There were a few of us sitting around the staff house one evening chatting. I'm not entirely sure how we got to the point of conversation though where Glen told me that I should try impersonating the last 10 Grand National winners (horses rather than the jockeys). I've been here long enough now that suggestions such as that don't really surprise me at all. Anyway, I knew that he was just taking the piss because I'd out of the blue admitted my sadness at never being able to do a good horse sound impression. He takes the piss out of me quite a bit, actually (mostly for no good reason at all that I can see).
On Wednesday evening I met up with a friend to go for a nighttime trail run. On the way there H was telling me all these stories about Gelt wood - strange things that had happened, etc. I don't really go in for any of that so I paid it no mind, and once H had managed to sort out her hat, jacket, shoes, gloves, socks, strava, and switch a headtorch on, we set off (myself without a care in the world). It wasn't long though before H casually mentioned that she hoped she could remember the way. We had left the roads by this point, and I cautiously asked her if she'd actually done this route before?! But everything was going ok, until H told me, "it's down there." I was in front, and not for one moment doubting her geographical knowledge of the area, I ploughed on ahead. After about thirty metres though, I slowed, turned around, and asked H if this really was the way, if she normally had to fight through massive clumps of ferns and brambles? "No. No. I don't think it can be." We turned back and returned to the point where we had forked right, and went left instead on a glaringly obvious path. H shook her head and said to me, "you were leading, why on earth didn't you go this way in the first place?!" A mile or so further on, and we were now in what felt like the heart of the woods. The gradient increased slightly, and up ahead we could see the back of a man walking in the same direction as us. This in itself was of course of no particular alarm, but the massive saw he was carrying made H and I exchange 'what the f**k' glances. I was extremely gallant, and put myself between the man & H as we ran past (probably almost sprinting by now). I even wished the man a good evening, and asked how it was going. To be fair, he did reply pleasantly, and even hid the saw a little bit probably realising it might have worried us. I reckon he was probably out innocently stealing Christmas trees. That said, I was not particularly keen to experience the encounter again, but H......well. A little further on she insisted on trying to get a photo of me running, but I wasn't actually allowed to run, I had to pose (like the mannequin challenge) mid stride. For one reason or another I was having difficulty living up to her expectations of what this photo should look like, and when I looked around I spotted that the man with the saw had caught us up & was walking up behind her. "H, watch your back!" And so it was that I twice protected her (in a round about way) from potential danger. But was she grateful? No. I just got a load of shit about my inability to pose for the camera! "I can't use these photos on twitter - it looks like you're dancing!" Anyway. We made it safely back.
After a lot of hype, the big day finally arrived - YHA Borrowdale pitch & putt! I'd received an email that morning from the wonderful people at Hope Café asking if we still intended to play (the course is rather wet underfoot, & the weather forecast is fairly horrendous). But we are intrepid souls, and we weren't to let a little bit of water put us off. Six of us (Bianca, Hanna, Glen, Dave, Chris, & myself) piled into various cars, and headed down the Borrowdale road. I got a lift from Glen, but it was only after setting off that he told me that the brakes and steering didn't work too well, and that he'd often been tempted to drive into Derwent Water to see if the vehicle worked better as a boat than it does as a car. Thankfully we all got to Keswick in one piece, and assembled at the start of the pitch & putt course. Chris, as manager, was nominated to go first and inspire us all to greatness. After a couple of practice swings he made contact with the ball, but it only went a couple of metres off to the side - it might even have gone slightly backwards. The funny thing was though, it was still probably a lot nearer to the hole than my shot which went way, way beyond. Meanwhile...Hanna was busy setting some sort of world record for the number of times it takes to hit the ball......"can I just pick it up and throw it?!" The fact that the weather was so uninviting really worked in our favour. It meant that we weren't in danger of holding anyone else up, and nor was anyone else in danger of being hit by stray balls or stray golf clubs (GLEN!!). That said, Dave (bringing his own unique style to the game of golf) very nearly hit me with a ball, and in misplaced retribution I almost hit Glen. The amount of puddles were slightly problematic at times, though. Especially for Bianca, who seemed to have an almost unnatural talent for finding every spot of standing water on the course. Two hours later we were huddled into the café with an assortment of hot drinks, and already planning the next staff activity afternoon. Chris suggested taking a rowing boat out on Derwent Water, at which point I looked at him and said, "what could possibly go wrong?!" It was an incredibly fun afternoon despite the rain, and for the 'records' I should probably announce that Chris won (and now regrets not having sorted out a mystery prize!).
No comments:
Post a Comment