Sugar factory

I ran for an hour and a half, following my watch’s suggested workout, then got wrong off it for going too fast.

After lunch, I drove us to Hilgay (pronounced hill-gy with a hard g), where we embarked on an eight-mile walk along the north flood bank of the wiggly River Wissey to the sugar factory at Wissington and back along the other bank.

It’s not a walk I’d recommend.

Sugar factories stink, and what a range of stinks! There was a winey stink, a popcorn stink and a beetroot stink. They were the stinks we could put names to.

The chimney belched out water vapour, which we had to walk under.

I felt something. ‘Is that rain?’

‘I think it’s from the chimney.’

Ick.

I know it’s only water vapour, but still ick.

Sugar factories are loud. It was a relief to get away from the noise as we rounded it onto the road and crossed the bridge to the south side of the river..

We turned off the road onto a path that had looked nice and smooth and grassy from the road. Close up, it was gnarledy black fenland soil with tussocks and a carpet of fresh-grown nettles. The sugar factory grew louder, then faded away.

Next, it was a trail between a field of sugar beet and another field. That was less nettley, but still uneven, and quite soft.

We left that behind, taking ‘a violent right’, which led to a farm-type metal gate.

‘I hope it’s openable,’ I said on the approach. Me and my big mouth. ‘It’s closed with barbed wire.’

A pause. ‘Are you going to open it?’

‘It’s closed with barbed wire.’ I pointed at the barbed wire looped round the post, tangled in brambles, and the gate.

A pause. ‘Are you going to open it?’

‘I’m not messing with barbed wire.’ I stepped back and pointed again.

He got it.

‘Are you sure this is the right way?’

He was. We’d have to climb over it.

A bit further on, he was looking for a hard right. It turned out not to be two of the ones we found. We had to climb over another metal gate (tied shut with nylon rope), lower and wobblier than the first. This led to a wooden gate, leaning towards us.

This gate was also fastened shut. These are supposed to be public rights of way. I want happy about the gate’s lean, but luckily there was a big hole in the middle of it, so I went through the gate, albeit in an unconventional way. He climbed over it.

This led us to a much nicer trail that grandiloquently called itself a road. Even a lane would have been too much. I’d give it drove if it asked nicely.

Eventually, it led to a road that, if we’d been going the other way, would be described as petering out. The road led us past the Hilgay village sign (see extra) and back to the car, and I drove us home.

Mr Pandammonium decided en route that he’d make cookies when we got home. I’d make soup for my tea. He’s on Huel. Bleurgh.

The soup was too salty, but nice with bread dipped in it.

It seems there’s only one cookie left. Sorry, it’s got my name on it, not yours ;)