Fens Travels

A few blogs ago I mentioned hiring a motorbike and riding up to Adams Peak ... mission completed Monday March 26th! Three days later and my buttocks have at last recovered enough to allow me time to sit at the computer and write about it.
Saturday morning we woke at 6 am in Midigama, just enough time for sneaky surf. As the sun rose Niall and I set off across the train tracks with our boards for what was to be a quick uneventful few waves before we hopped into a Tuk-Tuk to Hikkaduwa. We certainly weren’t accompanied by the uneventful, I had the wipeout of the trip so far with one of those waves which drag you down and along for a while and disorientate you so much that you have to open your eyes to know which way you need to swim to catch a breath again. Niall had even less luck snapping his leash when going under what looked like my big wave's bigger brother! Seen as we had paddled out to a reef break he had a good 20 minute swim ahead of him to rescue his board from the rocks (to tell the truth I think it may have taken a little longer but he insists that he was swimming like a champion). Thankfully due to the ingenuity of BIC, the board held out and was eventually reunited with its owner.
Ready for a sleep we packed up a small bag each, ate some breakfast and set off for Hikkaduwa. By 12 we had arrived, purchased a roadmap, returned my surfboard and glugged down a couple of milkshakes, by 1 O’clock we had swapped one passport and 20 quid for two 250cc Honda motorbikes. By 1.30 with a scrap of paper and a scribbled route plan, two full tanks of gas and 500km ahead of us we were on our way.
Having not ridden a bike in over 10 years I was a little concerned that the test drive would involve me wrapping the thing around a tree. I was pleasantly surprised, my tomboy motorbike childhood brought it all gushing back to me, we zoomed through the jungle roads with trees aplenty and not once did I ride up any of them. Winding round corners, shooting past rice fields, racing through small towns. All the while fierce sunshine beat down forcefully on our polystyrene caps, our arms shaking from the throttle, our faces smeared with soot. For hours we sped into the heart of the Island, eventually the sun drenched day turned sepia and fruit bats the size of foxes flocked overhead. After 200km and four hours we eventually rode into a twinkling Ratnapurna- city of gems.
Once sourcing a guesthouse there was just enough time left for me to laugh hysterically at Niall’s minstrel appearance (before being confronted with my own), evict a man eating (or more to the point Fennie eating) spider from our room, and fill our bellies with rice and curry. At last I happily surrendered myself to a deep and peaceful sleep.
Next morning we rose for breakfast and applied some first aid to our route card which, covered in oily thumbprints held together with celotape and stiff with dirt was beginning to look more and more like a treasure map everyday. Our calculations suggested that we had at least another half days riding ahead of us. Back on the road as the kilometers ticked by we began to gain in altitude and soon found ourselves snaking through acres of tea plantations, rolling hills of lime green tea leaves and higher still past rows of elegant pine trees which smelt like home, valleys, reservoirs, a cool breeze.
Twice we stumbled upon some kind of religious ceremony that involved all members of a village congregating on the road. Accompanied by beating drums and the toot of trumpets the women danced, hoped and shook themselves in a trance like hysteria while the men gathered together in restrained groups looking on, arms folded stroking their chins and doing manly things like attaching pictures of Gods onto long planks of wood and hoisting them onto the back of trucks.
By lunchtime we had at last arrived at our destination Delhousie 1km from the path which leads you up the 7km trek to the top of Adams Peak. We checked into a guesthouse, ordered some rice and jumped into the river for a good wash. After bathing I spent the rest of the afternoon struggling to sit down and resting my legs for what in the next few hours was to be quite a climb.
Adams Peak (elev 2243m) is known by Christians as the place where Adam first set foot on earth after being cast out of paradise, for Buddhists (who refer to it as Sri Pada) it represents the sacred footprint left by the Buddha as he headed toward paradise, for Hindu’s it was Lord Shiva. For over 1000 years it has been a sight of pilgrimage. Regardless of your creed the time to be there is sunrise. As quaint as this sounds it does mean waking up at 3am to begin the assent which (depending on how much tea you drink on the way up) can take anything between 2.5 – 6 hours.
By 5.30am Niall and I were at last plodding up the final few steps to the top, settling in amongst the devout masses which was as competitive as getting a good spot in a group hug. Huddled together, barefoot, wrapped in shawls and blankets to shelter us from the wind, Buddhist, Hindu, Christian, Motorcycle Heathen we all watched as the sun stretched over the horizon, brought form to the landscape and flung curious shadows into space. After sunrise, Niall and I (weary of how many miles of road lay ahead of us that day) paid our respects to Buddha, gave Lord Shiva the nod, thought about poor old Adam and wondered about Eve before beginning a hurried descent.
Come 10am, after a few false starts (courtesy of Niall’s grumpy motorbike) we were eventually on the road again heading off in the direction of Hikkaduwa and this time taking a less scenic yet slightly more direct route for we needed to return the bikes the same day.
Apart from some fairly hairy overtaking scenarios, a few bump starts, abrupt stops, kicks yelps and expletives (mostly due to the fact that Niall’s grumpy bike had no intention of cheering up), the remainder of the day was spent in a heat haze of diesel fumes, adrenaline bursts and throttle bursting bat-out-of-hell style motorcycle madness. Smeared with bug guts and drenched in sweat Niall and I (now both on my bike as his gave up the ghost 20k’s before the finish line) limped into Hikkaduwa at 5pm Monday 26th. Finally our bodies gave up, refused to be comfortable either sitting down or standing up we had it seems overdosed on fun and for the next few days paid a painful price. Thankfully one week on however my muscles strain to remember the pain and all I have when looking back on our adventure are flashes of the good bits, the smiles, the speed and the story.

