LOADS OF MONEY

The total monies raised by the three men and their goat on their great adventure, was £2,240. This has been sent to the `KIDZ KLUB LEEDS` to help support their wonderful work. Many thanks to all those generous donors who coughed up and assisted in their various ways. We are grateful - so much so that will inevitably be back for more in the near future.

RETROSPECTIVE

WALK THE TALK ON HADRIANS WALL;MAY 2006


After an eternity in the internet wilderness, three happy trekkers found themselves landed, sweaty, but fully pleasured in wondrous Wallsend,pearl of the North. Six days after take off from far western Irish waters , a joyous trio skinny dipped in the North Sea having conquered The Hadrian Wall Footpath. The following pages capture just a few of the adventures of the `three men and their goat`,as they dabbled with barking mad landladies, farting horses, deviant bikers and `happy` boys. The fuller account will be published and in the shops just before Christmas 2006, so be prepared for a shock-filled festive thriller (you can reserve your order in advance-I would, via posting your comment at the bottom of this blog,or go direct to us at ; georgetortoise@fsmail.net .
Nothing too filthy please.Note: stocks will sell out !).

The journey is described retrospectively (for the hard of hearing that means you will read about the final day first and the first day last) so if you wish for a chronological description of the events, go to the end of the blog and read from there. As for why we did it, well I hope these introductory photographs give you some sort of impression about the answer to that. And of course, the prime motivation behind the project was to raise money for the charity KidzKlub Leeds.

For those wishing to donate, please go to the blog for Wednesday, 3 rd May, for details.

Mussolini outside Kendal Castle,addressing the walkers.The next day we travelled from our hostel at The Doherty Towers, Kendal, to the starting point of the walk at Bowness. Walking in a full Roman body armour was to prove a mixture of both pleasure and pain,

Stunning Scenery at the midway point along the Walk; The Great Whin Sill and the Wall

Don`t look down Vicar ! Views north toward Kielder Forest and Scotland, from behind the wall

A Roman Milecastle. One of the 25,000 you see on the walk

Inside the The Temple Of Mithras,as featured in The Da Vincii Code

Who ate all the pies ?

Two men confront a bull. What happened next ?

One man placed by bull on top of tree

Donald, the `Famous Farting Horse Of Denton Dene`

Apologies about the blurry nature of the picture, but I was concerned for the safety of Nick (in red), who appeared to be just within the line of fire.

And finally, just in case you wondered what happened to `Mr Dandy` in the three O` clock at Hexham. Well it was `pulled` on the morning of the race and didn`t run. Another horse with suprisingly poor form but very long odds, won at a canter. No money changed hands.

Oh, and as for Roger the goat, after a promising first meeting (where he ate two 1:25,000 maps and tried to mate with Dave`s leg), it was decided reluctantly, to leave him behind.

WHAT`S NEXT IN THE CHARITY FUND-RAISING STAKES ?

Well just in case you hadn`t been approached;

1. The team will soon be on tour presenting `Three Men And A Goat;A Charity Stumble Across England (The Thin Bit)`,supported eventually of course , by their christmas block-buster.

2. The Darden Smith Gig .

The American Singer-Songwriter www.dardensmith.com ( "a brilliant reminder of the power that one man with a guitar and great songs can have" - Phil Jones, Glastonbury Official Site) is being promoted byDave and Ash at The Broadway, Stourbridge, on Saturday 15 th July, 2006.Tickets are £10 in advance, and are available from www.wegottickets.com, or via www.the-broadway.com (Tel; 01384 394267), or by direct request to Ash and Dave @ georgetortoise@fsmail.net (Tel; 078806 92657) for free postal delivery.

All profits will go to KidzKlub Leeds,Registered Charity No 1084977 www.kidzklubleeds.org

Confused, or need to talk about this ? Contact us direct at georgetortoise@fsmail.net.

