Jog On

It was yesterday afternoon when my Father erupted into the front room and interrupted my broadcast with a special announcement. I had been watching a mixture of Cricket, Rugby and Football with hardly any gusto. Up until that point it had been a rather uneventful and boring weekend. I had interspersed the periods of boredom with stints of "Bioshock" on the Xbox 360 and episodes of "House M.D." with Huge Lorry. Here's what my Dad had to say for himself:

"Do you fancy going for a 5-mile walk?"

I replied rather nonchalantly with a tentative "Yes", for I had planned a repeat dosage of sitting around for the rest of that afternoon. The more I thought about the prospect of going for a walk, the more keen I was to take part in it. I got my trainers on and waited for him to get ready for our arduous journey. He had bought some new "walking shoes" and couldn't even get the buggers on his feet. You see, my Dad is like a little kid. If he can't do something straight away then he'll panic and call for my Mum to come and help him out. This extends to searching for objects in any room in the house. If it doesn't jump out at him straight away then you'll hear the age old refrain "Lynn!!". Usually, by the time my Mum has made her way to his location, he will have found it by himself. No cause for alarm. This was the case with his new zapatos. Once he had levered them onto his feet he exclaimed "These are comfy", and we set off on our trip.

Turning left out of our house, we walked down Reigate Hill. A short distance down we turned into Brokes Road. It was here that Dad stopped and said "These shoes are uncomfortable". I had anticipated this, and I also projected that we would have to turn back to base camp so that he could change his footwear. I then noticed that the tongue on these shoes had somehow curled under and was creating a mass of friction on the bridge of his foot. I relieved the offending article and he said "That's much better, these are comfy". I tell you now, it is like having a 4 year old Dad.

Once everything had been set right, we continued on with our quest. We went down some back roads that are really quiet and nice. The sun came out so I sang "The sun has got his hat on". We walked past a man who was, quite literally, beating the tarmac with his car mats. "Take that, you bastard tarmac" exclaimed Daddykins. The man laughed nervously and quickly retreated into his driveway so as not to incur any more conversation from us.

A bit further on we walked past "The Admiral" pub, which I have never set foot in. Today was not to be my lucky day, we walked straight past the place. My hopes of this turning into a pub crawl were dashed. We ended up on the main road from Reigate to Dorking, so naturally we walked in the general direction of The King of Dorks. Past "The Black Horse" and the Cricket green. Past the world's smallest petrol station. This is actually no word of a lie, the owners must have the petrol pumps in their lounge. It's really quite bizarre, and if I had been bothered I would have retrieved my phonecular from my pocket and taken a pictorial of this establishment. Alas, my laziness is my undoing.

Onwards past the golf course. There were some women on horses, but it wasn't as sexy as you'd imagine. We continued on our merry way. This is the point that the pavement miraculously disappeared from beneath us and we were forced to walk on the road. Now, before you write us off as whining idiots, the roads that we were walking along are frequented by fast drivers. This is because the speed limit is rather high. Oftentimes we would find ourselves jumping into the nearest bush in order to evade certain death.

From this point on there were no landmarks, just fields and cows. There was this rather massive bull with huge swinging knackers. Then we walked over a bridge and nearly got run over. Before long we had made it to our destination, "The Plough" in Leigh. Leigh is this nice little country village with an old church and a pub. There might be a post office, but we just don't have the technology to find out yet. Once at "The Plough" we had a couple of pints of cider. Stowford Press it was called, and very nice it was too. We sat outside and took in the atmosphere. Unfortunately the atmosphere consisted of country-types who had just finished shooting. There was one bloke who was a real div, he was going on about England Rugby. Everyone's a critic. The best part was when he said "Andy Farrell shouldn't be kicking" and someone corrected him by saying "Farrell has been kicking for years, he was a natural choice to step in and take over kicking duties". The man stood corrected and did the usual backtracking that most armchair managers do.

After a period, we were picked up by Mum who was driving back from picking my sister up from the stables. For the record, my sister is not a horse, she is a person. Rather she has a horse which lives in a stable. There, we cleared the air with that one.

When I got home I had some dinner and nearly fell asleep in front of the telly. Then I completed "Bioshock" and watched a few episodes of "House" with Huw Laurence. Once I was satisfied that every task had been completed to the best of my ability, I retired to the cul-de-sack and drifted off to slumber.

Now, here is a picture of the route that we took. It won't mean much to you, but it was a nice walk. 4.70 miles in all, I was lied to. This walk took us just under an hour and a half as we were walking at a less than brisk pace. Thanks.