Find an uncomfortable seat. One which denies leg room and promises back ache, in surface area the size of one buttock should suffice. Make it hot, so hot that even those unconscious actions such as blinking, swallowing and breathing cause streams of perspiration to ripple through the wrinkles of your skin. Make your perch plastic, make it sticky. Now sit back, unfasten your seatbelt and enjoy a perilous journey on public transport through no place in particular but a place just like any other on the travelers trail.
A word of warning, this text serves only as a dubious guide and so, like a hot potatoe, cannot be held responsible for any pulling of legs, straining of temporal lobes (or ear lobes for that matter) biting of thumbs, indigestion, hair loss, motion sickness or any other such complaints which may or may not arise as a result of reading.
The order of writing may at times (as the subject) appear randomly regular or perhaps regularly random. The first stop on our terrorific tour brings us to the drivers cardinal rule: BEEP! (Excuse me did I say BEEP? How foolish, what I meant to say was HONK, HOOT, BARP, BOOM…) Whether you are behind the wheel of a gazillion seater bus, darting through the traffic on a moped, screeching around in a Tuk-Tuk, guzzling past in a pic-up, 3 wheeler, 2 wheeler or Wonky Donkey. With cargo as precious as a prized elephant returning from a successful polo match or as mind boggling as a tourist, no matter the style what is most important is that your vehicle of choice is equipped with a fully serviced hooter!
Those of you unaccustomed to regular hooter use may wish to refer to page 2 of “The Highway code of chaos” under the heading “How to Honk” which states:
“The use of the horn should come to the driver as naturally as breathing. Put simply breath in… BEEP, breath out…BEEP.”
When traveling on long journeys the horn may be used frequently and is often a successful substitute for using the lesser know break peddle. This technique cuts journey times considerably and is therefore highly recommended.
Bus drivers take pride in your vehicles. The best busses all support trendy coulorful names which reflect the driver’s ability to provide a pleasurable traveling experience. Popular suggestions include: “Super Sonic Power, Loadstar Express, Super Viking and Roadmaster.” It is a well known fact that westerners (especially those of the surfing variety) enjoy listening to ‘Reggae Music’. Tuk-Tuk drivers should take note and in order to encourage such wealthy customers into your vehicles you may wish to consider installing a sound system, lowering the three wheelers suspension and attaching sparkly yet useless metallic type objects to the outside of your wagon. All drivers are advised to purchase armfuls of plastic flowers and pay homage to various deities by displaying their images on your dashboard and obscuring the view as much as possible.
All responsible drivers make every attempt to arrive at their destination in record breaking time by any means possible, overtaking, undertaking in deed taking over in general are all well practiced methods. Paying little attention to “Drive Slow” signs, roadworks and line markings is also highly recommended. BEEP! It should also be mentioned that driving of all kinds is a particularly dangerous pastime and should be reserved for hero’s and devils only. Drivers should be weary of mad grannies, stray dogs and suicidal cows- in order to heighten awareness on long journeys the use of amphetamine, and Bettlenut is often indulged.
Passengers must be able to board and disembark from busses whilst still moving and (as has recently been reported by my unfortunate friend Anna) be prepared to get run over and rendered unconscious by undertaking Tuk-Tuks in the process.
TOOT TOOT, BEEP BEEP. I hope you have enjoyed your brief journey on the traveler’s highway. Next stop is open to suggestions depending on how many dollars you have left in that sparkly new wallet of yours.