AND SO TO WALLSEND;PEARL OF THE NORTH

THURSDAY 11 TH MAY, 2006

A scorching sun, plus the threat of 18 miles ahead meant an early departure from Wylam, and a fond farewell to The Craven`s at Wormald House; by far the best `mine hosts` on the walk. Following the usual uncertainty as to which way to go, and having been assisted by a number of commuters heading for the train, we strode off across the car park and out along the wooded path toward our exotic goal;Wallsend Museum and the official end of the walk. Within a few minutes we found ourselves passing steam engineer Robert Stephensons cottage, and continued to follow the pleasant routeway provided by the disused railway line . Around the bend and our first view of the glorious River Tyne."Pity we haven`t got a canoe", said Nick, ever the optimist, "be easy to boat down to Wallsend". I was just beginning to consider the proposition when the rock below us at the water`s edge began to move;or more precisely,the object perched upon it began to move. Unbelievably, there below us some 30 feet away was a basking seal, bathing in the early morning sun. Now as someone who had previously thought that all seals lived only in captivity, my immediate concern was to ensure that its` health and temper` was OK, prior to calling Desmond Morris at Whipsnade Zoo.But then, after five minutes or so of observation and reflection, it became clear that the animal was prospering on the rich pickings of the river. And this so far inland from the sea;proof if ever it were needed of the increasingly successful attempts at cleaning our formerly highly polluted industrial rivers. Well done Northumbria Water !




















Sid, The Tyne River Seal,enquires about Roger The Goat`s health.

OK, so it`s a really small picture of Sid, but we were excited, and this is as good as it gets with a Kodak Instamatic. Remember, Sid was about 18 miles from the sea; a veritable explorer from the massed and uniform ranks of the world of the seals. Sid, we salute you sir !

Excited now, we pressed on toward Newcastle. With temperatures to rival the Majorcan coastline a stop for refreshment became something of a priority. So a mile or two into the western suburbs of the city we left the river briefly, to visit The Lemington Community Centre. It was `Help The Aged` meal day and even though we qualified we weren`t supposed to be there.We weren`t even`Club Members`, but the staff could see our problem, and Dave had blagged us in. Where else in the UK can you buy three cups of tea,three satsumas and a Waggon Wheel for £2.30 ? In addition to that, having moaned to the staff that I`d lost my woolly hat and that the naked bit of my scalp was frying,I was presented with an official Umbro England peaked cap,completely gratis ! We were all flabbergasted. The helpers who were all volunteers, were hard working and friendly, and the place was both clean as a new pin and rammed with punters. What a great resource for the locals (and wimpy walkers like ourselves) .

Back out and into the heat, and a few more river bank miles bought us to the edge of the commercial heart of the city. Ahead of us lay a view of the wonderful collection of bridges that help to make Newcastle so distinctively recognisable, and as we stood to admire them the unmistakable sound of an extended and somewhat plaintive fart assaulted the airways. Dave and I both turned to look at Nick, but before we could pursue the matter, a further, more controlled, and yet somehow louder emission rumbled towards us from some distance beyond Nick. There, tethered firmly to the patch of green between the boat house and the pub was Donald, the famous `Farting Horse of Denton Dene`. Now we`d heard about this horse from a number of sources, but had tended to dismiss the stories as geordie folklore. But now, amongst the hoops of laughter from ourselves and a crowd of locals who`d gathered around, we were forced eat our words. Nick, who had chosen up to this point not to photograph any of the thousands of unique roman artifacts we`d walked past along the wall, rushed for his camera. My own, somewhat shaky image will be presented to you, dear and probably oh so shocked reader, at the end of the blog.















Millennium Bridge and The River Tyne. But still no sign of Wallsend.

