just me

Well, it is a while since I last posted. Illness, lack of drive, incentive and encouragement meant things dried up.
A tad more on my travels. Last year on a spur of the moment thing I decided to go on a winter skills course. For many years i have been toddling around the hills, summer and winter and picked up skills as I went. However, this opportunity came along and I decided to give it a go.
Staying in accomodation meant taking a smaller rucksack and a holdall. On the underground heading for Euston station a couple of young lads, complete with their cans of booze where discussing differing women in the carriage. One described me as 'that ugly looking dyke'. However, his companion nudged him telling him to 'shut it'. Realization dawned. He had spotted my ice axe hanging on my rucksack and was a tad concerned that I may get annoyed!
The course itself went well, a couple of days spent doing all manner of activities high on the Cairngorms. We drove to the ski lift car park and headed out from there. What a contrast to the ski types. Us with rucksacks laden with ropes, snow shovels, crampons, ice axes and a variety of other bits of gear complete with harnesses and helmets and heavier winter boots.
The afternoon of the second day as we made our way back to the car park, the path had been icy and we left our crampons on until we actually got to the car park. The three women in our group hastily shucked them off and, carrying them in our hands dashed across the car park. We where on a mission, getting to the loo before it closed. Believe me, going for a pee in sub zero temperatures can be tricky for women. Al three of us burst through the door, rucksacks sliding from our shoulders, climbing harnesses being rapidly shed. Suddenly I realised there where two young lasses already in the loo, busy repairing make up. Obviously the must have had a hard day on the piste?
They stood, transfixed, jaws dropping at our dramatic entry. One young lady backed in to the corner, her lippy slipping from her fingers to drop in to the sink.
Maybe the poor dears had recently read Macbeth and thought the three witches had come looking for them? Actually we where more like three ice maidens. Ice on rucksacks and clothing, hair tangled with icy clusters etc. Equipment and outer layers of clothing where just dumped on the floor. The three of us hastily scurrying in to the cubicles, doors slamming and then that that magic moment of contented bliss.
When we emerged the girls had fled. However, as we left the loo we noticed a huddle of young people surrounding the young lasses. They stared at us as we passed. It was tempting but we resisted the urge to perform a morris dance in the car complete with ixe axes being brandished. Now that would have set them thinking?

Hi, well at the moment I know of someone who is going through a bit of a tough time. Thus I decided to share a few moments from my early days of transition. Maybe, just maybe, it may induce a wee smile?
It was late summer and being unable to head for the hills that weekend I decided to head west, Dorset way. Leaving London in the early hours I was off the train at Wool by around eight. My intention was to walk via footpaths and bridle ways etc towards Weymouth, stop somewhere over night, do a walk the following day day and catch the train back.
For whatever mad reason I had not packed shorts but a light, sarong type wraparound skirt. Heading for the nearest convenient spot I performed a hasty change. nice, cool and comfortable. However, it soon became apparent that the skirt gaped, very much so. A quick rummage of the first aid kit and a couple of safety pins later, problem solved. Until I had to cross a style, ping, both safety pins gave way, one stabbing me in the thigh.
During the course of the day I worked out a sequence. With no people around I just carried on regardless. With people approaching, draw everything together and fasten bent saftey pin and stand to admire view. There was one other problem at that time, my voice. I was still requiring speech therapy and was acutely aware that my voice could be a giveaway. It was a case of smile a lot and say little. yes, I am sure some folk considered they had stumbled across some poor befuddled half wit. Their condescending smiles said it all. By late afternoon I had come to a trickier piece of map reading through a series of footpaths. One such section led across a field to a stile, crossed a lane and back over another stile and through another field. Simple! One slight problem, a dear old man was leaning on an adjacant gate busy watching me. Try to maintain a degree of decorum and dignity I shuffled over the first stile. Ping, both safety pins parted company.
Old gent, with leery eyes on the flashes of naked thigh, mumbled, "there be a bull in yon field lady."
Bulls I could cope with, old men getting an eyeful of my exposed flanks was not what I wanted though. flashing him a smile I performed the quick shuffle over. "Bloody forigners, don't speak english" Was all I heard from the gent.
There was bull in the field too. Fortunately I am ok with animals, more so than with people. and this one was magnificent. One of the old longhorn breed. He had cows with him and was perfectly happy.
My intention had been to sleep out. It was easier than trying to do b&b. The problem was that I was in chalk country which meant no water. Finally, up on the downland, late in the day, I found a herd of beef cattle clustered round a trough that was fed from a cytern. Talking to them nicely, I ellbowed my way through and had a look at the water. It was fresh and anyway I would boil it. Just a a little from from a crazy woman's memories. Enjoy.