. Fortunately, the house contained enough microwaves that the jacket potatoes were saved.
Tuesday:
Several of us spent the whole of Tuesday playing Axis and Allies. The Axis won, since the Allies conceded in order to go and eat fish pie.
Wednesday:
Four of us heroically went off to climb mountains. We travelled in two cars, one equipped with a detailed map, and one equipped with a map in which the whole Black Mountains area fitted into the size of a postage stamp. Bethran, armed with the latter map, decided that we were going to meet in a teeny tiny car park half way up a mountain on a road about 4 feet wide, on the side of a mountain that wasn't even marked on his map. The predicatable consequences duly ensued, but the magic of mobile phones allowed us to meet up.
We climbed Sugar Loaf first, which has a proper summit, with views all over the place, where we spread out the map and tried to decide which mountain to climb next:
The lucky winner was the mountain in the background of this picture.
Unfortunately, to get there, we had to descend to the valley floor and up again. Two hours later, we had just about made it down, having fallen foul of a whole variety of hazards, including monstrous bracken, nettles, and "paths" on the map that turned out to be the green line marking the edge of National Trust land. I don't think we actually got lost at all, but several paths were so tiny and overgrown that it was hard to believe that they really were the paths they claimed to be, until we emerged at the end to find the arrows.
We perked up somewhat when we noticed that our path took us through a village with a pub, but sadly it was shut, so we had to content ourselves with sandwiches in the churchyard, before a well-nigh vertical climb up Table Mountain, and then up to the mountain behind it, whose summit was much less summity than Sugar Loaf's. As soon as we reached the summit, rain started falling from a clear sky, for no other purpose than to allow Bethran to say "I told you so" about his decision to bring a waterproof.
The pointy hill on the left of the picture is Sugar Loaf:
We then descended to Crickhowell for a drink, but it was 5.30 by now, and the cars were still 4 or 5 miles away. Our experience with cross-country footpaths made us doubt our ability to get home before midnight if we ventured onto them, so we did a quick stride out along the river and the main road, returning to the cars not long after 7. In total, the walk was a little under 20 miles, with over a kilometre of altitude gained and lost.
Thursday
I hadn't felt very broken after the walk, but Thursday found me totally lacking in energy. We popped down Clearwell Caves, visited Wench Ford and Blackpool Bridge for old times' sake, and trudged wearily around the Dean Heritage Centre.
Skeleton in the caves:
A drider attack:
Friday:
Leaving at 10, Pellinor and I headed to my parents', where we both struggled immensely to stay awake; I'd slept really badly all week, slightly due to the inevitable noise that comes from a shared house, but mostly due to the heat. We did manage a quick trip to Tewkesbury, more to stay awake than anything else, which was looking very pretty with all its Wars of the Roses banners everywhere:
Saturday:
The Oyter Girls were dancing at a festival in Wickham, Hampshire, so we headed down to that, but went home as soon as we could. We'd planned to camp for the night, and watch Bellowhead, but the lure of a good night's sleep was just too strong. We arrived home just in time to see a display by the Red Arrows, who zapped madly over our house and cavorted hither and yon, but eluded my camera.