This morning I was feeling quite tired after a mad week at work. We had a special promotion this week so not only did we have a lot of calls but we had a lot of new things to remember and to fit into each call without messing up our stats. We also have a whole new list of things we are being targeted on so the brain is feeling a little frazzled. It’s quite hard to get used to all these changes while sounding like you know what you’re doing at all times and remembering to check all the things that have to be checked on each account plus giving good service. I guess it will get easier next week.
The weather man said there’d be rain and wind today here which didn’t bode well for the long walk I’d planned. In the end I decided to just go up and down the river as many times as I could before it got too bad because I didn’t fancy being caught miles and miles from home if poured down. At lest going to the Swan and back I would never be more than two and a half miles from my warm dry house. The only problem with doing that was it’s is too tempting to give up early.
Despite the blustery day I did manage sixteen miles, up and down the river four times. It was very blowy down by the river and when I came to the first bend it felt as if it was trying to blow me into the water. The black swan was nowhere to be seen today but there were lots of seagulls huddled along te banks looking very fed up. As I walked past them they all flew into the air. They were flying around surfing on the gusts of wind with their wings outstretched then flapping like mad as each gust dropped.
Instead of going over Mansbridge bridge I walked right up to the White Swan and, to my surprise, spotted three of the missing cygnets in the water just beyond the pub. That must be where they have been hiding all along. Obviously the other Cygnet is the Commando Junior of the swan world and doesn’t want to leave his parents.
On my third trip, as I was approaching Woodmill, I noticed lots of canoes in the water. There were a group of teenagers, probably from the nearby school, having canoeing lessons. One teacher was on the bank and another in a canoe with them. I walked back to the Triangle and turned around for my final walk to the Swan and by the time I got back to the little bridge they were all under it having a rest. I’m not sure if that was as far as they went or if they had gone under the bridge and further up the river but, as the path stops just after the Swan, I doubt it.
I was quite glad to turn round for my final lap. The canoes were almost back at Woodmill by the time I got back. One girl with purple hair had obviously had enough and was too tired to row any more as she was holding one end of her oar and the teacher on the bank was dragging her along pulling on the other end. I knew how she felt! I was really pushing myself, making good time, more than a four mile an hour average and I was tired.
When I got to the Triangle I planned to walk all along Mousehole Lane towards the old infant school and then cut through and up to the Big Hill. I’d forgotten how hilly it was along Mousehole Lane and it was probably not the best thing for my last two miles. Still I struggled along, pushed myself up the hills and made it to the Village, walked up past the church then made my final turn for home. When I got to the top of the Little Hill, I realised I would be a little short of the sixteen miles if I just went straight down and back home so I walked the longer route around the back of the creacent and, just as I walked down my front path, the pedometer clicked over onto the sixteen miles. In all it took me four hours two minutes. A very good time.