A dangerous pastime.


In England there exists a very traditional and popular pastime - known as 'walking'. I suppose that you could compare this activity to what Americans call 'hiking', but I hesitate to fully equate the two. In my mind at least, a hike is generally a very real form of exercise. While one may find a sense of peace and relaxation in being so close to nature, the hiking I know gets the legs moving and the blood pumping, and often involves moving up an incline at some point. 'Walking', on the other hand, seems to take place at a much more relaxed pace, usually on relatively flat land, and often involves traipsing across the fields of an unsuspecting farmer. Not quite as low-key as a stroll. Perhaps you could call it a 'ramble'?

There are some phenomenal views though.




Last Monday was a national holiday - known here as a 'bank' holiday - so the boyfriend and I decided to join his mum and some friends on a 'walk'. The weather forecast was sunny and warm, so I expertly wore comfy shorts and a t-shirt to keep cool. Cue me getting attacked by one million stinging nettles when our guide led us down a "footpath" approximately six inches wide, and flanked on both sides by shoulder-high grass. I would have taken a photo if I hadn't been so blinded by my own tears. Next time remind me to bring my machete.



Love.

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