It's Only Bloody Rain

          Bloody Man’s Route. We set off this morning in thick impenetrable fog, and that should’ve been warning enough. The only release from the ever pervading wetness of it was when we managed to walk so high we actually broke above the cloud layer.

            So it was that approaching lunch we were walking along a ridge above the fog on the lower lying mountains below us, when suddenly it started to rain. Ed and I looked at each other with misery in our faces. We were high enough for it to really cold now, and the rain gashed us like shards of ice.

            “‘Shards of Ice’, I hear you say? Hell yeah, I can do that!” thought God.

            And so it was.

In the twelfth hour of the twenty-fourth day of the seventh month of this year of our Lord 2008, we were destroyed by hail.

            We sprinted the final quarter of a mile over increasingly slippery rocks until we made it to the Refuge de la Leisse.

            Once inside we stripped off all our clothes and hung them up to dry over a little coal fired boiler in the corner of what was basically a solid wooden shed up on the top of a mountain. There were six others in there also sheltering from the weather and we laughed at one another in sympathy.

            We ate lunch for half an hour, listening to the hail smashing down into the walls of the refuge. There was something magnificent about it. One could really feel one’s spirit lifting in response to the rhythmic thumping of frozen raindrops on wood and rock. So it was that we resolved to set off again after lunch.

            We opened the door nervously and discovered that the hail had died back down to rain.

            “The Egyptian Sun God’s at home*, mate,” said Ed, with cryptically ironic relish. “Let’s get moving.”

            We stepped out back into the storm once again. At first, as we got ready, standing next to the refuge, it wasn’t too bad. But then we stepped out away from the buildings and back up on top of the ridge. The wind was absolutely howling and rain was thick slushy and horizontal. We were only twenty metres from the refuge when we simultaneously paused and looked one another. We were soaked through to the bone in a matter of seconds.

            Without saying a word (it’s doubtful we’d have been heard) we turned and ran back to the refuge.

 

*‘Egyptian sun god’ = Ra; ‘at home’ = in; together = ‘rain’.

Spiritual Journey

          We finished planning the route this morning and the only remaining preparation was to buy some more equipment, including a tent. At the shop, however, we fell into dispute.

            “This one looks about right,” I said, pointing to a small, lightweight two man tent.

            “It’s too small,” Ed replied.

            “It has to be small – we’ve got to carry it remember.”

            “But what if we need space for… an estimate that takes time?*”

            “Mate, you’re not having any guests in our tent while I’m about.”

            “Ah… okay, so you agree to sleep outside as and when necessary. In that case, my friend, we have a deal.”

 

*

 

            Later on in the day we sent some stuff back to Ed’s dad in a big box. We’d originally just packed for Geneva and so we had quite a few things that would be of no use whatsoever along the walk.

            “At least now he’ll know where I am,” Ed said, as we handed over the box for posting.

            “You didn’t tell him?”

            “No. Why would I? Did you tell your parents?”

            “They send disgruntled emails to me every single day wondering when they’re going to get gold nuggets from me at this rate.”

 

*

 

            This evening, our last in Geneva, we had a beer and relaxed. In the course of the conversation we discussed whose adventure the GR5 walk would actually be. My adventure was going to Geneva in the first place, after the song, Smoke on the Water. Ed’s last adventure, however, was going swimming in the lake where he met the two girls who invited us to the club, and the song that inspired the adventure, I Would Walk 500 Miles, was played there.

            “It’s your adventure,” Ed said eventually, with an air of finality. “It’s on a large scale and is thus more fitting of your current spiritual journey. My adventures are mere distracting side shows along the way.”

            I didn’t reply, but just wandered at his words. Did he mean to be patronising, or was it an attempt at a show of respect?

 

* Estimate = ‘guess’, time = ‘t’, ‘t’ into ‘guess’ = ‘guests’.

The Plan

“It was a lesson I was to learn many times in subsequent casts; the dice can show almost as poor judgment as a human.” – Luke Rhinehart, The Diceman.

