My Helvellyn Ankle
Gabby woke me at seven to tell me that we’d be spending the day climbing Helvellyn, the third highest mountain in England. At eight, we set off with Gabby’s new friends, Harry, Barry, Felicity, Spike, and Maureen, or the 'fatuous five' as I've taken to calling them. Seeing how cheerful they are, you'd think pak-a-macs came with fixed grins.
It’s not yet one o’clock and I’m back in the hotel. Unfortunately, I 'sprained my ankle' within an couple of hours. Although there’s remarkably little sign of damage, I can assure you that it 'hurts like hell' and I’ll just have to sit myself down in the hotel lounge and watch the Charity Shield match between Manchester United and Chelsea. The rest of them carried on without me and I really don’t know how I managed to get myself back to the hotel in double quick time, what with my 'painful ankle'…
I hope I’m hiding my disappointment. There’s nothing I would have liked more than to stand on top of a hill and look at other hills instead of sitting here eating some of our landlady’s wonderful sponge cake.
I’m just praying that my ankle will be fine tomorrow, so I can hit the next peak on Gabby’s list of climbs. I just feel so bad about missing out on Helvellyn…
2 comments:
Ah... you've been "to Helvellyn back." I hope Gabby, I mean the ankle, doesn't give you too much grief.
I usually "twist my ankle" when I'm expected to do activities that I'd rather not do. Activities like doing laundry, cleaning the kitchen, or going to work. You know, stuff like that.
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