I don’t want to shout too loud about this least I end up destroying the magic but this place is paradise. I have been here for one week and am continuously in awe of my surroundings. The beaches stretch gloriously from North to South, the waves are clean, glassy and green, smiles beam the sun belts down and the food is forever a wonderful mystery. The joys of Sri Lanka are endless and I can’t help but feel slightly guilty at enjoying the pleasure of it all. Most of my days follow the same lazy flip flopping pattern. I wake at around 6.30am go for a run, return grab my board and head out for a surf. By about 9am I have had about as much heat as I can handle and so wander in for a tropical fruit breakfast. All hours until 4pm are spent either in a hammock or in the shade of a palm tree where I can be found reading, dozing and enjoying the magic. Dragons skulk by; coconut trees are fearlessly climbed, picked, chopped and carried, bright-feathered birds swoop and sing, butterflies dance, Time oozes on. By 4pm I am usually prepared to venture back out to the surf for a few more waves and always happy to enjoy another epic sunset before dinner.
The Sinhalese are open and are always happy to help. For the first time since Nepal I have been able to chat happily with the local people. On arriving in Colombo I checked into the Young Women’s Catholic Association (YWCA) for one night. After a drought of human contact and female company, I was overjoyed to share breakfast with a dozen other young Sinhalese girls. The women here are happy to stop and talk to you in the street something seldom seen on my journey through India.
Beyond the rosy ice pop eating, beer swilling life of the tourist however is a country in the grip of a bitter civil war. A state of emergency has been declared in Tamil areas and the British Foreign Office website gives you the impression that you may quite possibly be shot the minute you walk of the plane. Somewhere between these two extremes, the battle goes on slowly throttling the livelihoods on those dependent on the tourist trade. This is not the only scar that the country bares; the effects of the Tsunami are everywhere evident along the West and South coasts. Hundreds of graveyards scatter the roadsides, washed out and abandoned buildings the foundations of what had been. Slowly the homes, hotels, schools and restaurants are returning. The smiling eyes along this coast have witnessed catastrophic destruction, its families much loss. It is a pleasure to see the results of the global effort to rebuild. Shiny new boats support names of sponsors: The Kilkenny Fire Service, Brighton and Sussex College, George Street Primary school, Porthgain 2. Towns have been remolded and support the flags of the donors. There is still much to do here.
One new addition to my travels has been conversation. Niall has joined me in the search for the perfect wave and we have made our way down to the town of Midigama. We plan to enjoy the surf while we can and if we ever do tire of this beachside paradise we have plans to hire some motorbikes (don’t tell mam!) and make our way through the Jungle to the town of Kandy and the pilgrims rest of Adams peak. Until that time if you are wondering what I am up to it more often then not involves and Hammock or a surfboard.

I haven’t written for some time. I am in Sri Lanka. It is paradise and it is so distracting. There will be more to follow but for now I feel the need to talk about the terrible experience I had last night. It was my first evening in the town of Midigama which is about 30ks south of Galle in Sri Lanka and registers a temperature of approx 30000 degrees. It was so hot in fact that on arrival in the town after a one hour train journey my friend Niall and I checked straight into the closest guesthouse. It certainly wasn’t the nicest place I had stayed in. On arrival Niall chased a mouse out of his bathroom and I set to work with some duck tape on my mossie net. Once our chores were over we went hunting for local advice on boards, beds and breaks.
We didn’t return to our ever so humble abode till late that evening and at about 9.45 which is way past my bedtime I was looking forward to some well earned zzz’s. I proudly made my bed safe in the knowledge that ‘Fenny the brave’ has stayed in much worse places and in comparison to some of her accommodation one night here would surely be a breeze. After all I had walked from Jiri, with Skills! Proud of my blasé approach to the situation and armed with my head torch and DEET bottle I smugly drifted into oblivion dreaming of the clean waves and left breaks which were to follow. Unfortunately for me however the night didn’t proceed quite as planned. At 12.54a.m I awoke to a worrying sensation on my skin…
Something was crawling…
I grasped my headtorch, flicked it on and to my complete horror was greeted by two mahoooosive cockroaches scurrying all over me!!
Arghhhh
Cockroaches
Arghghg
Bare skin
Ewwwww
Inside my Mosquitoe net!!
Did I mention the ON MY SKIN bit!
Blurrrrrrrgh!
Once I had overcome the initial sensation I soon realized that I was going to have to set about getting rid of the creatures. Armed only with one size nine flip flop and a copy of “Even Cowgirls Get The Blues” I bashed, screamed, laughed and cried my way through the battle which lasted for sometime.
For the rest of the night I woke intermittently commenced a full body check and returned to a restless doze before leaping out of bed with the sun! I have spent the day in search of cockroach counseling but it seems that this obvious gap in the market has been seriously overlooked.
Perhaps I am not so brave after all.
I will write of less worrying tales soon.

