Sunday, 11 September 2011

The word you never want to here

In the short gap between visits to the East Coast, we were able to have a lovely rummage out into the countryside on the River Trent. I had a real kick out of using our new VHF radio and pretended I was flying again with all the official radio lingo! [I know it's sad). We reached Gunthorpe and spent a night on the pontoon moorings after a pint and an excellent light lunch at the Unicorn before heading back to the gorgeous moorings above Stoke lock in order for me to find a train on Monday morning. There are two options of pontoon moorings - all the other moorings are lovely, but no good if you have dogs too heavy to lift up onto the bank which is roughly roof height.
After mooring, I walked the dogs back to Stoke lock to ask the lockie how long it would take me to walk to the station at Burton Joyce. He (around 30)looked me up and down and thought it would take me about 40minutes as I looked quite "spritely". Oh lord, that word, spritely. Not fit, not nimble, not active but bloody spritely. That's it then. It's official. I'm an old bag (albeit quite spritely).
(photos will follow, but still experiencing technical difficulties - no, I haven't stuffed the third camera!)


  1. I tripped and fell on the pavement quite recently whilst walking the dog, I was helped to my feet by 2 very pretty 20 something girls, I wished they would have just laughed at me, I'm 55!!!
    That was my now I am old moment.

  2. But the sad bit is that inside doesn't feel any different - it's just the way the world, almost suddenly, perceives you: that horrible element of patronisation