171 days to go

In my line of work you learn that great wisdom comes from unexpected places. Do not discount the 16-year-old in the Elvis wig and jumpsuit or the lawyer in the tailored suit. One can teach you how to keep your hair glossy using only iced water and the other may well have top tips on getting discounts on circus acts.

I had, I admit, snapped my mind closed on sources of hiking knowledge. People who hiked and people who hiked plus sold performance outerwear were my fonts, like the fascist I am. However, after our first real-life outdoor adventure today, I see that I should be getting myself onto some trucker websites. Not for the tips on long-distance travel, or coping with minimal amounts of sleep while possibly under the influence of assorted narcotics, but for what to do with ‘truckers’ arm’.

Yup. It transpires that, if you walk east to west in the middle of the day from Lewes to Hassocks along the ridge of the Downs, you will pick up a rosy glow, but just on the one side. The obvious answer would be to turn around and stroll the 11 miles back to baste the other side, but having expertly prepared for today’s hike by going to a gig in the London and then getting four hours’ sleep the night before, that was less of an option.

Fortunately there’s a spray tan place at the end of the road - I’ll stick one half in and get them to turn it up to ‘toasted’.

That dealt with, I am shocked to report that, until I wake up tomorrow frozen in position like so many railway sleepers, we seem to have got away with our first practice run. No blisters, no animal attacks, no madness/vomiting.

OK, so it took us an alarming amount of time to find our way out of Lewes, with a map. And we had to ask a man where the prison was, while standing in front of a sign saying ‘prison’ next to a large stone building accessorised with razor wire. And we may have taken a wrong turn outside Hassocks and had to dive in and out of the bushes along the A273 while walking around an endless blind corner.

The only disappointment came in the lack of injuries, after I conjured the lines yesterday:

How are your calves?
Like they only just escaped the veal crate in time

It would have felt good to work them in. Wendy said hers hurt a bit, but I know she was just humouring me.


What we have learned:
Scampi is not a fish, but a type of lobster, or method of preparing fish

Boot update:
11 miles over open country and apart from a light dusting, not a mark on them. If we’re going to be taken seriously by other hiking/climbing/walking-at-an-angle aficionados we’ll have to leave them out in the road for a few weeks to break them in.