Thanks to the ever so high tech internet cafes in Singapore i have uploaded a whole bunch of photos to my flickr sight. Go to: http://www.flickr.com/photos/fenstravels/
to see a slideshow... Don't worry mam hair grows back!

Today i have been mostly sad as the news from home is that my dog Ben died. I used to sing to him and he was fat and smelly but i won't have anyone to sing to when i go back and i don't think anyone on this planet used to get as happy to see me as he did, which is probably a good thing as he did used to pee all over the floor.
So, I am in Singapore with nothing really to share. I am first world again. This city is bland and clinical and my time here has been fairly uneventful so I shan’t bore you with the details as you know them all - wake up have a shower walk to the train station, zoom accross the city, get out buy something, eat something watch something etc etc etc. In comparison to India I may as well have stepped into a parallel universe. Nobody is interested in my presence and I am free to walk wherever I please. I am not so free however to smoke in a public place (even if this is outside) drop litter, jaywalk, chew gum; drink in the streets and many other misdemeanors. Through the smiles and suits, pressed chinos and Gucci sunglasses, you can't help but get the impression that this city is far from relaxed, you just have to look up toward the ominous sky scrappers that tower above to know that Singapore dictates a language of order, cleanliness and subservience to the dollar. Everything is new and conveinient. Surprisingly there is not a young rebel in sight. I have been here only two days. That said in those two days I have had a hair cut, cleaned and scrubbed free of the grime, watched a movie and enjoyed seeing in the Chinese New Year. My consumer batteries fully charged I fly to Sri Lanka tonight.

