A Moments Thought.

We walked from Wormhill into the dale and up the other side. We stopped to practice Howler Monkey and later for a drink of water. Howler Monkey is fairly simple; put your head back, make a big ‘O’ with your mouth and push out a series of loud open throated ‘ooohs’ sufficient to ward off any potential aggressor. It’s not a howl like a wolf or a grunt; it’s a sort of belly sound. Anyway the upshot is a wonderful feeling of togetherness quite the antithesis of sitting round a pub table with a group of friends piddling about on their mobile phones. If you want to bond with family or a group there’s nothing better than a spot of Howler Monkey though in some circles it can be misinterpreted as insanity. We walk on and Mothermouse loses her book of walks we’re following. These, she told me later were her thoughts in the moments that followed. ‘Bugger I’ve lost the book. It must have fallen out of my pocket down the hill. No! How far down the hill? And trekking back up it! Why is he looking at me like that all smug? He must have picked it up and not told me. Must have it behind his back or somewhere. He’s still not saying, look, what’s he doing now waving his hand about and smiling, bastard, that’s no help at all.’ “What?” she says eventually as I continue pointing. “It’s in your other hand.” We continue and I, in mock grump, complain about the road going left when the book says, ‘next right’, and she, no doubt still smarting, tells me she is not appreciating my happy banter and to shut up! On the next climb out of the dale a gate, neater than any pickpocket, snatches her camera out of its holster and leaves it hanging on the bolt bit. We stand there amazed at its inanimate impudence. I save the day again. Honestly on days like this it’s wonderful being me. We get back to Wormhill and go home via an ice cream.