‘Little bit up, little bit down’


Time started ; 1702
Time finished ; 2005
Location ; Bedroom
Listening to ; News on Radio 4
Wearing ; Packet of frozen peas (on my left knee)

I returned from a gloriously sunny, I’ll type that again, a gloriously sunny Wales this morning. I have spent the day unpacking, washing sweaty gear, ironing and taking things easy.

My plans for this evening feature nothing more demanding than a hot bath & an early night. I am determined that for once in 15 years I’ll be in bed early enough for early turn.

As someone who finds being cold intolerable, it is with no great relish that I’m wearing these peas, however as cold compresses work so well on horses injured legs, I’m willing to try it. I have to keep it on for 15 minutes & it’s only been 4 so far.

You may be wondering why I’m wearing garden vegetables ? You may not (after all ‘she’s from Yorkshire, she’s probably got a ferret down her trousers too I shouldn’t wonder’) but get yourself comfortable & I’ll tell you why.

Yesterday saw a hideously early 0530 meet for a day’s walking in the Brecon Beacons. The excited packing of the night before had evaporated in the light of day & I stood mute & slitty-eyed outside the flat, awaiting Roger who arrived cheerful & buoyant. I told myself his mood could be attributed to the fact that he hadn’t done late turn the day before so had enjoyed a little more than 4 hours sleep.

My packing, which I had thought so organised let me down, for at 0520 I was tearing the flat apart in a temper looking for my camera. I am disappointed to report I remembered only half way to Wales that it was in my golf bag. I didn’t think the chaps would take kindly to my request to turn around for it. The good news is others did take cameras so when the pics come I’ll insert them here.

As for Roger ? He is someone I worked for in the States during 9/11. I have immense respect for his leadership style ; always calm & reasonable, he achieves a volume of work from his staff that more voluble & intolerant bosses would fail to. I willingly worked the kind of hours I never had before, doing things I was totally out of my depth doing, solely because of how he managed & supported his team. I am not alone, I know the other 4 felt the same.

We’ve kept in touch ever since, always promising to do lots of bike rides, the fruition of which has been one 25 mile ride which I did with a stinking hangover & 30 minutes sleep (clubbing the night before, ‘all my own fault’, yardeeyar) Roger’s attitude to a lack of effort is summed up in the following. The morning of the ride I texted ‘Could we possibly cancel, I’ve only had 30 mins sleep & don’t feel well ?’ The reply came back ‘No. See you in an hour.’

He is currently a Superintendent in Public Order branch, which means he gets to organise & control all the exciting, sexy stuff that the police do, like the victory parade for the Word Cup Rugby Squad. It also means he has to explain why ‘bad things happen’ but of course I don’t let on that I know this. All I do is tease him about which glamorous event he swanned into last time. The truth of the matter is as someone utterly useless at the meeting & greeting that goes on at these soirees, I would hate that part of his job.

Last year, Roger was asked to organise a team day by some of his inspectors. They requested something challenging, expecting a day’s brain-storming. He suggested the 3 Peaks in Yorkshire. If you’re unfamiliar with this particular torture, it’s a 25 mile slog, encompassing 3 Peaks (odd that) The walk must be done in 12 hours to qualify. As luck would have it they walked during some of the most severe weather experienced in Yorkshire in the last 5 years. I really thought Roger was exaggerating the severity of the conditions until I saw the photos. The streams & brooks which I had hopped over, via dainty stones, were raging, waist-high torrents. One particular river took 2 hours for the party to cross.

Fifteen minutes up now, stand by whilst I put my peas away …

And now I have to switch listening, because I find myself riveted by the bizarre allegation that George Galloway has accepted money from Saddam Hussein & can’t concentrate on blogging properly. Instead I’m enjoying my latest must-listen CD - Keane’s ‘Hopes & Fears’ which is another bullseye from Milk Yuk who can unerringly pinpoint stuff I’ll enjoy. Except of course for ‘The Worst Song in The World’ ?

Anyhoo, back to the story. Oddly enough after Roger’s modern day homage to Noah his team trusted him to organise more stuff which is where I found myself roped in.

A few months ago when the prospect of summer’s fitness seemed a hazy far-off possibility I signed up for a ‘Return to the 3 Peaks’ which Roger was planning under the auspices of ‘It can’t be as horrendous again can it ?’ Err, yes.

Yesterday’s walk in the Brecons was as a general warm-up & get together prior to the Peaks at the end of June.

And that’s how I found myself heading at 0531 to Paul’s house for an 0545 rvp with Dave. True to Roger’s prediction, Dave was running late but by 0600 we were M4-bound in Paul’s sumptuous Saab.