Partially recovered we stumbled on along the quayside into the centre, our kit bags and walking boots looking somewhat incongruous amongst the business types basking outside their offices. A quick pit stop at The Slug and Lettuce,and we were off on the final leg toward Wallsend. "Ooooh, I could crush a grape," said Dave, now finding his second wind but trying to distract us. We`d been told quite a lot about Wallsend and it distilled into two pieces of advice; don`t stay overnight and under no circumstances leave a car parked there. Well as someone born and bred in Sandwell I regarded such advice with the contempt it deserved, and at first the pathway along the river was really rather pleasant. But then, as it cut inland behind the factories and the Swan Hunter Shipyards the scene began to change. The walkway became littered with glass and debris, plus every few hundred yards or so there was the blackened burn marks on the floor of torched cars and the like, subsequently cleared away by the desperate Council. "The Romans put Milecastles along the wall", I thought, "but the Wallsenders light fires".Everyone we met seemed to wear a black and white striped shirt and baseball hat. Everyone that is, apart from the two grimy guys lugging along a big grey wheelie bin full of lead. "Local entrepreneurs", said Dave. Sympathy for the plight of the good folk who form the vast majority of this area was countered by our own knackered state, and the apparent lack of care for this final section of `The World Heritage Site`. I suspect the council in this area, bless them, have bigger fish to fry (apart from the cars).

By now we were `Romaned Out`, and after only a passing interest in a restored section of Wall, we dragged up into the Museum and the official end of the walk. The staff were only too pleased to see us, especially as we bought three souvenir badges and a Hadrians Wall pencil. On a Thursday, this is what passes as a `rush` at The Wallsend Museum, and they were only too happy to photograph three wilting old codgers, as they perched against each other for support.
















Three men, minus their goat, 100 miles on but none the wiser,pose at Wallsend Museum,the official end of the walk.

Note:only Ash was wearing sensible warm woolly clothing.

Elated, we asked how far to our digs. "Oh, just a two minute stroll" said the nice lady on the desk. Forty five minutes later, having crawled on all fours along a busy and polluted by-pass we reached our goal. It would be something of an exaggeration to say we were encouraged by our first view of The Hadrian Lodge Hotel. Neatly positioned between the shipyards, a Lorry Depot and a main road, it wouldn`t be the first place you`d choose for a romantic night out in Wallsend. But the fact was, we weren`t up for a romantic night, and this was by far the best Wallsend had to offer. Suitably refreshed by the warmth of the greeting and the chill of the Cumbrian Ale, we set off on our final and celebratory quest;to Sunderland (where else) by taxi, to listen to our (Ash and Dave`s) hero singer-songwriter Boo Hewerdine, playing at the Smugglers Inn at Roker. Now going from Wallsend to Roker, a distance of say 10 miles, is like travelling between Dudley and Wolverhampton, or Bracknell and Reading. You know; all one big happy place where everyone knows everything and everywhere within the amorphous urban mass within which they live. Well...... not quite. I asked the receptionist, a local girl, how long it would take us to get there. "Where is it pet ?", she said ."Roker", I replied,assuming that would do. "Where`s that then ?" I was starting to struggle ,"Er, Sunderland". "Sunderland!" she exclaimed,"Ooh, I never di goo there" (she was starting to speak Scottish) "where`s that pet ?".
Just then the taxi turned up. "Smugglers Inn, Roker,please", I said with a confident air. This was a taxi driver after all. "Where`s that then mate ?", he replied. "Roker", I said, now feeling a bit desperate. "Roker ?" he repeated, "Would that be where the football team play in Sunderland ?". Hell`s bells, this bloke really didn`t know where Roker was, let alone The Smugglers Inn. I tried to be more helpful, "No,the pub`s in the bit of Roker next to the beach ,just in front of a breakwater that sticks out into the North Sea". He rubbed his head and thought. "Well, have you got a map ?" Protest would have proven futile, and anyhow by now we were the other side of the Tyne Tunnel. Suffice it to say that with the help of several sets of directions from other taxi drivers, and by popping out of the car to ask passers by, we did eventually make the gig. Boo was good, Dave and I were at peace with the music, and Nick found a comfortable chair in which to sleep. On the way back Nick was in the box seat next to the driver. "Hadrians Lodge Hotel in Wallsend, please". The driver seemed unsure . "Where`s that mate?"

To Donate: This walk was udertaken for charity (KidzKlub Leeds). Please got to Wednesday 3rd May blog for details of how to donate, should you so wish. Many thanks.

