2 June 2013 (Sunday) - Sugar Loaf Hill
I was rather aching this morning; I’m a little surprised really. Yesterday’s walk wasn’t especially arduous. I struggled out of my pit after a good night’s sleep and after a quick bit of brekkie we had a message. A cancellation. So a reduced contingent set off to the Admiralty where we collected more, and then on to the Valiant Sailor (oo-er!) where we rallied the last of the troops.
In a novel break with tradition today wasn’t about geocaching. Instead we went for a walk around the hills across the top of Folkestone. Six of us (and three small dogs) strolled along the footpaths across the top of Crete Road East and down to the top of Crete Road West where we looked across to Sugar Loaf Hill. As I wrote last week, Sugar Loaf Hill is where they got the idea for Mount Everest from. There were the more sensible amongst us who took the level route which cut out a lot of the hill. There were also those who thought that you couldn’t say that you’d climbed the hill unless you had done so. From the bottom. In retrospect that was one of my sillier ideas.
Once at the top we spent five minutes gasping for air, and then found the geocache at the top. (We had to do one!) And then we had a spot of lunch. The views from the top were spectacular.
We then came partly down and followed the path along to Caesar’s camp, scaring the long-horned cattle as we went. The long-horned cattle amazed me. For large animals with particularly vicious looking horns they are incredibly timid. Fudge slipped the lead (when I fell down the hill) and chased one. This cow was a hundred times his size and was equipped with two-foot long daggers on its head, but it ran away from the dog in terror.
Bearing in mind that it is a long time since we last went underground, the idea was to do a little tunnel-ratting as we went, and having Furry Face along helped our mission. When caught red-handed on the wrong side of barbed wire fences (labelled “keep out!”) it is often difficult to explain one’s self. However had we been rumbled today we could have claimed we were retrieving an errant Patagonian Tripe-Hound.
We got close to our two subterranean targets. But only close. Both had been sealed to keep the likes of us from going underground. So we conceded defeat and made our way slowly back to the Valiant Sailor (oo-er!) for a crafty pint. There are photos of our walk on the internet. Quite scenic ones too, even if I do say so myself. There’s some wonderful views for be had from above Folkestone.
Finding ourselves back home several hours earlier than has been usual on a Sunday recently I mowed the lawn. That was hard work. It’s some time since the lawn was last mowed, and whilst having a go at it I found an old bone that Fudge had been chewing. Or that is the lawn mower found the bone. It did make a noise. Whilst the damage to the lawn mower is quite severe, I think that it will live to mow the lawn again. It will just do it *very* noisily. I then got the strimmer out to do the edges, and that struggled to the point of collapse. If any of my loyal readers have any lawn-attacking implements surplus to their requirements, I’m your man (!)
With ‘er indoors TM off bowling I set about the monthly accounts. Could be better; could be a whole lot worse. But what is money for; if not to squander on a new lawn mower…