Dave has just returned from working on his house in Florida and was enthralling us all with the intricacies of wax vacuum seals which are apparently unique to American lavatories. (That’s the ‘john’ for you Romana) We passed a car involved in a hideous smash which was on it’s roof and half it’s original size & Paul later confessed he had entertained the idea of rolling the Saab to stop Dave talking.

And so it was with some relief (only joking Dave) that we arrived at Magor services and met up with Stuart and Guy. We were joined shortly afterwards by Ed, Debbie and George.

After introductions over a full English, we made for the Youth Hostel in a 3 car convoy, the plan being to arrive at 1000, for a 1030 off. If you’re wondering why it’s all so regimented I will remind you that most of these people are in some way or other connected to organising and planning events. It’s no good saying ‘…see you after lunch then ?’ to these people. They won’t understand.

In the event, we arrived a little early & were assembled for a 1018 departure. I should point out at this stage that I’ve done lots of walking & considered myself ready for what was ahead. I was aware my core fitness was lacking but comforted myself with the thought that I’ve always been able to walk all day. What I hadn’t anticipated was the fact that this group set off at not so much a walk as a yomp. My struggles to keep abreast were compounded by my clothing.

Roger had stressed over & over how lousy the weather forecast was and how certain people whilst trying for a certain elite organisation had died of exposure whilst on the Brecons. He compounded this by telling me that one of his friends formerly of said organisation had recounted how it had snowed in July. I set off for the walk wearing a long-sleeved thermal top, a lightweight woollen sweater and a thick, voluminous fleece because I know layers make sense. In my rucksack were a set of waterproofs & gloves. I wasn’t going to be derided for being inadequately attired.

An hour later after a calf-busting, lung popping incline, in bright sunshine, I had to abandon the group whilst I lunged into a telephone kiosk to divest myself of the thermal top & the fleece. They didn’t mock me at all, or make any Superman jokes.

And so it was, an hour and a half into the walk, with at least 6.5 to go, I found myself facing a steep climb, sweating like a horse and wanting to sit down & cry. A disconcerting niggle in my left knee was ringing alarm bells & I genuinely contemplated telling the group that it may not be wise for me to carry on.

Uppermost in my mind, aside from the pain, was the thought that I may find myself half way around the walk lacking the ability to go on. Handy cafes are thin on the ground in the Brecons so I knew that if I really hurt myself it would be either a piggyback or an airlift out. Neither appealed & as I climbed the first peak I weighed the pros and cons.

I would like to report that good sense won out & the reason I carried on was that I deemed I wouldn’t put my new found friends to too much inconvenience & would be able to complete the day. I’ll be truthful though, cos it’s you lot, & confess that just one thing made me keep going … pride. To be factual it was pride, a pole, a knee support & painkillers, but you get the gist.

Halfway up the 1st really stiff climb, I looked at the party assembled around me, actually I just looked at their backs, as steadily they all left me far behind and I assessed them.

There were Ed & Stu who made the walk look like a Sunday stroll. They’re built along similar lines, lean & rangy with the kind of ground-covering strides which stumpy people like me detest. For the early climbs Ed shouldered his rucksack with casual insouciance over one shoulder as if strolling around Waitrose. I found out later from Roger that Ed cycles into work every day and I’m guessing it’s more than a mile or so. Stu used to do ‘a lot of cycling’ but now ‘just does a lot of running’. Hate them, hate them.

Paul, Dave & Guy all covered the ground deceptively easily. By that I mean they were able to talk whilst ascending. I could only marvel at this skill.

Debbie used to be very fit and despite being told by doctors that she would never walk again after severe back problems has clearly retained a lot of cardio-vascular fitness. This was indicated by her leaping up to carry on after the group stopped for some 40 seconds at a cairn to take on some water. The rest of us pretended to admire the view, hoping to gain some respite. After one of her ‘walks’ which sounded to me very much like a run, of 50 miles over 2 days she had to have false skin applied to her feet, so bad were her blisters.

Her partner George was inspirational in as much as he was 50 & walked like someone 20 years younger. I know he won’t mind me telling you his age because it was the source of much good-natured banter as we were staying in a ‘Youth Hostel’. He also has lovely skin and that’s because he uses moisturiser – take note chaps. It is big and it is clever.