THE LONG (UN)WINDING ROAD

WEDNESDAY 10 TH MAY, 2006.

After a heartless breakfast at The Hadrian Hotel in Chollerford , it was time for the off, this time minus Mike who was returning to his Derbyshire stately home. For a Tory MP he was a right good bloke and a number one fund-raiser. Many thanks Mike;oh,and don`t forget, now we`ve got your address we won`t leave you alone !

Mike (MP) in the centre (but usually well to the right),cracks another John Prescott gag

It would be nice to report that an idyllic morning walk along the Wall brought us closer to a more complete understanding of Roman Culture,and a greater appreciation of the subtle aesthetics of British wildlife. But it didn`t. Well, how would you fancy walking mile after mile on a grassy knoll along a busy main road, because that in effect is what this section of the trail is all about. Nevertheless, we kept our peckers up with tales of the unknown and extra-terrestrial visitations. Imagine our shock then, when two X-Factor figures appeared out of the sun ahead of us, waddling in harmony,dressed in twin-set rubber padding,and talking in a strange language. How were we to know that two geordie bikers would choose this day to visit Roman Milecastle 25 ?
Nick escorts the aliens back to the mother ship

One of the delights of the mile after mile show however, was to visit the site of an early and significant seventhth century battlefield. A major war raging during those times between the Northumbrians and the Welsh (with their Mercian allies) resulted in a defining moment along the line of Hadrians Wall, just east of Chollerford.The violent set too,subsequently known as The Battle Of Heavenfield, resulted in a victory for the Saxon Northumbrians under the unexpected stewardship of the christian King Oswald, and this became one of the more defining moments in the story of Britain.King Oswald became St Oswald,and the rest,as they say,is history. Not that this cut much ice with Dave. He`d found an exciting road sign and souvenir dead cats eye to lecture the party about. As a former marketing man with a salary based upon the need to sell reflective road sign materials, he could could talk the legs off a donkey about his subject. So desperate were Nick and I to be side-tracked from the route ahead,that by the time he`d finished we`d agreed to buy three dozen double-diamond high intensity 3-M `Slow Down` signs.

The long and unwinding road

Dave lectures on the merits of double-diamond reflectivity on road signs

So it was with some relief that we headed off, cross-country in the afternoon away from the wall, and down to the village of Wylam. At Wormald House our overnight stay, we were warmly greeted by owners John and Angela Craven. Years of media work, culminating in John Craven`s Newsround on BBC, had clearly given this couple the edge in hospitality stakes. So enamoured were we with their reception, that we decided to share our good fortune on the `dead cert tip` we`d received earlier on the walk (see Monday`s blog). "He told you that did he ? Mr Dandy in the 3 O`clock at Hexham, heh?", exclaimed John, barely supressing a grin. "Well I have to tell you gentlemen, that jockey couldn`t even lie straight in bed ! I wouldn`t touch any of his tips, not even with a very long barge pole and a pair of yellow marigolds" What were we to do ? This man also knew his horses;he`d even owned them. Well, to be precise,various parts of them, but they would be impressive parts for sure. This wasn`t the sort of man to make do with just a fetlock. Later that night after a fine meal and good wine at The Bistro En Glaze we came to a firm decision. We would put off deciding what to do until Saturday !

