It's lovely today. It was lovely yesterday. Too lovely for March, maybe.
Yesterday we went for a walk at Trosley Country Park. It's been spruced up since we were last there a few years ago - new toilets, a new cafe. The cafe was busier than the walking trails.
"Come on, let's off-road," I said. And we took the "B" route, all the way down the hill, through several fields, not knowing whether the route was two miles or nine. After about an hour and a half we seemed to be heading back towards the car park. Up, up, up, then across.
"We've reached the woods now," I said. "I'm glad those trees are there because I wouldn't fancy walking on the side of this steep hill with nothing to stop my fall."
We came to a clearing with nothing to stop our fall. Eyes down at the path, not left to the less than gentle slope. Past a braver young couple sitting on the slope with their even braver dog chasing his tail.
I'm such a wuss with heights. My legs turn to jelly, I can't go on, I can't go on, I can't go on.
I went on and we made it. A lovely day with a bit of nervous excitement added.
*******
Today is a lovely day. We go to the dentist's. The receptionist is wearing sexy boots and her cleavage is overspilling. An old man comes out of the torture room and after picking up his cap from under one of the chairs, pays his £50 in cash. There goes his pension for this week.
"Can I use the facilities?" he asks the receptionist.
"Of course you can," she says.
He goes into the toilet and clatters about a bit. I hear running water. He comes out and leaves without another word.
I bury myself in my Sherlock Holmes in case the receptionist thinks I'm looking at her tits. I hear the drill start up.
"Filling for Betty," I think. "That means one for me too."
Our dentist enjoys filling teeth. It's good to see someone taking pleasure in their work.
Me, I take pleasure in my days off.
Is postmodernism to blame?
22 hours ago
I believe in the dim and distant past when Mr P. was a callow youth in Gravesend it was called Trotiscliffe. He reckons he can't remember anyone needing ropes and crampons on Holly Hill, although he was once rescued from a crevass at Harrison Rocks near Tonbridge.
ReplyDeleteWhat is it about receptionists?
ReplyDeleteMurph - I think Norfolk is ideal walking country for me. These mountainous Kentish passes are a bit much.
ReplyDeleteBilly - She was on the phone when we arrived talking about her husband moving in with his girlfriend. I think she's on the lookout for someone new.
"Filling for Betty," I think. "That means one for me too."
ReplyDeleteSo that's how it works!
I'm picturing the receptionist as looking just like the woman off of Alan Partridge
Betty reckons she tries to keep up with the fashions but has let herself go a bit recently: hence her roots are showing.
ReplyDeleteI just saw tits and kinky boots.
Our dental receptionist is about 50 and a person of restricted growth. Her high heels are a necessity so she can reach the counter,
ReplyDeleteThere's no counter at our dentist's. The receptionist has a desk in the waiting room. It's all very cosy.
ReplyDeleteI need a nap just thinking about your days off.
ReplyDeleteThere's still the windows story to write.
ReplyDeleteLlewtrah's receptionist sounds rather like me - except younger.
ReplyDeleteBut I am beautifully proportioned.
Trouble is I can't wear high heels 'cos - like you - I'm scared of heights.
I'm more scared of heights than the dentist.
ReplyDeleteI saw a bit of Wainwright's Walks last night and I thought "Oh, that isn't too bad" when Julia Bradbury was in the valley. Then she started to climb and climb and my legs went all funny.
I'm scared of heights, but I'm fine if I'm flying in an aeroplane.
ReplyDeleteWhich is weird.
Glad you enjoyed your day in the country, glad you found the dental receptionist invigorating.
I'm fine in an aeroplane, too. I'm even fine in a coach. As long as someone else is in control.
ReplyDeleteYou can't beat a good invigorating dental receptionist.