As for Roger, he had at least followed his own advice & dressed for the Arctic. He did the entire walk wearing a thick fleece and produced more sweat than is entirely decent. He followed me up the last punishing ascent & said afterwards that he couldn’t see my feet for the sweat stinging his eyes. I repeatedly urged him to take his fleece off, only for him to reply that he ‘had nowhere to carry it as his rucksack contained his really big coat’. Had I been in his shoes I would definitely have discarded the fleece. To compound his discomfort his years of swimming & cycling have shortened his hamstrings making downhills very troublesome. He will mind me telling you his age, so I’ll just say he’s not far behind George !

I can safely say that with the possibility of Stu aside, I was the youngest there & yet I was being outwalked by people who didn’t understand the rules of age.

That kept me moving, one sweaty foot in front of the other.

That and the fact that walking seems to attract a particular type of person. Time & again I noticed that different members of the group would drop back to chat to me during the climbs. They didn’t seem to mind that I never had the breath to reply. On more than one occasion Paul would confirm that he thought ‘that was the hardest bit over with’ and on the very first climb Stuart offered me his climbing pole with the words ‘This really helps me – maybe you might like to try it ?’ Looking at his sparse frame I doubted he needed any help, but my exhaustion for once choked the stubborn refrain ‘Don’t accept any charity’ which rose unbidden to my brain.

He was right too, I’ll definitely be buying one for my next walk.

I find a certain type of person very inspiring and it’s ‘the trier’.
I’m not impressed with feats of physical speed or strength, it’s the way a person handles the mental challenges thrown at them.

Yesterday it was the triers who gave me the impetus to continue. All day my head was flooded with the resurrected stories of people I admire. People like Ranulph Fiennes who had biopsies of living flesh punched from his flesh by Mike Stroud during their unsupported polar expeditions. People like Ellen MacArthur who faced one of my biggest fears, the sea, on little or no sleep. People like Chris Moon who ran desert marathons on false limbs having lost his own to a land mine. People like Brian Blessed who tackled Everest & was praised for his mental strength by professional mountaineers. People like Joe Simpson (Touching the Void) who dragged himself some 6 miles on a broken leg in sub zero temperatures, bereft of any spiritual crutch, after being left for dead.

Please don’t think I am comparing a twisted knee to the pain suffered by these people, I’m not. What motivated me yesterday was thinking ‘How did that person deal with their pain ?’ and time and again it was by gritting their teeth & ignoring it. I find that more inspirational than pretty much anything.

I could go on & on about the walk, but I won’t because it’s only really interesting if you were there, so I’ll reduce it to some ‘snapshots’.

My highlights were

1) Seeing the wild ponies, especially a striking colt who kept calling to his friends whom he was separated from by a fence. I was longing to open the gate & let him join them but luckily I noticed he was ‘entire’ & thought my kindly actions may play havoc with some ranger’s carefully controlled breeding plan.

2) Lunch time – we sprawled in the sun, hugely enjoying the food & the weight off our feet. Guy unwisely removed his boots at this point. Anyone who has tried to put boots back on to swollen feet will understand why this was unwise. However, I waive my right to pass judgement as I was wearing new boots – see below.

3) My new boots. They were light, stylish, as comfortable as slippers and I covered a respectable distance with not so much as a rub or a blister. Remember how you used to have to break boots in for weeks prior to a walk ? Praise be for man-made materials.


4) The weather - it was beautifully sunny all day. To compound my joy I received a text hoping that the Welsh weather wasn’t as bad as the English ?


5) The company. One of the best things about walking is the time it
gives you to talk to people (on the downhills obviously). I chatted
about bikes, football and dogs with Stuart, learned about India
from Paul, learned about GPS’s from George, compared walking
stories with Debbie, learned about chivalry from Ed and
sweating from Roger.


6) The relief provided by the knee support & the pain-killers.


7) Roger’s friend (the one who used to run these routes when in
training with the people mentioned earlier) knew our route &
estimated how long it would take us to finish. He said we would
complete the 15 miles in 8 hours & 2 minutes. Due to not
wanting to retrace our steps near the end, Roger added over 2
miles to the walk meaning that we completed 17.5 miles in 8
hours and 15 minutes. I was very proud of that. I don’t even
care that he did it in half the time.


8) Being able to offer water to one of the group when he had run
out and was clearly suffering from thirst. At that point the pain-
killers had kicked in & I was finding the downhill very much to
my liking. It was the first time I had felt able to assist someone
all day & it felt good.


9) The hot chocolate at the burger-van on the road back to the
hostel. Superlative.

10) The sense of accomplishment when the hostel hove into view as
we traipsed foot-sore across a paddock full of ewes & lambs.



