Oh thank god…. for flat ground. I woke up and went though the routine, 4 Ibuprofen, 10cms of anesthetic gel into my back, and a very large toothpaste squeeze of Butt Butter to be applied liberally into areas no one should ever go.
The stage was flat to start with, so good progress was made until the rain set in. Hour upon hour of dire pissy weather (not cold) Miles after miles of rain. It was a good job I haven’t touched a salad for days, I mean you dont want to risk that in weather like this.
There were 2 nasty digs before the end and then we sat in the local pub in Clun sampling all their poky beers. Back at the hotel the salad rebellion continued. I had a steak, jimbo had a mixed grill (KUDOS) meat fest. Paul had a steak but he declined chips !!!!!!!!! and had something called a “Gratin Potato” .. I hope they liquidize the chips and add mayo ? even so its not right !!!..
We may make it over the bridge tomorrow… we shall see.
You see that he cleverly skipped around the one part that is pertinent to the discussion Clun. A lovely little town and all but 45 minutes away from the evenings accommodation. Why 45 minutes, well the mornings conversation went:#
Driver: Hey there are no hotels in Clun — you need to push on a bit more so we can get into an area
Donkey 1: yeah got it, go ahead and book it dude
Muppet 2: mmmm bacon
now while i agree with Muppet 2, the main point here is that they missed the need for them to sack up and push through their biffin bites and show a bit of resolve. Instead the driver had to rescue our maidens from the tall tall tower of pints which threaten to engulf them.
Our poor idiots of course sat there as the driver scuttled back and forth and back and forth wasting his valuable pub time to take care of these two weaklings who crumble at the slightest hill. So do please send them as many pictures of balls as you can in the hopes that they will be so shamed they might move past Hereford without the need for a welsh dragon appearing to singe these English dandies