SWINGING TOWARDS CHOLLERFORD

TUESDAY 9 TH MAY, 2006

Another stunning midsummer day greeted us as we trekked up Cawfield Crags, the first of many steep climbs that day.Stretching out before us lay miles of stunning countryside, with sheer drops to the north and gently rolling terrain to the south. Yes, we were about to cross The Great Whin Sill, a geographer`s paradise of volcanic rock, shafted deep into the landscape some 280 million years ago and subsequently exposed by erosion. If only I had the energy to stand and extol these virtues to my fellow walkers. But words were the least of my problems;just trying to keep up with Nick,the mountain goat of the party, was sufficient. As he disappeared over another ridge he would shout encouragingly to the three of us; "keep up you big wussie`s". And then, as if to rub it in, he`d climb some of the steepest crags and still have time to pause before once more offering us supportive advice."Why, when I was climbing in Nepal, my sherpa`s blisters were bigger than most of these hills .Put a move on you, you big girl`s blouses." And then, Mike, MP for Gusset and the Borders showed his true colours;and they were green."I like green" he kept saying. "I thought he was a Tory" I said "especially as he was talking about the birch with Nick". "Me too", replied Dave. "Hey Mike, what`s it with all this green ?" .Mike pointed below us to the flatter gently rolling hillside. "That path down there; it goes the same way as us, but it`s oh so beautifully flat....and it`s green. I like green". Within minutes we were following the `low road`, occasionally to be assaulted by far off cries from Nick of "you pooooftas".He was now no more than a mere spot on a distant peak. We were happy.

The Roman Wall along this section is spectacular, and runs for miles. The fort at Great Chesters is also a stunning reminder of the power and influence of the former Roman Empire. For the first and only time on this walk (with the exception of the Newcastle section) we encountered significant numbers of other walkers and day trippers. The Wall`s deserved`World Heritage Site` status had acted as a magnet at this point, and there were groups from Japan, Holland, Canada, the US and France, as well as five hairy muscle-men from Canvey Island. We made our way along from the fort to the quieter shady shelter of Roman Milecastle 34, unpacked our sandwiches and ate, `au naturel`. It was hard to imagine too many finer spots in which to dine. How much would they charge for this view in London, I wondered. ?

Onward we charged after lunch, encouraged by the knowledge that we`d traversed the highest points of the walk. Everything would be down hill from now on. The Roman Wall became more patchy but this was more than made up for by a visit to the temple to Mithras, the Persian god, just south of Brocolitia Roman Fort. I rubbed my hands over the images on the stonework. "Incredible stuff,considering they`re 2000 years old". "More like 20", said Dave, "the original`s are in the Newcastle Museum of Antiquities". Nick, who would later claim to be very interested in this site sat tending a blister on his foot. "Is it far to Chollerford ?".

Now to most casual observers, Chollerford is a village of a few dozen people, nestling quietly just south of the Wall, on the road to Hexham. Knowing that it was to be our overnight stop, I did a little google research, as you do, into its background. When I came upon a site for the `Chollerford Swingers`, I thought as I`m sure you would, dear reader, that the village had some sort of dance band. "Might be an option to pursue", I`d thought to myself, "wonder where they practice ?". A further click of the mouse, and the full extent of my naivety became apparent. This was in fact a site for a very different sort of swinger, that modesty and ignorance of the facts forbids me to describe any further. And not only that, it claimed to be the biggest such`swinging` site in Northern Europe, with thousands of subscribers,and yes, Chollerford was the place to be ! There were, apparently, maps and all sorts of unusual types of directions. I switched off google,the computer,and pulled the plug out of the wall. There. I would be safe now.

As we sat eating our meal that night in The Swan, we laughed at the very thought that such a small and beautiful spot could have been chosen for such a seedy activity. And then, in walked a coachload of some 40 Swedish women. We looked at each other, and then the door. We still had enough energy to leg it, but Mike hadn`t finished his puddin`. Just then, Mischa out Latvian waitress came over. "You like coffee outside in lounge please?" she said. Rarely can a European agreement have been so quickly confirmed. We were up and out, Mischa bringing up the rear carrying Mike`s pudding. Thankfully, it later transpired that the Swedes were on nothing more sinister than a shopping trip to Newcastle. It just goes to show;you can`t believe everything you read on google.

`MR DANDY` AND THE 3 O`CLOCK AT HEXHAM

MONDAY 8TH MAY, 2006.

