A billion breakfasts later

I am now somewhere in the middle of the world having walked over a hundred miles. I have lost no weight but have had rather a lot of big fat breakfasts.

What I have liked best: Being contemplative whilst taking in the beautiful countryside, wide rivers and giant power stations. And Howden. One day I'll tell you about Howden ... when it comes back to me.

What I have liked least: Humber mud, sunburnt legs, greasy food and Selby (a hole).

Mr Smith arrives tonight in Yorkshire with the dog. Oh how I have missed him (the dog). I am chez Mrs Smith senior being looked after very well. It's a very good B&B here - I really must stop treating the place like a hotel; my poor mother in law is being run ragged. I wonder if room service have done my laundry?

Howdie Howden

Found Amy, she was outside Boots opposite my hotel. What a brave spirited lady she must have been. The other really famous person from Hull, apart from William Wilberforce, is Philip Larkin whose practical guide to parenting I never did find very helpful.

Soon Hull is to be invaded by Toads. These are fibreglass painted ones like London's elephants and those lions and cows. Up here they pronounce them "turds". I did a double take when told the streets of Hull were shortly to be covered with them; it seems quite a clean city to me.

I hit the hotspots of Howden next. Where? I dunno, it's just another picturesque town oop north.

Thai Wives Club

Dom long ping pong lang a ding dong?
Bromley
Aaaaah Bromley
Kam bong tong long fum pang?
Glasgow
No surely not Glasgow?
Are you sure it's not Edinbra?
No not Edinbra - Glasgow.

The Thai wives were pondering over the demise of one of their number who had sadly been sent to Glasgow whilst they were all whooping it up in Hull. They all had jolly nice handbags and one assumes husbands.

There are no indian restaurants in Hull. There are no indian people in Hull. There are no black people in Hull; William Wilberforce, the local Hull hero, emancipated them all. The provincial quality of Hull really is quite nice unless you fancy a curry that is. The police, who I had to call upon in this emergency, suggested the Thai - I passed them in the street and apologised for treating them like the tourist board. I ended up chatting to the charming English proprietor and his Thai wife til quite late. She insisted on teaching me how to cook a Thai curry and he told me some of the history of Hull and what to look out for. I now have to find Britain's smallest glazed window and Amy Johnson. Wish me luck. Oh and I mustn't foget today's long walk.

It's not Dull in Hull

After a night at a very odd B&B in Beverley, I marched all the way from Hornsea to Hull which was no mean feat. I am horribly sunburnt. I will leave the walk details on www.mrssmithsbigwalk.blogspot.com.


About my weird B&B. From the outside it looked like a quaint teashop with pots in the window. On closer inspection they were horrible junk shop/antique vases and the teashop doubled as a photography studio; I have a sneaking suspicion porn films are made in the back. There was terrible, I mean the worst ever, art on every wall done by Andy, the proprietor. The whole place was sinfully scruffy and dirty and it smelt. I nearly went away but Andy was such a nice fellow and looked like he might cry if I left and, to be fair, the room was OK. He was a bit hopeless with little idea of how to run a B&B or teashop or anything else; a jack of all and master of none. He certainly couldn't muster a wife (non starter rather than gay). How he acquired his 3 stars I do not know; I can only imagine the inspector felt sorry for him as I did. I did complain a bit especially about the state of the bath towels (you don't want to know). Anyway, he obviously felt guilty as he just e-mailed me to tell me the best thing he does is breakfast which I didn't have. Sorry, Andy, I just couldn't face it. I went to Tesco instead.

I am now ensconced in a lovely expensive hotel in Hull where the sheets are all starched and crispy and the bath towels white and fluffy. This is a bit more like it. I am off to buy a sunhat - stable doors and bolted horses come to mind here but Mrs Beetroot face needs to protect her nose today. Yesterday evening I sat by the water's edge sipping a glass of wine listening to a pirate band singing piratey songs, followed by a couple of hours at the cinema where I saw a nice soppy film of the sort Mr Smith would never sit through even if I bolted his legs to the seat.

