The Lady Lorraine was flummoxed. It was something to do with standing in the middle of a fast flowing river. So not only was she flummoxed, she was very wet. The edges of her gown were anyway. For, being fortunate enough to stand upon a stone, her feet were dry. Even if she could not go on and she could not go back.
“Damsel,” quoth Sir Galahad, who, as chance would have it, just happened to be poncing about the countryside on his milk-white steed, looking like a cross between Brad Pitt, Gerard Butler and Josh Holloway, all rolled into one. “It is very singular you should stand there, in mortal peril. Will you not get upon my back, so I can carry you across yonder raging torrent?”
Lady Lorraine took one look at this sex-god. Long of leg and delicious of body. Wonderfully hunky and all these things wherefore to the eye a damsel would go. Woah. Her lips parted.
“Absolutely not,” she said.
I’ve just got back from another fabulous stay in Glencoe, which as you can see involved a lot of hard walking.
Mainly to the Boots Bar. Blame the weather, which explains why one of us is drinking sun cream. Although our party did make a trip out – apologies right now if your car windscreen was one of the ones getting the smacking on Saturday afternoon, when we hit Ballachulish with various items of hill-gear flapping from our car windows. It needed drying. We did too, which brings me to the river story, before you go thinking it ain’t valid.
The bridge to the Hidden Valley was shut, and the other half, being a bit of a map stickler since the time I took him up Aonach Eagach by mistake, insisted we stick to the reference offered. This was even if we didn’t know what one it was, as none of the four of us had a map between us. Or obviously a brain either by the finish. Anyway, lots of people seemed to be on the other side. How hard could it be?
Well, many hours and half a trip up one of the Three Sisters later, we saw the answer to this question. Finally we were within striking distance of………..Wooh, you’ve guessed it, the shut bridge. On the side we wished to be though. Yep. If nothing else, we had crossed the gorge. Hallelujah!
Obviously though, you can understand the dissent that arose within our party at this stage, with another 90 minutes underfoot still to go, including nice things like the rake. Not to mention the trip all the way back again. Especially when the car park at which we had parked our car, could now be viewed across said river. Roughly a five minute howk away.
Over the River Coe, I hasten to add. Where my pal, Lora, stuck on a stone in the middle. And her hubby, waded all the way back in, to offer the immortal words, ‘Get on my back. Aye. Come on.’ Now maybe in fairy tales that happens and maybe in fairy tales, the lady obeys. But this was real life, where domestics ensue. His legs did not look safe to her, she said. I shamefully confess I told her they were. But then I was standing right there behind her absorbing the shock of being in eighteen inches of freezing water, torn between thinking I was going to die and maybe I could get used to this. I would have told her the Titanic couldn’t have been safer.
I also said, what is a hero doll, if not the man standing there in front of you. My man too, since he had also waded back in, thinking her hubby’s legs did not look safe either and we didn’t want the mountain rescue called out in full view of the carpark, and try living that down later on in the Boots Bar, now did we? Although, having been struck by a flying rucksack…when in doubt, always save the camera and the mobiles first…his judgement may have been impaired. Anyway, we did all live to domestic another day. But it does make you wonder? What is a hero? Cos let’s face it, we all have this notion of the knight in shining armour. Well ladies, would we have refused Sir Galahad? Or are we just wise?Le hero……. Trying to behave here and not show le hunk