Back to the Centurion Inn for an early start, and a distinct change in the weather. Even by 9.00 am the mosquito`s were biting, and the swamp toads mating. Clearly sun cream was to be the order of the day, and of course, a sensible hat for the follically challenged. For Dave and Nick that meant cool `bermuda peaked` caps. For me, a woollen army and navy stores hat would have to do. Eastward and now noticeably upward, we pressed on into the rising sun, admiring the wonderful rolling countryside that fell away below us, and regretting last night`s poetry session in The Howard Arms. At Banks on the side of Hare Hill, we came upon the first significant and restored remains of the original Roman Wall, and searched in vain for the initials left behind by one of the Roman stone masons. I concluded they were probably dislexic. Would they have been given `extra time`, because of their learning difficulty,to complete their stretch of the wall by a liberal minded `gang master`?

With the Vallum,Roman Turf Ditch,Roman Bridges and Roman Wall now increasingly in view, you would expect a full-on Roman discourse between the walkers. But a brief pause for supplies at The Samson in Gilsland put a dramatic stop to all of that; we had stumbled on a rich seam of horseracing bedrock, that would not only pay for our trip, but would triple the charity donation we were hoping to make. What luck ! A casual conversation with what I shall only refer to as `an insider`and now `un bon ami` who`d become overwhelmed by our friendliness (and the drinks we bought him) , gave us clear information on a dead cert winner. That coming Saturday, `Mr Dandy` (I change the name for tax purposes) would run in the 3 o`clock at Hexham, and what`s more it would win. It`s jockey had said as much, just before he `accidentally` fell off twenty lengths in the lead at its last outing. He would `stay on` in more ways than one at Hexham, and at big odds because of its lack of form, there was money to be won. We left the pub determined to keep these diamonds to ourselves. When we eventually dragged into the excellent Grey Bull B and B in Haltwhistle we met up with Mike, who`d boated up from the Derbyshire Wolds to join us. "Hey Mike, have we got news for you !". Several drinks later that night, most of Haltwhistle was threatening to run with our tip. "But remember," said Dave as he addressed the pub, "don`t tell anybody else."

That night as I checked my digital (camera) , I chanced upon this shot of a two-headed sheep, taken on the ridge as we`d climbed away from The Samson, earlier that day. Could this be an omen ? How far was it to Hexham ?

BRAMPTON OR BUST

SUNDAY 7 TH MAY, 2006

Having bid a sad farewell both to our `wonderful weekend walkers` and our mascot goat Roger, we legged it over the town bridge and eastwards out of Carlisle towards Brampton, some 18 miles onward. A chilling wind soon brought with it rain, much to the encouragement of Dave. "Cor this is just wot it must `ave been like to be a Centurion in these parts two thousand years ago" he said, donning his thermal all-in-one Peter Storm waterproofs. " Fancy a rock cake ?"

We climbed steadily, following the course of the River Eden still strewn with dead trees and decayed undergrowth;testimony to the all too recent and devestating flood. Just prior to crossing the M6 motorway our pace increased; three women of a certain age and disposition who were also walking to Wallsend had caught up with us. We`d thought they`d move on by, but they seemed reticent to do so. "Let`s jog", whispered Dave, "I need to get away". "No" said Nick who was really rather shy. "Best thing to do is to tell `em we`re gay !". And so it was that with almost immediate effect, three very mature women decided to take an early lunch.

We pressed on past Linstock Castle and the village of Low Cosby, following`The Stanegate` Roman Road. Beyond we gained the first site of the `Vallum` that was to accompany us along our route to the North Sea. Dave, a former History Don at Stoke University explained its purpose as a defensive ditch and mound behind Hadrian`s Wall; a sort of Roman barbed wire marking the rear of the military zone. "I hope he ain`t going to be like this all the way", muttered Nick, a ballistics engineer with Wimpey, "it`s bad enough walking into this wind, let alone trying to cope with his".

Six hours and many miles later, Dave finished his talk and we settled down to a well earned pint at The Centurion at Walton. Debate focussed on how to reach Brampton, three miles south of the Vallum, and the location for our overnight stop. As we argued over the virtues of a taxi and the ethics of a `lift`, in strode the three women we had encountered earlier. Rarely can a trio of ageing men who`ve already walked fifteen miles have moved so quickly. Within moments we were out and off across country, following the back route to the village for fear of detection. Few if any ramblers will have been so pleased as we three, to reach The White Lion in Brampton. And after a night there ourselves, I think we knew why !















