Richard Lutz reviews his past week: a rural idyll, heat and that man with Political Tourette’s Syndrome.
Distance walking offers a dreamy feel in Britain when the thermometer erupts into the high eighties…that’s 30 degrees Celsius for those who still think Euro despite Brexit.
Boy, was it hot as we headed east from Richmond in North Yorkshire and towards the roll of the Moors. I am slowly nibbling away at the coast to coast walk from the west of England across its narrow neck to the east coast. Ultimately, probably next year, with the help of friends, I’ll arrive at the North Sea where it hits the hard-headed coast. It’ll look like this:
Part of the unknown on these walks is where you stay. It can be pot luck or, sometimes, simply bad luck.
In this interlude into heat, we bedded down in four places. One was a tarted-up hotel overlooking the Georgian market square in genteel Richmond; then there was the rather severe north country farmhouse (with a warm hearted family); then a Joni Mitchell hipster type place, all pastel and prosecco; then, finally, a whacko rock and roll guesthouse that seemed to be designed and run by Ozzy Osbourne but overseen by a sweethearted guy who couldn’t do enough for sore feet (including driving guests to the pub and back again).
Really, after the interminable pounding up and down through the Moorlands, all we needed were a good bed and a hot shower. And in their different ways, from foo-foo farmhouse to down to earth BandB, all delivered. And that was good enough for sore legs and aching backs.
I returned home and the strange inability to sleep despite the constant walking. I woke suddenly at 4 am to hear Trump barking out of the tv. It was a live transmission of his Republican acceptance speech. It was a horror show – a demented man who needs treatment for Political Tourette’s. His platform rests on fear and anger. Not hope and dreams. He really does need sorting out and the best way is for him to lose the elections and get re-buried under the gilt-edged rock from whence he crawled.
Or maybe sent packing on a long walk across England. In the rain. And mud. Without a map. Or a shower. Maybe that would do the trick.