Open Writing

When we drew back the curtains on Tuesday morning we were astonished at what we saw. Or, rather, we were astonished at what we could not see. There was a thick mist which prevented us from seeing even the traffic on the A6 a few yards away. After four days of almost perfect walking weather, it looked as though a change could be in the air.

Fortunately, I seemed to have recovered fully from whatever had afflicted me the day before and I was able to enjoy a hearty breakfast, before we returned to our room to prepare ourselves for the day's walk to Kirkby Stephen. I packed my things and was ready to go when I noticed a bit of a kerfuffle and a great deal of swearing coming from Tom's direction. He was cursing at his rucksack as he struggled to fit everything in, as though it was the rucksack's fault!

This was Tom's tenth Coast to Coast Walk and he claims to have mastered the art of travelling light. Indeed, he tells everyone the story about how, when he did the walk for the very first time, he took far too much with him and that by the time he reached Shap, he was so shattered that he asked his landlady for a box, into which he put everything he had decided he would not need and gave the landlady enough money to post the box home for him. Next day, Pam was delighted to receive the parcel, thinking that her loving husband had not forgotten her after all and had sent her a token of his affection to show her how much he was missing her. She tore the box open in great excitement, only to find Tom's dirty washing.

This experience (and the tongue lashing from Pam) prompted Tom to think carefully about what he took on his subsequent jaunts. After completing the course nine times, he was such an expert that he had been able to give each of us his very helpful list of what we would need, keeping things to the absolute necessities, for which I for one was very grateful and I had little difficulty. What he didn't know was that Pam had confided in me that despite all his experience and his helpful list, he had not yet failed to send home a parcel from Shap. Indeed, it had become such a regular occurrence that she no longer opened the parcels, but chucked them in the garage and left them to fester until he got home.

I wondered what it is about Shap that causes so much difficulty for Tom and his rucksack as I watched him battling to fit in all his belongings. He was using both hands to press everything down and trying desperately to fit in his towel on the top. In the end, Paul had to help him, holding the rucksack still whilst Tom pressed everything down.

'I seem to have more than I started with, which is bloody impossible,' he grumbled. 'I'll make sure I don't pack as much next year.'

'Why, what's happening next year, Tom?'

'Did I say next year? It must have been a slip of the tongue. This is definitely the tenth and last time I do anything as stupid as this.'

Eventually, we were on our way and met Hairy Spice outside the Co-op as planned. He had been so buoyant about his comfy arrangements the previous evening that we prepared to be bored to tears by his self-congratulatory boasting. However, he was not in a good mood and we soon wished we had stuck with Whinger Spice.

'Did you sleep well, Don?'

'No. I thought there wasn't supposed to be much traffic on the A6 these days. Well, I can tell you there are bloody heavy lorries thundering along at regular intervals all night and when the lorries weren't waking me, the pub's air conditioning would kick in and wake me,' he complained. The air conditioning unit was situated on the wall at the back of the pub, expertly positioned to keep campers awake.'I've hardly had a wink of sleep.'

'Well, at least now you know what it's like for the rest of us trying to sleep when you're snoring nearby,' Joe said in his usual sympathetic way.