Trails of the unexpected

Built into the side of Boxhill is an old World War Two bunker that was designed as a lookout cum machine gun post. There are a number of leftovers from that era around here but this is one of the most inaccessible. I know because in my stupidity I decided to climb up to it wearing completely inappropriate footwear; of course I suddenly found that going back down was practically impossible so I had to keep climbing, which got really tricky. I was aware that I was in real danger of falling down a steep rocky slope and ending up with the kind of injuries that have A&E staff debating the marginal difference between a patient’s shoe size and their IQ.

When I did get clear, heart thumping and jeans covered in chalk from the hillside, I then made my second bad decision of the day which was to carry on to the top of Box Hill. This left me absolutely exhausted. Oh and this all took place after I had fallen over before I even got to the hill itself, ending up on my back in the stinging nettles with my rucksack by my side but holding my precious Panasonic lumix at arms length to protect it from damage.

I had been to see occupational health that morning and they had advised me to get more exercise so I blame them. They are based in a hospital miles from anywhere so I had an interesting time getting there, but they were very helpful and gave me food for thought. As did lunch with Mr P, who is one of my circle of trusted advisers; it is always interesting to get someone else’s perspective. He is an awesome intellect and retired from a very senior position in the civil service some years ago, plus he is a very decent and practical bloke as well.  

TSM rescued me in the car at the end of the day. I came home and slept for an hour, ate, and then we watched a movie together. Finest Hour with Gemma Arterton. Grew on me, and gave me yet more to ponder on.

All in all an unexpected day. Lots to think about ...