And she's off.

Yesterday it was the Apprentice's birthday - Happy Birthday to him. I performed the usual motherly acts of all six year olds i.e. baking him a cake covered in sharks and giving him a present wrapped in exciting stripy paper. He's 24 not 6, I just never noticed. To celebrate this momentous occasion family Smith gathered at a posh restaurant where we ate and drank far too much and I now feel in danger of exploding.

Today is Big Walk Day. Actually, tomorrow is BWD; today is On Your Marks Day as I set off for Oop North ready to make a start on my three week walking holiday, coast to coast, tomorrow. Just as well as I feel a bit fragile from last night's revelling and not a bit like a Big Walk. I will sleep on the journey from Kings Cross to Hull and try not to leave my backpack on the train.

Mr Smith is off to France to hit zee little white balls. I wish he wasn't as I like to bombard him with tasks from afar. I find e-mails work best as he tends to obey those in a worky way rather than ignore them completely as he does anything verbal. "I didn't hear you" is Mr Smith's usual answer when I have the temerity to enquire as to why licences have expired and cars remain unserviced and the dog is still at the kennels despite several desperate pleas for action on his part. "Oh no I've missed the goal now, woman."

Politically Incorrect

You wouldn't want to be Mr Smith right now. Not because being married to me is anything short of sheer bliss, or because you would be about to be abandoned for the next three weeks whilst your wife goes trundling off across the North. No, the reason you really wouldn't want to be in his shoes is this: At Mr Smith's work there was a horrid man called Mr PC who was really bossy and aggressive and a bit of a bully as well as horribly politically correct. Eventually they decided they couldn't stand him any more so Mr Smith told him to pack his bags and go ... and so he did. It cost them a fair bit, mind you, but really it was so much sunnier without him they paid up without a squeak.... and a bit more. Mr PC got a new job without too much trouble and was aggressive and bad at that too. He has now developed cancer and is probably going to die. This is an awful thing to happen and I feel deeply for Mr PC's family. However, history is being mysteriously rewritten and is beginning to appear as "Mr Smith sacked a dying man." Hold on a cotton picking minute there. I know Mr Smith can be a bit of a heartless git at times but he wouldn't do that and anyway Mr PC left two years ago. Actually, Mr Smith sacked a healthy horrible man, even a horribly healthy man, as well you know. And what can Mr Smith do about this? Absolutely nothing.

Shredding the evidence

After a long spurt of shredding bits of cut down tree, I delegated the task to the Apprentice. "Now do take care not to break the shredding machine by feeding over large bits into it." What do you think happened next?

Tomorrow I will send Mr Smith to the tip with all the bits of tree and the broken shredder. Perhaps he could deposit the Apprentice there too.

Super Sussex

The seaside was its usual fabulous self. My flat is so lovely and the sea is so gorgeous and I just want to stay there forever, until the holiday makers come, then Mars wouldn't be too far away. I just love it there with no people.

I returned home to Mr Smith, a slightly well oiled Mr Smith, in a stupid rather stroppy mood. The Apprentice and I were shredding the remains of a chopped down tree and Mr Smith sat on the bench barking directions at us and calling us "stupid" a great deal. What a help he is in the garden! Today he has gone to the far end of Kent to play golf. May his ball get swept out to sea. Kent is one of those counties that is far prettier inland than by the coast; I'm thinking Dungerness here versus quaint little oast houses beside apple orchards. Cornwall is completely the opposite with pretty sailors' cottages overlooking the miles and miles of beautiful sand at the seaside.

I am losing money letting my flat so I have decided not to any more. People can naff off and holiday elsewhere. I am being charged huge amounts of money by everyone for everything and then not getting any bookings so I am running it at a loss. Even I can see that this doesn't make sound economic sense.

