The worst walk ever!

These boots are made for...

My husband belongs to a walking group that was started by his sister. Every Monday morning they explore paths around their part of Norfolk at, it is fair to say, a suitably gentle pace. It is also fair to say that the litheness of the group’s collective minds pretty much outstrips that of their bodies.

Given my ongoing knee problems, my usual Monday morning tennis games have been non-existent since the Spring, so Brain (as he is lovingly known by my children) suggested I go for a walk with his group. He promised me a gentle stroll, by the river, with coffee at the pub at the other end. After much persuasion, and in the spirit of saying ‘yes’ to more things, I agreed to give it a whirl.

There now follows an account of said walk. I have changed the names to protect the innocent…

We set off from Surlingham Church along the Wherryman’s Way. The sun was shining, the company was good and all was well with the World.

Incredible house!

We passed an incredible house with, ironically, a tennis court in the garden, and walked towards the river. Jean and Deirdre strode ahead, while others stopped to admire wild flowers, birds and the general vista. (I was still admiring the house with the tennis court...) We reached a small bridge, where the path forked. Jean and Deirdre crossed and continued their progress through, what looked to me like a reed bed. I waited for reassurance, not convinced that this was the way we had to go. But it was.

I ploughed on to find that Deirdre had stopped in front of me and seemed in some distress. She had stepped onto an unstable plank of wood and was quietly having a panic attack, trying to steady herself by holding onto the reeds at either side of her - reeds that were very thin and waving in the breeze! Jean and I tried to help, but she needed a man. Or Brain. He managed to take her shaking hands and help her across the plank, and she recovered enough to continue.

Not what we were promised!

We were all relieved to reach the river and looked forward to continuing our promised gentle stroll - through brambles, six foot high nettles and buzzy midges! By this time, Bea had become completely distracted by the ripening blackberries and, in the absence of a bag to put them in, was filling the removable hood of her buff coloured jacket!

Distracted by blackberries!

Our progress was ridiculously slow, and we were getting stung and poked and bitten. Not gentle, not gentle at all! Fortunately, my ever-prepared, never a boy scout, husband had his folding secateurs in his pocket, so he went ahead carving as bramble and nettle free path as he could. 

My hero!

Although this was an improvement, I was concentrating so hard on looking towards my feet to avoid twisting my knee that I missed a low hanging branch and cracked my head. To say that, at this point, I was quite unhappy is an understatement. We tried to laugh about it, joking about feeling like David Bellamy exploring the undergrowth, but it really wasn't that funny.

Here we are, in the undergrowth...©express.com

Bea’s hat was dripping blackberry juice and had been dyed an interesting shade of purple, Brain’s legs were ripped to shreds, everyone was stung to b*ggery and I had an egg on my head!

Eventually our band of intrepid explorers emerged and reached the pub. Sitting there was George, a perpetual latecomer to the group, fresh as a daisy. Asking him if he'd driven to the pub, he told us that he’d walked…how strange. Turns out there’s a quick way, through the trees - no nettles, no brambles, no midges. Aaaaaagh!

We did enjoy a coffee by the river - although some of our group complained about its quality, cost, size - and while everyone was inside ordering their drinks, I enjoyed a quiet moment and saw a kingfisher flying down the river. Not that anyone believed me…

Suitably refreshed, we walked back - the quick way - re-admiring the beautiful house on the way, and got back to our cars in about a quarter of the time, leaving a trail of blackberry juice as we passed.

Still amazing!

Then the shout went up, “Brain, Jean’s got a puncture!” Oh God, all I wanted to do was go home and find some antihistamine cream, but we had to faff about trying to find her spare wheel and then access it. This was a miserable failure, as it was underneath the car and the restraining bolt just refused to budge. Never mind, Jean was in a rescue service. She didn't have her card, or her debit card, and she’d never made a call on her clamshell mobile, but she was in a rescue service! 

Not one I'd ever heard of, but yay, a rescue service!

Eventually she got through and explained, with eight of us listening, that she was an elderly lady on her own in the middle of nowhere! We were satisfied that she would be okay and there were enough people to stay with her, so we took our leave, dropping Bea and her hood-full of blackberries off on the way. 

As we drove through the villages on the way back, we noticed what we managed to convince ourselves was a community speed camera…until a ticket dropped onto our doorstep on Saturday.

Meh - at least I wasn't driving...

It really was the worst walk ever. I’m writing this on a Monday morning - both of us decided we wouldn't go this week.

Important update: Bea washed her hood and it is back to its buff-coloured best!