I am in Delhi again, this time closer to the throb of the city. I traveled here yesterday on the overnight train from Varanasi where I had been for three days. Varanasi is a city on the skirts of the Ganges. A tourist hotspot for travelers and natives alike it is full to bursting. I was glad of finding a room close to the river and away from the humdrum of Ricksahws and Taxis on the main roads. As with almost everything I have seen so far on my trip, the Ganges and Varanasi was not at all what I had expected. It is (surprisingly enough for India’s holiest city) a bit like Blackpool but with Ganga and Gods. The temples, hotels, burning Ghats, restaurants, street sellers, snake charmers (I also spotted a hedgehog charmer!), animals, Sadhus and cricket playing children all crowd for space along the rivers Western stretch. Everything is colourful, so colourful, the women in their Saris, the holy men swathed in Saffron robes and covered in white Ash, the numerous tents and boats and flags, not forgetting all the glitter, tinsel and sparkling banners. Everyday is an event and every event a ceremony. Through all this flows the holy mother herself, the hopelessly polluted ‘Mother Ganges’ whose murky waters stink of life. Thousands of people flock to the riverbanks daily and in it they may do any number of things which in my society are omitted from the human gaze – daily it is bathed in, pissed in prayed upon, drunk, stolen swum and shat in and if your lucky decomposed in. This is, unmistakably, a river of life in all its inglorious glory.
Culturally Varanasi and the other cities of North India that I have scraped the surface of are an assault on the senses. Unfortunately I have for the moment at least been unable to see passed that assault. I am it seems a creature of habit and expectation. Years in fact decades of social conditioning are difficult to shake off. No matter how hard I try I find myself wincing when people so easily drop their litter in the streets adding to the stacks of decomposing filth. I get a twinge of anger every time I wait for someone to pass me in the street only to get pushed on through by the person behind me. I am continually worrying about how people can walk around in the muck with no shoes. I am always giving to beggars. The force of nurture is very powerful indeed for I have left things behind in Britain, people I love, maltesers and a hot bath all of which I happily waved farewell to but my ingrown habits seem steadfast. Perhaps I need more time?
These are not the only barrier to cultural exchange which I have come across. Sadly being in India, being female and being alone are a difficult combination. The only attention I get (and there is a lot of it) is male and they either want to sell me something or marry me. On the streets of Varanasi for instance you can be offered Marijuana, LSD, magic mushrooms, cocaine, a boat ride, taxi, hotel room, silver jewelry, and clothing all in the same breath. If I do become engaged in conversation one or the other will certainly come up and if I am not being begged to consume I am being asked about marriage. Indian men seem fascinated with our marriage customs. When on the train to between Gorakpur and Varanasi I was deep in conversation with a man who was bowled over by the idea that a woman could possibly ( although not simultaneously) have more then one husband. I didn’t even go into civil partnerships! As a result of this attention I find myself becoming another person in action and thought, I avoid eye contact always wearing my sunnies, describe myself as already married, and never if I can help it get into a conversation. Viewing from a distance I am a spectator and for this reason don’t feel that I have been able to completely immerse myself in the Indian culture in the slightest.
I have had a few releases from this daily detachment – 2 Yoga classes for instance were a joy. I had a female instructor and was the only one in the class. She pulled me, twisted me, stood on me and laughed with me. It was wonderful. I unraveled. No sooner would the class have begun though then it was ending and I again had to put my barriers back up.
Last night, I cheated. Booking myself into a slightly swankier then the usual guesthouse i enjoyed T.V, a hot shower and comfy bed with no bugs! This morning feeling slightly guilty about last nights decadence and hole in the budget I promptly checked out and returned to my own kind. Today I spent wandering around the streets of old Delhi in true Fen style – just walk, no map just keep walking remembering the little things like go left up that street by the fried chicken stand to get to the train station, then past the mosque to its entrance and down the alley of spices to the taxi rank, exploring I loved it. Now and again I long for respite from it all like when I do start to get lost and have no water left but hell I can always buy some more, or the uncontrollable urge that I get to throttle all the Rickshaw drivers who seem to be magnetically attracted to me, always at my heels or swerving in my direction. Despite these things when I am exploring I am in my element.
Tomorrow I begin my journey to Sri Lanka in search of waves and I can’t wait to wash myself in the sea and get rid of all this grime!

Via Rickshaw across the border then in a taxi to Gorakpur. My taxi took two hours it was the size of a wee citron saxo and had 8 people in it! 4 in the front and 4 in the back, magic!
Mogz says it is snowing in Reading the view from my window: Past the mustached men with their knitted stripy tank tops i see motorbikes and rickshaws, fruit sellers day dreamers, humble stalls. People squat at taps in the street washing great big silver pots. Cows, traffic smoke and fumes mosquitoes and heat not a second of silence. The sun is setting, all is orange and full throttle and mad.

