The best of times, and the worst of times

Johnny France crag ratting.

Some days crap just happens. Husband’s weekend was one of extreme highs, and extreme lows.

Filling up the newly restored Land Rover Discovery at a nearby petrol station he drove off with the nozzle still in the tank. Strike One.

He was on his way to the Lake District to do some climbing training for his Alpine trip in July. As it happens it coincided with my lovely cousin’s birthday celebrations. We were invited to join the party at a lovely Grasmere eaterie that evening. Because John would be late down off the mountain the table would be booked for 9pm.

Eventually John and his climbing pal Henry arrived at the pub we were in for last orders after dinner – at 11.30pm. I managed to buy two pints and two packets of peanuts for they. Knock yourselves out boys. Strike Two.

Unfortunately the deal for the evening also included John, Henry and me staying in one of John’s climbing club’s huts (our holiday let cottage is happily let!) These club huts are basic, in beautiful locations and involve bunk rooms and a big fat zero on the en-suite radar. We arrived very late, me a bit fuzzy, John having strapped a head torch to my skull ‘so I wouldn’t wake anyone in the ladies’ dorm.’ Apart from that poor woman in the neighbouring bunk bed I completely dazzled with the head torch while trying to angle my head to see in my bag. Despite saying ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry’ a lot I still failed (in fuzzy state) to realise that the damned light was strapped to my head. I may have been less than totally fair when wondering why she was soooooo grumpy. You see, every time I apologised, I turned her way, which again put her in the thousand watt glare, and me into apology mode. Oh dear. Strike Three.

Then on Saturday morning Mr Capable set to, to fix the quad bike so I could mow the fields – and reversed it sharply into the front of his newly fixed Land Rover, breaking the brand new indicator light. If you’ve ever watched cartoons where the character drops an anvil on his toe, then starts to do that peculiar high knee action stomping around (including taking off cap and dashing it to the floor) whilst shouting, you’ll get the picture. It was especially aggravating (for him) because he’d just told me that I was ‘doing it all wrong’ (ushering me off the quad bike) and I needed to ‘keep the revs up.’ Given the thing was in reverse I think jumping on it and hammering the revs was inadvisable, but I kept mute. Actually I did mutter under my breath….’keep the revs up.’ Strike Four.

Anyway it was a text book demonstration of how to reverse into a Land Rover indicator lens at high speed backwards and, funnily enough, I had been doing it all wrong. I doubt I’d have done the angry dance quite as well either. I have a bad knee.


4 thoughts on “The best of times, and the worst of times

  1. Is this bunk house accommodation what you had in mind for our girly night away by any chance? If so I just might pass on that one,anyway don’t have a head torch so thats me out Listen it has to be fine dining, decent bottle of plonk at the very least,I’m too old for roughing it time is running short nothing short of a bit of cosseting will do. JF Bless him just belongs to another world,how can you actually enjoy this,looks like hell on earth. H & I are in Ibicencan paradise at the moment just arrived,24 hr on our own before my sister arrives . OFxx


    1. Hello lovely girl. So glad you’re in cossetted luxury which, of course, is totally what I had in mind for us and our one-nighter. Enjoy the calm before the storm. Glass of wine and nibbles when you’re back to make plans.
      Yes Johnny Bad Pants is a total one off. Give Emma a hug hello from me (if they’re going??).x


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