Wednesday, 29 May 2013

Hadrian's : exhibit number 2

I' d hit The Wall, ( nice pun huh? ) about 4pm, both my blisters had popped within 3 steps of each other. My blister-resistant (or so they'd claimed) socks had done little to stop me forming two 50p sized blisters on either foot. I don't know how the company , Regatta, can make such a bold claim about their socks, as they hadn't worked for the guy walking for two days. Maybe they hadn't been tested on people who actually walk in any remotely serious way. Perhaps they had been trialled on on old man, at home shuffling around in his slippers, from sofa, to the kitchen, to the toilet, back to the sofa again. I can imagine a whole team of scientists in white coats checking his feet and announcing,  "All clear Steve, let's go to manufacture!"

I needed to stay in a B&B tonight, my body was in pieces and I needed a guaranteed good night's rest. I spotted Corbridge on the map and managed to make my way there on a dangerous road, with no footpaths, but steep banks on either side which seemed designed to tip you into the path of one of the huge lorries hurtling by. The only benefit of having two limps at the same time is that it balances you out a bit.

I found a room for one at the Golden Lion, for bed and breakfast, all for a reasonable £40.
I told the barman which way I had walked to get there.
'You take your life in your hands doing that m'n'.

Fed and watered I went on to have the best sleep I have ever had. Seriously ever! A sleep blessed by the Roman God of sleep, Nocturnus (probably).

Corbridge is a lovely little, grey stone village, 'quaint' I think the Yanks might call it. It had boutiques, pricey clothes shops and seemed extremely affluent.

It also has very narrow streets. In fact, I discovered this as my unfrosted bathroom window was directly opposite, and almost touching distance from an art gallery. I could clearly see the details of the paintings hanging from the walls from my perch on the bathroom 'throne'.

 A group of serious, studious looking people, led by an elderly tour guide, entered the gallery from a far doorway. Partway through my contemplations I didn't feel I could get up to lower the blinds. And I have to admit to taking a wicked delight in the imagined remarks about to take place.
It would have gone something like this. "If we can move on ladies and gentlemen to the next exhibit, here we have.... A man sitting on the toilet waving at us'.   Priceless.

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