Time is running out...

Not long to go... Mere days now!
I have a cold. Really just sniffles, repeated sneezing and a sore throat which is creeping downwards... I feel decidedly wimpy... I even flirted with the idea of a day in bed, and then thought 'Don't be RIDICULOUS woman - what if you get sniffles in Nepal? You'll HAVE to get on with it!'
With luck, a cold now will mean I don't get one in Nepal...
I bust a gut last week squeezing training in on my working days. My 'workfree' days went less well exercise-wise... Crap, actually. And yesterday was given over to my yearly accounts (always a thoroughly depressing day).
Then, today, my car broke down. Twice.
The first time, I discovered that my AA membership has been cancelled by the bank. Cheeky swine - my account is still being charged for the privilege of NOT having such fringe benefits - and it cost me over £100 to upgrade my membership last time I broke down, just so I could get home...
Thank God for Kit, who covered the cost of having my battery recharged this morning to get me to work...
...and then she died a second time, round the corner from work as I headed home. A helpful RAC member to the rescue...
So I'm chilled, hungry and thoroughly fed up - alongside overextending my not-so-stretchy overdraft beyond breaking point...
I thought I would post some pix from my day in Bath on Saturday. Good walking before and after the travel writing workshop I went to...
Always good to end something on a positive note!

amazing changes...

My inbox is chocka... It can wait til at least tomorrow.
Time is rapidly running out for trek training... Which is to say what I haven't done now is unlikely to get done. Although I would like to do the stairs work suggested by Sim to combat the worst of the muscle pain...
I spoke to Debbie on Monday. She did a similar trek in Peru for one of the breast cancer charities back in April. And boy, had she trained (and she'd done the triathlon the year before...)
So I'm feeling very cross with myself (though why is a bit of a mystery - if I'd had the resources and the time to fit in more training in, then I would have. I've done what I could, and that is generally good enough for the rest of the world - I just seem to be rather attached to that hair shirt and self-flagellation...)
Tonight, I'm slugging back up the hill (actually called Paddles Lane, according to the Google map of Frome, which makes me smile!), feeling really chuffed that two working days in a row I've managed a good hour and a half training - and last night I went to the Alma Theatre as well!
A knot develops between my shoulder blades, and I think; my rucksack is quite heavy tonight. I have a sudden memory of Glastonbury. In particular, returning from Glastonbury...
The year I went on the bus with the bike club (? sounds a bit bizarre, doesn't it! - day tickets, hence the bus...). My backpack simply had waterproofs, a couple of layers, water and snacks - and boy, did I struggle round Worthy Farm. The site never seemed so huge... No, that's not true, the year I 'commuted' in Karen's car to stewarding work in the information tent, I barely made it further than the main stage and then onto the car after my shift... In fact, after some shifts I just went straight home (Ath was about 13 or 14, so there were 'issues' there as well... but imagine not having the energy to check out at least some of Glasters! - and (mostly) no partying whatsoever... Al & I shared a bottle of wine at lunch-time on the last day - and then I did stay late, to sober up!)
But going back to that day ticket trip - eventually, about 7ish, just as the rest were starting to get into party mode proper, I had to give up attempts to enjoy it and start the slog back to the bus stop. (I didn't know the club members very well, only through Mike and Karen, but I was a bit shocked that nobody bothered making sure I was OK - I must have been grey-faced by then, but I'm sure they just thought I was a real lightweight...).
It took me hours to get to the buses, and then the driver wouldn't negotiate an earlier bus than was on my ticket... I was so exhausted I could barely focus on the way home, and when I arrived in Frome, there were no taxis on the rank (not sure I had cash anyway!). I managed to get up beyond Sheppards Barton and into Park Road before I phoned Ath to come and help me and my bag home... It probably took me three or four days of resting before I felt half-way human again.
And now, I can walk for nearly two hours on top of a day at work!!!!! Two days in a row - now that's pretty miraculous.
Considered like that... I may not have managed the optimum level of training recommended, but boy have I achieved an amazing increase in fitness this year...
They say these treks are life changing experiences. And maybe, for some of us, those changes start long before we get on a plane...

More about Ebbor Gorge...

Mike sent this, so I couldn't resist posting it!

In haste - more walking to do (among 1001 other things - most of which I'm happy to postpone through training having priority... don't you just hate tax returns?)

