It’s reasonably well known that Charles Dickens suffered a bit with depression and used to walk a lot. Walking has always been considered beneficial exercise, and it’s something that I used to do as part of both orienteering and geocaching. ‘Used to do’, I keep coming up against that phrase, shows all the things I’ve allowed to slide over the years.
Anyway, we’re in the Forest of Dean, so a good walk is a natural progression. It rained heavily last night so the land did what the land does, it got all muddy. In places it was a slippery slog, but I’m glad I did it. Muddy boots dry eventually.
The walk was nice, at least an hour. Saw lots of cyclist who were, to a man, filthy with the mud, couldn’t tell what colours the bikes started out but they all ended up muddy, clumpy brown. On the way around we noticed a number of signs saying that there was a booksale on today in the Memorial Hall. The only problem with that was, we had no idea where the Memorial Hall was.
It just so happened that by sheer luck, we waked past the Memorial Hall, so naturally we stopped in. A fair while after, I had three “new” books for £1.50. Bargain. All I have to do now, is read them.
The Write Route 