X

I am almost in India again… arghhh need to keep me wits about me from now on. Matt has left me alone in the wilderness. I miss him not being here it’s like he has taken part of me with him… the mischievous part I think. Did I tell you that he has got big muscles?
Anyway, what a day. I left Kathmandu for Sonauli this morning at 6.30am. My bus trip was, as always, epic. The journey was supposed to take 8 hours – it is now 9pm, I have been traveling for 14 hours and I am not even there yet. I shall explain but a word of warning for those of you who don’t enjoy watching things like some ‘mothers do have um’, or horror movies where the unarmed teenager continually runs up the stairs in order to escape her attacker or in fact any other such ridiculous comedy shows in which you are always wishing that the protagonist would just stop being such a buffoon because this is the Nepalese version…
I had always planned on traveling back to Dehli overland and so was quite nervous when I learned that my travel plans may be effected by riots in Southern Nepal, there is you see an uprising going on in the Terai at the moment, the traditionally marginalized “Madhesis” have taken to the streets in protest at their lack of representation in Parliament. Over the past week the papers have been full of stories covering the bloodshed and the governments ineptitude. Unfortunately for me to get to India overland I must travel through the Terai. Having spent the last few days researching where the disturbances are taking place and how far reaching their effect I had foolishly thought that I would be ok. The majority of reported riots were in the South East and I wanted to head South West so without giving it too much thought I hopped onto a bus that morning. What I couldn’t quite understand was the reaction of other people boarding the bus. As we waited at the station instead of people arriving and getting on the bus of there own accord big conversations and decisions were taking place. Now I don’t speak Nepalese but surely on the front of the bus the destination is written and if that’s where you want to go then on you get? It didn’t seem that simple this morning, I could only gather this by the shaking of heads and frowns that I witnessed – they could of course have been referring to the weather?
By 11am all was going according to plan and we had been well underway for a good 5 hours, had one pee stop and eaten 2 oranges one bag of crisps and a pastry. My bag was firmly stashed under the seat in front of me and I had even bagsied the only seat with an inch of legroom. Things gently changed. We came to a crossroads, the bus stopped and a heated debate began. 30 minutes later we were still stationary, they were still talking. I had no idea what was going on but it seemed that there was a difference of opinion between the passengers (in particular a group of young lads who I instantly took to be god damn trouble makers) and the driver/conductors. Eventually the ‘discussion’ was taken outside and for the first time since being in Nepal I was witnessing outward displays of anger, voices were raised, palm shown, fingers pointed and even a bit of jostling went on. I opened my pack of Oreo cookies that I was reserving for an emergency and the ladies and I watched intently through the bus windows. This went on for some time, us ladies had soon finished the Oreo cookies and were becoming impatient ourselves, how I wished they could have just settled the whole thing with an arm wrestle. Anyway one of my fellow onlookers explained to me that the problem was that the drivers wanted to go straight on in the direction of Sonauli, however it had been brought to the attention of the passengers that there were crowds of protesters rioting in a town along the way. Whereas the drivers would have been happy to drop us of in the middle of it all, (god damn drivers!) the passengers suggested that they take an alternate route via Pokara. Eventually the passengers won out, due mostly to the fact that the driver and his buddies were strongly outnumbered and so around one hour or so of almost fighting later we were off to Pokara. With the good news comes the bad, so we weren’t going to be burned alive by the revolutionary crowds but we were going to have to make quite a detor 180km of detour in fact – in the wrong direction. It is a journey similar in the U.K to leaving Edinburgh for London and going via Pembrokeshire. Hmm and I had eaten all my supplies already! We went on and on and on pretty damn fast as the driver understandably wanted to get home after all this palava.
At one of the pee stops I was kindly advised by a fellow commuter that what with me being a girl and all it probably wouldn’t be safe to arrive at the border town of Sonauli after dark without any friends (I corrected him by letting him know that I did have friends but that they weren’t with me… he didn’t get it). Grateful for the advise I got off in the town before Sonauli and it is from here that I write – I have no idea what it is called but it is hotter then Kathmandu and there are more bugs, lots more. All over the place it seems and now at last at 9.30 I go top sleep, who knows what tomorrow has in store, but somebody said they have trains in India!...zzz.

Today I am a weary traveler. We left Namche this morning and took a leisurely 4 hours to Phakding. The day before we trekked for 3 hours from Tengboche to Namche and before that a 6 hour day from Labouche to Tengboche, a journey which in reverse had taken 6 days!
Phakding, just 2 hours walk from Lukla and a plane back to KTM, civilization. As we wander down the valley, away from the mountains I am at once excited about the idea of a warm shower and clean clothes (it has been 3 weeks after all) whilst also already missing the purity of the mountains. I will be sad to leave this scene behind, surrounded by fierce snow capped mountains piercing the horizon. The effect is always both bewildering and terrifying. The scale is like nothing I have seen before, in fact like nothing on earth, and to imagine that the majority of the surrounding peaks have been climbed by human beings is quite mind boggling. It was enough effort just putting your socks on in the morning up there! Yet apparently real people just like you and me with arms and legs and a heart and soul, not at all superhuman like in the movies or comic books, have actually climbed this rocks, its hard to fathom.
I will miss sitting in the sunshine and watching the many chuffs swooping and soaring in the thermals, punctuating the mountainous backdrop like a song sheet. I will certainly have to replace that feeling of wholehearted tiredness that creeps upon me towards nightfall and draws me to my sleeping bag at a ridiculously early hour. Yep there are many things I will miss, perhaps I will take up fell running after all. Oops there you go I’ve said it now