After yesterday’s writing jaunt, I am once again in front of the computer screen, and now the writing appears to be flowing somewhat. I lack scholarship as yet, in that I am have few references on paper. Having to look up yet more references is the bane of my existence. I recently had to do an annotated bibliography for a study in which I am the RA, and it was the best thing I have ever done. By far my best, quickest and easiest AB to date, and I realised that over the four years I have been struggling with my PhD studies, that I could have been doing a few more of these, particularly now that all the stuff in my head needs to be put on paper.
Yes, I know there are books on how to take notes, and how to reference. I didn’t read them. Bad Jessie.
Anyhoo, at least I have an inkling of how this Methods chapter is going. 10000 words to write, and I appear to have written 7000 of them. I’m only 6 weeks late for submission of this chapter to my supervisor. It’s definitely my own fault. Can’t blame anyone else here but me.
So, that’s the writing explained. The walking adventure was that yesterday, when I thought about going for a walk with hubby, we did. We walked the equivalent of about 10kms over about 3.5 hours. It was great. At least, I thought it was great. Hubby didn’t. Hubby threw a tantrum on top of a mountain. Ok, the problem is this. I love walking, getting out into the great outdoors. I quite like camping, and fishing, and washing up in streams, and camp fires and cooking tea in billycans etc. Apparently when I was 9 I wanted to join Girl Guides (cubs), so I did, and I stayed until I was 14. We went camping and learned how to put up tents and light fires and tie knots (well, that’s a lie – I never really learned how to tie knots). I now have a new, mustard coloured waterproof pair of boots with which to go walking, at the very least.
Hubby hates all of the above outdoor activities. I really don’t know why. Hubby thought that buying a cute pair of suede Converse high-top sneakers would suffice for walking about in the Yorkshire wilderness. Noooo. Not really. We’re in Yorkshire at a time when the snow is melting, it’s freezing cold, folks are tramping, and there is lots of muddy boggy stuff about. One needs waterproof shoes with good soles and probably one of those ugly windbreaker jackets instead of the very stylish woollen overcoat hubby bought in The Hague. So, as we’re trying to walk round the Semerwater lake but it’s too muddy in the direction of the lake, I’m seeing one of those teensy tiny “public footpath” signs to Bainbridge – 2 miles, and I’m thinking, hey, let’s go on an adventure. We’re dressed for it, we can go to the pub for a refreshing ale before walking home, and it will be fun.
Over hill and dale, through bog and marsh, over stile and turn, and tramping through stinky, muddy farmlets is not hubby’s idea of a fun time. Nope. Not at all. At one point I couldn’t see the next stile/ drywall fence and we were on the side of a steep hill, following sheep tracks because the “walking path” had got hidden under snow, and hubby was slipping and sliding about because his shoes just weren’t cutting the mustard and he finally exploded, yelling he “didn’t sign up for this!”. At which point I apologised a lot and walked a long way away from him, concerned that I couldn’t see the next walking marker and getting quietly panicky.
Finally saw the stile – we had walked downhill rather than up and had to retrace somewhat – and waited for him to make his way to me. At which point I then said, rather quietly, “this is exactly what I came for”. It was beautiful up there.
This is where we nearly “got lost”, or “lost it”, whichever way you look at it: not a great place to lose sight of one’s self.
Apologies were meted out all round, and of course, not too far away was the ROAD. Which we followed to Bainbridge and the pub. Somewhat of a disappointment, the rather chilly pub didn’t even serve hot chips as a side dish, so after I drank a pint of Black Sheep Bitter (VERY good beer), we marched home again, all 3 miles. A great walk, and which I felt justified the very large serving of sausages and mash I afterwards prepared with a glass or two of not-very-good Tempranillo.
Which brings me to FOOD. Urgh. It’s hard when it’s cold not to eat lashings of potato, and bread, and lovely mild Wensleydale cheese and wine. So I’m eating them anyway. I feel guilty as sin, and I can almost SEE the kilos marching right back onto my butt, but we’re walking A LOT. In very COLD WEATHER. Surely that counts?! I’m well over my calorie count for the day, even with exercise, and my only excuse is that it’s hard to work out how to eat well when one is on holiday and the only things on offer at the local eating places are very carb-dense foods or soup.
Which reminds me, time to get cracking on some body-weight exercises, as if tramping about clambering over stiles and through bog isn’t enough. While I think I can forgo the lunges and squats, I am reminded that my upper body still needs a workout. Time for some pushups, planks, crunches and maybe even some yoga poses. I have to hide to do all these because I’m not sure what hubby thinks of all this exercising nonsense, but I can certainly report I wasn’t flagging at the end of 3.5 hours walking. Felt great.
And slept like one of the dead. Which reminds me, we were told to turn on the de-humidifier they’ve thoughtfully provided for the cottage to ensure that the windows don’t mist up. I did so, but we’ve been slowly dying through dehydration and I’ve had a terrible headache. Well. I turned the blasted machine off and placed bowls of water about to try and humidify the place. It’s finally working – I feel better, although still very dry. Crazy lack of moisture in the air, enough to make a singer gasp her last breath, drily. I hate under floor heating. Can’t get it cool enough.
I'm no superwoman. 