Ash and Nick get hot (it was a cold day). Those women were right to be concerned !


Further gripping yarns to follow shortly. For details on how to doanate, see Wednesday`s blog.

HAIL (AND BRASS MONKEY) CAESAR

SATURDAY, MAY 6 TH, 2006

A quick hop and a skip across The Lake District, courtesy of Doherty`s Taxi, brought us eagerly to the starting gate at Bowness. As ever, there was little difficulty in persuading the group to pose in their walking gear, and I present the most photogenic representative,Centurion Nick Lusterus.

After heading off in the wrong direction, a chastened party commenced their march eastwards to be immediately confronted by a strong headwind that was to last the next four days. The theory of walking with the support of a following breeze had literally been blown away. Four hours march along the glorious Solway Firth, saw a meeting of that day`s full team at The Leopard, Burgh by Sands. Paul and Sally had travelled north on horseback from Blakedown, and Steph and Pete had flown in from Ilkley.

Following a short break for refreshment, it was into jogging mode for the three hour canter along the banks of The River Eden and onward towards Carlisle. Concern about Paul`s lack of fitness and the chafing damage he was suffering from his loin cloth meant we were a little later than anticipated in reaching our destination in the town. Nevertheless, a uniquely inspiring greeting from Yvette at Langleigh House ("if you miss this treat, you must be barking mad" -Off The Wall with Don Nugent), and a great meal at La Pergola set the seal on a wonderful first day. It was a delight to spend it with such fine people, and to establish that Steph and Pete were actually younger than the walking socks Sally had been using since her teens.

The walker`s rest at The Leopard, minus their uniforms. Roger the goat can just be seen in the distant paddock, to the left.

MUSSOLINI SPEAKS

For those who have questioned the folly of dressing in Roman attire, I present the above image, taken at 4.00 pm Kendal time, this very day. I leave the question of our judgement to your good taste, dear reader.

ANYONE FOR A MINT CAKE ?

Friday the glorious 12th, and a quick hop up the west coast mainline, courtesy of a virgin (inter-city !), saw the party joyously enjoined in glorious Kendal. Our host, the lovely Lynn (see previous blog), owner and apologist for `The Doherty Towers`, met us off the train at Oxenholme International, Carlisle`s second station. To give you an idea of the size of the place, we were instructed by the driver to `buzz` him if we wanted to stop there just after we had left Lancaster, so that warning could be sent on up ahead to extend the decking that masquerades as a platform. An unexpected delight on the trip, was to meet up with Elaine from Sandbach, whose seat we had inadvertantly nicked. She was off on a sailing trip to the Western Isles, and was to meet up later in the day with a friend in Dundee. She knew all about Kidz Klub, the charity we were supporting, and despite our limp protestations to the contrary, forced a sizeable note upon us for which we were humbly grateful. What a great start ! Thanks Elaine.

Lynn was hospitality personified, and Doherty Towers was clearly a good choice for our first night`s stay. After all, who else would accommodate three men overnight, dressed as two Romans and a Celtic peasant, then drive them next morning following a full roast-beef breakfast some one and a half hours to their starting point on the Cumbrian coast, followed by a further deviation to transport luggage to the Carlisle hotel and a final further hour`s drive back to Kendal. And all this for free ! Now that`s what I call a real woman.

There were two particular excitements during the afternoon, and I use the word somewhat cautiously. First of all Saga Radio telephoned for an interview, which was duly obliged. They threaten to use the five minute piece `spliced up` on their news bulletins, starting tomorrow. They were particularly pleased to hear about our plans for the goat, and wished us well with our chosen dress sense. After all, said the interviewer, "you`re not exactly in the first bloom of youth are you ?". The second incident took place at a `sensual lingerie` boutique in the town, appropriately enough called `Bliss`(you can look it up for yourself in Yellow Pages.I refuse to provide the address). Whilst Lynn and I were happy to walk straight past, Nick and particularly Dave couldn`t wait to linger. "They might have a decent Roman uniform",protested Dave. Well, he was right; they did, hidden amongst the black,pink and purple sequinned bodices that apparently gave various medical advantages to the wearer. And of course, no sooner had we toured the town than Dave, overcome by a combination of history and desire was to be found on the ramparts of Kendal Castle stripped to his underpants, his humility saved only by the shiny new body armour hired from `Bliss`. Dear reader, I can think of no finer way to describe the scene, than to say that Mussolini is alive and lives secretly in Kendal, dressed as a Roman. Nick had to be prevented from running off with `Big Dave`s ` proper clothing.