Three lions on the ... carpet

The three lions are now finished and have bits of blobby varnish plonked on here and there with dollops on the hall carpet. Well, I lined them up then couldn't be bothered to move them so ended up working in the hall. Mr Smith will go ballistic ... what's new? I thought I had been so extra careful with my varnishing and it looked great at the time but I've just looked and there are lots of drippy bits. The overall effect looks OK and that's all I really care about, says she who then repaints a teeny bit of detail on the Umbro sign to make it totally perfect. Well, I wouldn't want them to sue.

I am thinking of going to the seaside. I have been thinking of going to the seaside for quite some time but there were those lions and the seaside flat was let over half term. Now the weather is completely grot so I am in two minds. I know, I'll go and visit my student in Farnham. There's the cake making supplies shop nearby and I just love going there and wasting money on silly cake accessories. It's the Apprentice's birthday on Monday so I feel something creative in the confectionery department coming up. Mr Smith suggests World Cupcakes with the colours of each team and each name carefully iced onto every cake. I suggest he does it. Wayne Rooney isn't too taxing but Shaun Wright-Phillips would never fit on.

The Shed End

Gosh it's busy down the bottom of our garden what with foxes, pigeons and an Apprentice, all hell bent on destroying any vegetables I am nurturing. The Apprentice is building a shed. He firstly needs planning permission - but he ploughs on (quite literally through my beans) regardless. He rang Wandsworth Planning Dept who told him that as his shed will be in a conservation area he needs to send them the odd measurement of the proposed structure. He has prepared something that looks like a dissertation with front side and rear elevation drawings with photos of the existing tumbledown shed and next door's shed and the dog. He then cut down a tree and retook all the photos - so nobody thinks we are cutting down a tree to erect a shed in a conservation area. What it all comes down to is how near you are to your neighbours' fences. I don't really think planning consent is vital but it keeps the Apprentice occupied.

The lions are now all painted and will be varnished tomorrow. I have named them Rory, Lionel and I've-Had-Enough-Now. I will show you soon. Gosh, Mr Smith will be pleased to see them go. They are taking up a great deal of space in our house and he has to perform acrobatics to get to his golf clubs.

Britain's got heaps of talent

The Lovely Claudia came to elevenses along with Mad Carina (who is every bit as nice as Claudia by the way, she's just marginally more bonkers). We did a bit of cauldron stirring and ate my latest cupcakes. These were blueberry cheesecake variety and I so wish I had made more except I don't because I would have eaten them. They were just yummy - it's that weird bubblegum taste that blueberries have when cooked that made the cakes so appealing, and the cream cheese icing.

I made my friends admire the lions in return for a cupcake.

Square Eyes

Do you think it's Killer Corrie tonight? Coronation Street has had a bit of revamp and seems to have become a chiller thriller with the local badman and prison escapee, going on a vengeful killing spree. (Now you're hooked). Unfortunately some bloke in Cumbria did the same thing last week, only he did it for real, so they cancelled Killer C to preserve our sensitivities. I hope it was merely postponed as I am bursting to know who is going to get deaded. Mr Smith, who incidentally hates Corrie to the core, is sneakily looking up the tv listings (and not just so he can go out) in rather the same way he bagged his seat for the Britain's Got Talent final then pretended he watched cricket all evening.

Flying cow

Mr Film Man calls. Can I mend his cow? not Can I appear in his films? Well Mr Film Man I will try to mend your cow but right now I am up to my armpits in lions. Then I am going for a walk, a long one across Britain (in case you've forgotten). Then I am going to Canada. I suppose I might be able to squeeze in his cow in August but I don't really want to. We'll see. I remember he was a bad payer. I find really busy people keep you waiting ages for your money which is a bit mean really because I don't keep them waiting ages for their stupid plastic animals.

Internet Dating Jane went flying.... except she didn't because it got cancelled due to a bit of fog. She took an internet date along to admire her in her aeroplane, as one does. She says he's not The One as he's really old. 49. "Yeah, Christ that's ancient, what an Old Git", says Mr Smith aged 51! She has someone younger lined up as an antidote to the Old Git. I like the sound of OG. He's not old and anyway I think an older man is good for ID Jane - he'll treasure her more.

