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.