The only low-point was

1) The recurring thought that with 5 miles to go, during a long quick walk over a gentle but definite incline on shifting terrain, the increasing pain in my knee might force me into confessing I couldn’t continue.

Keane has done 3 revolutions now so excuse me whilst I execute a slow, stiff-limbed shuffle to the CD to insert Feeder’s ‘Pushing the Senses’ more auditory bliss, I adore Feeder.

After hot showers & a change of clothing we set off to discover the joys of Brecon. I was very pleasantly surprised as we passed over the river to see some wonderful buildings and a lovely high street. For some reason (probably because of the squaddie associations I had always imagined Brecon to be grim) Maybe it was just a premonition because I can truthfully report the pub & the meal had to be experienced to be believed.

The pub bore the faint but unmistakable aroma of gentleman’s urine and Debbie & I laughed until we cried at the décor. This is where I most need the photos but for now you’ll just have to take my word when I tell you there were fake Beswick dogs (complete with bronze paint much beloved of the 1970’s era) plastic flowers jammed artlessly into plastic ‘ye olde style’ boots, several pieces of art featuring a ‘cruelty to animals’ theme and the piece de resistance, a magnificent stag’s head, upon whose antlers hung an assortment of baseball caps. Honestly.

Unable to contain our mirth & in fear for our safety (I had deemed it wise to go into a Welsh pub wearing my England World Cup 2003 rugby shirt) we sallied forth to the ‘Instantly Forgettable Tandoori Restaurant’.

The meal proved to be the highlight of the trip for it’s sheer awfulness. Each dish proved identical to the last, was a vivid red in hue & was identifiable from it’s neighbour only by the type of garnish thrust atop it. Stuart was convinced Ed’s meal was decorated with toenail clippings & upon consuming them Ed said nothing to correct him.

During the meal, Dave tried to be helpful and tell the manager that the light bulb in the gents had expired. Receiving a blank look which Dave mistook for confusion he performed the internationally recognised mime for replacing a light bulb. Either the manager was only familiar with the motions for a bayonet fitting or else he thought Dave was offering to perform a traditional Indian dance because his blank look persisted. Dave persevered with the loud & slow explanation ‘Your.Bulb.Is.Broken’ and finally the manager responded with ‘Ah yes, they do don’t they ?’ in a tone of voice which managed to imply ‘What the f*ck do I care ?’ At this point people were inhaling their Kingfishers.

I will remember yesterday evening in the Indian restaurant as being the occasion I inadvertently found myself in Royston Vasey. If you get the reference I need say no more. If you don’t, you’re missing a real treat.

A sign at the hostel had proclaimed that if residents weren’t back by 2300 the doors were to be locked. Oddly, by 2215 we had exhausted the fun to be had in Brecon and yet still contrived to be leaping in 2 7-seater cabs with the words ‘Quick - drive, we have to be back in 9 minutes !’

It was one of those evenings that has you clutching your stomach, praying no-one else will say anything funny (like the evening in cad when we found out Hitman’s shady past Stan) and what was most rewarding was that bar one, these were people I had only known for one day.

I particularly enjoyed meeting Debbie & look forward to becoming re-acquainted in 4 weeks time. I’m only sorry I’ll miss the banter, bravado & bs that will naturally embellish this trip by the time they all get to work.

My plan for the next 4 weeks is to get out to Box Hill with a full rucksack & do lots of hills. I got by on this walk with a knee-support & pain killers, there’s no way I can do that for the 3 Peaks.

As for the title of this post ? One of the stories I enjoyed most was from Debbie, concerning a 3 week Himalayan walking trip undertaken by herself & George. Their guide was Gulan, a Sherpa, somewhere in his 70’s, who proved indefatigable, shuffling along taking minute steps in flip-flops whilst all the Westerners wore top quality boots. His English was restricted to only 4 words and in reply to question ‘What’s the route like today Gulan ?’ he would unfailingly reply

‘Little bit up, little bit down …’

You can get a long way on that kind of understated optimism.

I know you’ve had to concentrate for a long time but just one message tonight which is

‘Bon Voyage’ Bill and family.

You may remember Bill as the cop who, with his family emigrated to NZ to become a Kiwi cop. After a slightly difficult start with the Kiwi police who it must be said handle things very differently from the British police, Bill settled and began to regard NZ as his home. However, things didn’t work out for all concerned and he and his mob returned to England. I know he felt much the same as I did about leaving NZ. It is to Bill’s credit that he gave England another go. And it is to his family’s credit that they are willing to uproot again and give NZ another shot.

I won’t say ‘goodbye’ Bill, just ‘see you’

Cx