Ebbor Gorge

Another fantastic ramble today - through the woods (where I took nearly as many fungi shots as anything else!), up the cleft in the gorge and onto the plateau at the top. A bit too misty to see very far - but mist is always quite magical.

In haste - Crysse is in the Exposed show, commissioned by Apples and Snakes, at the Merlin tonight. One of the biggest national poetry tours ever programmed... I don't want to be late as I've promised to write a review...

transitional time...

I haven't managed to post on here since I began my new job... too busy, or too knackered!
Having Mondays as well as Fridays free of regular employment commitments is already proving extremely useful - particularly as Pen had a 'cleaning slot' free. I can't afford a cleaner, but I so needed help with spring cleaning the flat and clearing loads of clutter - and Pen's more like a whirlwind than a cleaner, motivating me in the process. Together, we get far more done than she would by herself - and she's achieved more in three days than I could in three weeks... After our first session in the flat on Bank Holiday Monday, I had a fair haul to add to the garage goods awaiting another boot sale - which I did with Marina. My takings were disappointing (I was spoiled when Ath and I did one, we made about eighty quid), and far too much crap came back with me (although our two-car loads were, admittedly, reduced to one). Still, it's good to have stuff moving... Good feng shui!
Today we cleared the garden and hefted about twenty bags to the tip. There's a load of wood stored in the garage which maybe Annabelle and Peter can use...

My first week at Barton Hill was hectic, and I was knackered after three consecutive early starts... (no more leaving Frome for Bristol in a leisurely fashion at ten o'clock - I've got to be there at nine). Lyn and I managed a short walk on Tuesday after work (that late night Tuesday won't have helped my fatigue!) and Crysse and I squeezed in an hour and a half's walking on Friday. On Saturday, I got up early enough to get an hour's walking in before Peter's salon - what a lovely way to spend an afternoon! I did feel very Dormouse-at-the-Mad-Hatter's-tea-party once we'd eaten... (chestnut soup, wild salmon and mulberry compote). Perked up enough to read 'Loving Dissection' as my contribution - and then Liquid Jam went to Writhlington Village Hall for their first party performance... (bid for in the Auction of Promises).

It went very well - but being on stage in front of a 'non-poetry/theatre' audience is much more daunting than it might sound... especially when I kept stumbling over words and lines... aaargh!

Sunday spent in recovery from the week in general and Saturday in particular. A chance to catch up with admin and some emails...
Bloody hell - with now only five weeks to go til we're off, I need to be doing more than that with my Sundays...
but, on the other hand, I need to be careful not to exhaust myself so close to the trek... I don't want to get ill at the eleventh hour!

And talking of eleven, it's 9/11 anniversary today. I remember watching the tv footage with an intensified sense of unreality, having been doped up for a colonoscopy (which was unecessary, as my symptoms are almost certainly down to the hep C).

Home from the hospital, reading and half-watching the tv, at first I was puzzled. Once I realised I wasn't watching some bizarre special effect, but live footage replayed again and again, I was stunned, and dazed for the next few weeks - alongside the rest of the world. Ted Simon must have been on his second world bike trip, because I remember reading an excellent email update on the response of the South American people he talked to about the tragedy.

There were candlelight vigils, flurries of letters to add to the proliferating newspaper articles debating why it had happened and what should be done to deter future acts of terrorism... the hunt began for Osama Bin Laden, people circulated millions of emails commemorating those who died and their families... and then, later, the march in London to protest the war in Iraq.

And now we're five years on from the not-so-improbable toppling of the twin towers...

into the enchanted wood...

I really wish I could control picture placement on these posts! They come out in an arbitrary order - still, the above collection gives some idea of my wondrous journey. I really did feel like an intrepid explorer in a strange land...

I've been to Lyme Regis twice before.

The first time, in 1998, I wrote 'Forgetting part of oneself is like losing a limb. Maintaining the whole is the way to fulfillment... I wake to see a perfect crescent moon floating over a gently undulating sea.'

The second time, I rode my motorbike (into the sunset!) for an 'artist's date' overnight trip to Abbotsbury, cruising the coast road as far as Lyme before heading home. I took Helen's copy of Louise deSalvo's Writing as a way of healing, and my notebook opened and closed with writings and sketches from along that section of coastline...

This third time, a much more challenging trek than even the treadmill pebbles of Chesil Beach...

Life is indeed enchantment.