I finish for to-day by thanking all those correspondents who have kindly sprung to my defence regarding the poor state of my own physical appearance. I was especially moved by the kind comments of Mr Dave Stevens of Okker Hill, Tipton, a former off-beat drummer in an eighties boy band, who texted me to say that should I expire on the walk he would want no part of my legs, but would appreciate being given my Roman nose, which he could then use as an `envelope opener`.

DONATIONS. Should you wish to donate, please see Wednesday`s blog for details. All monies raised will go to Kidz Klub Leeds. Thanks.

PS. Lynn has to take the uniform back to `Bliss` on Tuesday. For those friends in Kendal who wish to be aware of this fact, she will be entering this very `intimate` establishment at approximately 10.00 am. She asked me to keep this quiet, and I have respected her wishes.

OH HADRIAN,I`M NERVOUS.

Preparations continue apace, as the `off` gets nearer, and as ever the decisions about what a man should wear become so much harder. Having confided privately to a local journalist that the three of us would be apparelled in an `off the shoulder` and sympathetic Latin number, reality bit home. If you`ve said it, then do it you must. A quick fit up at the local costumiers (`El Cid`s` in Quarry Bank High Street) revealed a somewhat physically challenged torso, rather less beefed than that considered appropriate for even the most bulimnic centurion from the first century. I told myself that this would most likely be overlooked when I placed myself upon display, but alas, such optimism was foolishly misplaced. My wonderful wife, truthful to the core and normally not given to overemphasis, described my fully adorned Roman-ness as having the appearance she normally associated with, and I quote, "a complete twat". Now admittedly, choosing the late evening to reveal myself as a Roman warrior was not the best of ideas, particularly as she was still engrossed in her own (and very real) work. But nevertheless, the judgement still seemed a little harsh, particularly given the need to raise one`s profile as an idiot, in the very good cause of charity fund-raising.

I sought a second opinion from my walking partners. Nick agreed with my wife. "You see Ash,you look a twat normally, so why dress up ?". Dave was not so sure; " Well one of us should be prepared to do the business. I mean, when we turn up at the pubs along the walk, what a great way to get extra money. You`re the bloke, Ash". An independent third party was clearly called for, so I e-mailed my very good friend Lynn in Kendal.I have always trusted her judgement. "What a plonker you look. How can those legs go underneath a Roman toga ? I`ve seen more fat on a chicken twizzler !"

And so dear friend, it was with heavy heart that I have to-day returned my Centurion`s uniform back to it`s spiritual home at `El Cid`s`. When the assistant heard of our plan to walk Hadrian`s Wall, she bubbled with encouragement. "What a great idea. Oh, I think that the three of you are fantastic.I hope it goes well and you raise lots of cash." My spirits rose. "But I can see what they mean about the uniform;doesn`t really go with that body does it ?"

HOW TO DONATE: All monies raised by `Walk The Talk` go to `KIDZ KLUB LEEEDS. This is a charity that supports inner city children living in challenging environments in that city. Anyone wishing to donate can do so by making a cheque payable to `KidzKlub Leeds ` and forwarding it to ;

Sarah James@ KidzKlub Leeds,
c/o Bridge Street Church, Bridge Street, Leeds, LS2 7QZ.

For more information on the stunning work those who work for this charity do, go to;
www.kidzklubleeds.org.uk
Registered charity no:1084977

Thank you. We are aiming to raise a minimum of £2,000 via this event.