Munro post, 22/06/1017 part one, getting there…

Friends, collies and dogs with nice hats,

Golly gosh, my last Munro post seems another age away. It was all busyness and excitement at home last Wednesday, with B putting the last bits in our van while David was making B’s salad and sandwiches and chopping up my cheese. I tried to do my bit but it wasn’t appreciated and, to be honest, my tummy was in bits.

We set off at 6.30am on Thursday with the intention of bagging a Munro that day. I had forgotten how unnerved I get, going away with just B, and my anxiety began to get the better of me. Was my cushion in the back, would there be enough food, did B remember my toothbrush, WHERE WERE MY BALLS. The decision to get to Edinburgh via Moffat didn’t help much either. We drove up and over the Devil’s Beef Tub, which sounded really scary, so I tried to keep my eyes tightly closed. This was v. v. v hard on a horribly pot holed road that made my van bounce up and down. Discomfort added to uncertainly made for a very unhappy Ben. If only I’d known what was coming up I could have saved up my bad humour for later. We negotiated the city by-pass OK and put the weight of traffic down to the time of day, with commuters getting to work. Then, leading up to the roundabout for the A90, everything ground to a halt. What on earth made B think it would be a good idea the travel past the show ground, on the first day of the Royal Highland Show – which the odd 200,000 people like to visit – I’ve no idea. Suffice to say, over the next hour and a half we covered the magnificence distance of 9 miles. All in all, – with the worry about how my van would cope, the roaring of huge, terrifying planes from the airport just above me, my ongoing discomfort and uncertainty – my head space was a mess. Finally, we crawled around the Forth bridge roundabout but B was in the wrong lane and had to cut across the traffic, which didn’t go down very well at all and there was lots of honking and hooting. I put my paws over my ears and prayed hard that no one would bump into us.

After all this the journey got a bit easier with just the odd wiggle needed in road works. I found wiggling to be a better way of passing the time than twiddling my paws. Then, after another couple of hours I thought we must be getting close to a Munro because it started raining. By this time it was all doom and gloom in my van and me & B had dark black hats on.

B said we had to do something called putting it all in perspective. Just thinking about the horrendously sad things that had happened in Manchester and London should help us think how lucky we were. Then we got to thinking about the results of the General Election and that made me go hee, hee, hee.

B told me about someone, who I think she said was called a Mr de Bonio, who could help us out a bit. I think I could get to like this Bonio chap. Anyway, apparently we had to pretend we had different coloured hats on to help us see our current situation from lots of different angles. With our green hats we had to be creative. I liked this bit because we thought we could fly up the Munros, or parachute down to them, or go up them on chair lifts. Then we swapped over for yellow hats to see everything through a happy prism. That outlook told us we had lots to be thankful for. My van had done brilliantly, despite its recent troubles. We had somewhere nice and snug to sleep (very snug actually). The forecast had even told us it would brighten up later. Finally, we had to put our red hat on and trust our gut reaction.

My gut only ever tells me one thing and I was hoping B’s would tell her the same, right now. Actually, it took a lot, lot longer to drive down a very narrow road going nowhere, before we stopped and I got something for my gut. After that we just put our rain hats on and set off, walking into the mist. I had a very funny feeling but B told me it was fine. It was just deja vue, whatever that is.


Love Ben xx


3 thoughts on “Munro post, 22/06/1017 part one, getting there…

  1. We are getting very concerned for your welfare Ben. Perhaps you should try the hills of Norfolk instead. They are much safer, I am sure.
    With love,
    Millie, Annie and Mimi


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