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Idyllic picture. Taken on the Friday morning of our last day on the moors. Beautiful morning, made slightly better by the fact that the rain-filled stream did not quite rise high enough to engulf us. It rose above its banks and headed west towards Keith’s tent, but didn’t make it the full five feet – it stopped two feet short. He was lucky.
However, there is a tale about this picture. You see that hill in the background? The big one? Yes? There’s a bit of my bloody watch up there!
On all that walk, I had only a few stumbles. Three times into a boggy patch sticks in my memory somewhat. But that pales into insignificance beside tripping over a lump of granite on that hill.
The little tracks on the moor can be very sunken, with shoulder-high furze all around, and a path that’s six inches wide and eight deep; OK usually, but when tired . . . There was this rock in the middle of the track – and I just didn’t see it. So I tripped, put out my hand, and clobbered the little rock’s bigger brother. There was a crunch. It hurt. The nail on my thumb was ripped back. That hurt. So much, in fact, I didn’t notice the other pain on my wrist, where my watch had been. It had been wrenched from my wrist, and dangled floppily. The stainless steel bracelet had been broken, with a tiny piece of metal, less than an inch long, yanked off.
So today I phoned around for quotations. FIrst of all I asked for the cost of the bracelet. Hahahahaha. No. Then I restricted the quotes to only the clasp. And it STILL hurts as much as having my thumbnail ripped off!
Still, it was a fun walk!