 

 

          We woke up after midday today, hungover as hell. Ed dragged me straight out to his local greasy spoon café for a massive fry-up. Half way through Ed suddenly looked up at me with a gleam in his eye.

            “Hey, Tom, do you remember The Plan?”

            “What plan?”

            “The one we came up with last night, assisted by the Envious Tonic German?”* Ed is always making up cryptic clues for ordinary language. He thinks it’s funny.

            “There were hundreds. No, I can’t really remember any of them specifically.”

            “I’m talking about The Plan. The one that’s going to change your life.”

            “Really?” I sighed sceptically. I still felt a little sick.

            “Really. Here’s how it goes. Once we begin we listen out for the first song we hear and then we set ourselves an adventure based upon the song. It’ll be inspired anarchy. It’s the perfect way to get back into the swing of things after our break-ups.”

            If just anyone else suggested this you’d know it to be a flash-in-the-pan moment of silliness. I knew Ed would follow through. I considered the idea.

            “I’m not sure, Ed. I’ve got a serious career now; I can’t afford to be messing around.” I was thinking of the near miss with the police last night.

            “Fine. We’ll set rules. And the first can be that we do nothing illegal.” I suppose I still looked uncertain. “Okay, and the second is that we do nothing that loses you your job.”

            This didn’t sound much like Ed. But it did reassure me a bit. Suddenly the full impact of the idea hit me and I’ll admit I found it appealing. I could give myself up to the Pixies of Fate while remaining in a safety zone created by The Rules. Maybe it would be fun. Maybe it would distract me.

            “Okay. How do we decide what to do?”

            “I think we’ll just know, when we hear the song.”

            “Fine.” I said. “We’ll start with the next song.”

          We sat in perfect silence listening to the end of Rehab by Amy Winehouse. I felt somehow relieved that it wasn’t our starting point. It was playing on a local London radio and adverts followed the song. The tension began to grow as we imagined all the kinds of adventures that might ensue. The DJ finally stopped talking and announced the next song. It started immediately and Ed and I stared at each other on the edge of uncontrolled hysterics. The song was Hit me Baby, One More Time, by Britney Spears!

            “Come on.” Said Ed, jumping to his feet and throwing down the money for our food. He went out into the street and waited as I came out to join him. “Right. We have to stand about on the road here and ask each girl we see to hit us. If we can find one to do it then we have to look back at them, deadpan, and say ‘hit me baby, one more time.’ Okay?”

            I smiled slightly, nervous but game for the challenge.

            We hit the streets.

            Two minutes passed with some considerable embarrassment. People began to see us from afar and speed up or move across the road, avoiding us as though we were chuggers.

            Eventually a girl of about 15 came striding right for me. She was somewhat overweight and had a short ginger bob. She had a sort of cheeky charm to her face and I knew she’d be the girl for this adventure.

            “Excuse me. Hi. I’m terribly sorry to bother you but would you hit me please?”

            I noticed that Ed had stopped to watch, sensing the moment.

            “Sure. Where d’you want it?”

            “Er… Wherever you like.”

            “Just before I do, I want this guy over here to be my witness that you asked me. I’ve been in trouble for this kind of thing before.”

            “No problem,” said Ed, “I heard him.” He smiled and folded his arms, adopting the spectator’s stance.

            She pulled back her arm and twatted me one, full in the face, with a closed fist. I hadn’t expected such a strike and the power caught me off guard. I’m ashamed to say I slipped and fell over backwards. Ed began laughing uncontrollably. He offered her a high-five and she took it with delight, grinning.

            “Hit me,” I started, groaning slightly as I got back to my feet, “baby,” I looked at her, “one… more… time.” I flinched.

            She span and buried her fist into my stomach. I doubled up. A few people had stopped from surprise. One onlooker asked if I was okay. I reassured him.

            “You want some more, baby?” She asked me.

            “Er… No thanks. That’s quite enough.”

            She laughed and began to walk off, but Ed stopped her.

            “Just before you go, what’s your favourite song?”

            She looked insolently at me, with a smirk. “Big girls don’t cry, by Fergie.”

           

* Envious = green, tonic = gin, German = ger. Green Ginger Wine.