I actually don’t even know why I’m about to "share" this story with you. I can only think that Diane was right when she commented that, as a blogger, it’s sometimes a case of "no humiliation wasted." I know that the phrase "Ah well, at least you’ll get a blog post out of it!" fairly trips off Terry’s lips when I commit one of my random (And also: frequent!) acts of stupidity, so maybe that’s it. Either that or I? Am mad. You decide!
So, to cut to the chase, today Terry, Rubin and I headed out to yet another country park for yet another long and healthy walk. Just prior to this, however, I’d had a couple of long and not-so-healthy mugs of coffee. I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this. I, you see, have the bladder of a flea. And I would have made it – or I’m pretty sure I’d have made it, anyway – if it hadn’t been for the fact that on the way back to the car we somehow managed to take the wrong turning and plunge deeper into the woods than we’d intended to. About, ooh, a mile deeper, I’d say.
By the time we reached the car I could hardly walk. No matter, though! I was saved, for just a quarter of a mile from the car park sits the rustic yet very welcoming country park toilets. Hallelujah! I staggered towards them, cursing the burbling stream that was tinkling happily alongside me, and envying Rubin as he merrily raised his leg at every tree. We reached the toilets. They were locked. Handy that, no? We were now stuck in the middle of a country park, miles from the nearest rest rooms, miles from home, and with THAT FREAKING STREAM STILL TINKLING AWAY MERRILY.
People, I did what I had to. I staggered into the woods and… well, you know. I guess that’s the end of my career as a countryside campaigner for sure. Ah well, easy come, easy go. We’re planning a 12 mile walk before the end of this month. Lord only knows how that’s going to go down…