Roaring ahead

Lion number one is going quite well. I am starting work on his football boots today and socks and tail and shorts and stupid England logos. It's all a lot harder work than I realised. Only two more to go.

All is revealed

I now have my new job in my house ready to start so I can now tell you all about it. It is a bit odd actually. I have been given 3 white lion statues and I have to turn them into England World Cup football players. Well, that is lion shaped football players not real football players as that would be beyond even my brilliance as an artist. Actually, I'm a crap artist but not half as crap as the other lion artists who really are a pile of lion poo - thank goodness. I hope I can turn in a reasonable job and they will be happy. We will see.

They are so elegant without decoration that I am a bit reluctant to smother paint all over them ... oh well, needs must. Off to buy the paint.

Mohamed to mountain

I so want to get started on the new art project that I can't wait any longer and I'm off to Northampton to meet the client and pick up the goods, rather than wait for them to be delivered to me ... with a stupid hangover. We had to go out last night to dinner with some people in our street. I didn't want to go. I was tired and wanted to settle down to an evening of Britain's Got No Talent followed by Killer Corrie. Instead I went to the bloody neighbours to endure an awful evening of hideous courtesy. I got a bit well oiled at the champagne and canapes stage so by pudding was quite horribly drunk. I didn't particularly enjoy the do; they served asparagus which I hate followed by chicken in marmelade which was really rather nasty. I wanted to go home half way through but we stayed til cheese and beyond. Perhaps walking ten miles throughout the afternoon had made me a little tired. I so so so wish I hadn't had any wine. I really don't feel very well at all today.

Jane and Jane's Dates

Every now and again, when Mr Smith is in a mood like he was yesterday, throwing bits of things all over my nice clean kitchen, I envy my single friends. Then I don't. The agony of finding a partner would be too much for me. Actually, having said that Internet Dating Jane seems to have quite good fun searching for Mr I D Jane. Even Tarzan, who swung off into the distant jungle, at least showed her a good time, whizzing her off to New York before he became so mind boggling boring Jane was quite pleased to see the back of his loin cloth. She has lunch dates and dinner dates and even phone dates. On Friday she will actually meet Telephone Man with whom she had a one hour conversation getting all the preliminaries out of the way such as "What kids and wife do you currently have?" etc. He sounds just lovely but they all do to me ... I'm ever the optimist and a bit easy.

Arty Antonia is slightly bereft of partner; she's put him on the back burner or he has removed himself to same. She really ought to eliminate him from her life for good but she won't because the good times outweigh all the hideous heartache - battered wives come to mind here. Men are only selfish children to whom we pander in order to get a little hug back in return. They play at being superheroes and get a bit tantrumy by bed time. Mr Smith is no exception here, off saving the planet then getting all shirty because I haven't mended the hole in his cape. This is a metaphor before you think we dress up in silly costumes and prance round the bedroom - (only on Fridays).

Both these fine women deserve fine men and should be allowed to be happy. After all Mr Smith and I manage it, a bit, sometimes, as we soldier along fairly merrily - together.

Waiting

As an absolute expert at procrastination with an Olympic Gold at staring aimlessly into space for hours on end, I don't have too much trouble with waiting for things. I can sit at a station for an hour happily reading railway timetables to pigeons. I can be entranced by cloud formations, the spaces between leaves on trees or chimney pots and the colour of nothing. The Test Card and the computer desktop can keep me mesmerised. I have the gift of never being bored. However, today I am a bit ants in my pantsy as I am waiting for THAT job. You know, the one they asked me to do, then cancelled, then uncancelled and now I am waiting to hear for sure. This is almost making "nothing" tricky to enjoy so I am having to do things to pass the time. I have cleaned the kitchen transforming it from a post bank holiday bombsite into a How Clean is Your House haven. OK, I didn't do the cooker or scrub the floor but I'm keeping those back as jobs to do in a dire emergency bit of waiting such as "Yes, we think the job is on, can we call you back?"