I have a confession. Well, three confessions.
One evening, before embarking on this journey, a friend was quizzing me about my trip. One of her questions was,
What are you going to do for a hobby Flora, on your trip. Walking is all very well, but you need something else to fill your time. Like learning a language or musical instrument. Surely you need to be more productive than just walking from one end of the country to another.
I tried to explain that the walking the length of our country was in itself probably a sufficient challenge for me. But that obviously wasn’t a satisfactory answer. Two weeks later, I received a present. A harmonica. Complete with instruction book.
Now those of you who know me will be aware that I have never been blessed with musical abilities. I couldn’t even get into the choir in junior school – where they accept pretty much anyone.
I quite liked the idea of sitting on a heather clad hillside, charming the lambs with my mournful harmonica tunes. Or taking part in jolly impromptu music sessions in rustic pubs.
However, Susie, I’m so sorry. I left the harmonica behind. I’m just don’t have the aptitude. And I do seem to have my hands full with the walk, without a hobby on top of it.
Also, another friend gave me knitting needles and wool. Same thing, I’m sorry, Ciara, the knitting stuff is back home.
And finally, Doug, I’ve failed with the painting too. The paintbox is back home. What I’ve found is that when I’m not walking, I am washing my socks, planning my route, writing my blog, writing postcards, eating, and sleeping. Oh, and chatting to people I meet.
There we are. Confessions made.