I had not realised how tired I actually was until I stopped working. After possibly the best and heartiest breakfast I have ever had in a hotel - seriously, it's worth the trip (Go for the full English. It has chunky chips and amazing sausages and home-made bread for the toast. I could go on) - I went back to bed and slept until two o clock. There wasn't going to be too much sight-seeing this holiday, but that's not a bad thing. This has been the first day I have been able to totally relax for months. And my body decided it was going to make the most of it.
But it was a beautiful sunny day and I didn't want to spend the whole time in my room or stuffing my face, so I went for a walk to the next village Icklingham. All right, I'll be honest. The hotel info promised there was a pub there and I thought I could reward myself for all that walking in the sunshine with a nice pint of beer. Or two.
And it was actually incredibly pleasurable to be communing with nature, walking between the hedgerows to get to the boozy oasis. I passed bushes bearing blackberries and elderberries and it took me back to childhood days where I would go berry picking with my parents, who would then make pies and wine from the fruits of the countryside that we had paid nothing for apart from the odd pricked finger. My parents had skills though and patience and time. I can't make pies or wine. Or do anything practical. So the berries remained where they were, ripening in the sunshine.
Spending August in Edinburgh means that I generally miss summer, but today was a proper scorcher and it felt like I was in France or somewhere foreign with proper weather.
All that could make this better was that after an hour of walking I'd be supping on a lovely cool pint of beer.
Except that once I finally got there the pub was about another half a mile through the village. Just as I was thinking I had been misinformed the pub sign was swaying in the distance and I was already salivating. Well I would have been if I wasn't so thirsty that there was no moisture left in my body. I had some water with me, but didn't want to drink it and spoil my beer.
But once I got to the pub it looked pretty empty. I would have expected people to be sitting on the tables in the large garden in the sun, but no one was there. And the door was locked. What kind of pub shuts on a sunny Saturday afternoon? A crap pub that is the kind of pub.
I couldn't believe I had come all this way for nothing. And there was nothing else to do in the village, neither Icklingham or Tuddenham appear to have any shops at all. I don't know how the people here manage to live. And alcoholics clearly aren't welcome.
So I just had to turn around and go back to my hotel, where there would be beer a plenty. Which I could have just drunk without all this exertion.
My legs were tired, the sun was beating down on my face and I was down to the last few drops of water. I was pretty sure that I wasn't going to make it and prepared to lie down and die.
Somehow I made it back and then drank beer and ate more food and undid more of the good work I have done at the gym in the last few months.
But you've got to have some fun right?
And apart from the stupid pub being shut on a Saturday afternoon it was a perfect day.
I only have myself to blame for choosing to walk to Icklingham, which sounds icky and sickly and beerless, rather than the more appealing village in the opposite direction, Herringswell. There was a clue in the name. Ah well.
