POSTCARD | Eight Mile

Today was meant to be all about relaxing so why did I find myself ducking UK flora along the Thames for an hour outside of Abington?

The barmaid at the pub with no name was a little taken aback.

"It's eight mile to Oxford from 'ere and even I 'aven't done that walk."

It would be a nice walk back I reckoned.

So I set off back for the Abington Lock. Passed that. Hit the trail. Passed one of those touristy things 'Did you know this about Abington'.

The trail wound back and around past the base of a moto-cross racetrack where some young men were stalled on the starting grid for a good half-hour by the race-marshalls.

As I came to a fork in the path a hiker with backpack was approaching so I queried which was the right one towards Oxford. He mumbled something in a German accent about 50 yards, away from the river and world cup still not over it.

"Good, oh" I thought and paced on.

Arrived at the top of the hill and found myself alongside the railway track and the moto-cross ambulance marshalls.

Same thing. Excuse me can you tell ....etc etc etc.

Oh yeah he said and then mumbled something in a British accent.... about 50 yards, along the river and world cup still not over it.

"Good, oh" I thought and paced back down the hill to retrace my steps under a stinking hot British sun that yawned its way to all of 21 or 22 degrees. They were knocked off their feet by the way at the pub with this heatwave....

Ok - so for those that like short stories all I'm going to say for now is that I soon found myself in undergrowth that looked like Errol Flynn was about to appear at any minute followed closely by Russell Crowe insisting that he was the better Robin Hood becuase he did research on the Magna Carta and any idiot can hold a bow and arrow.

Sorry Russ but your movie kinda sucked in the history dept....stick to the action you're just an actor, buddy.

I was on the wrong side of the river plain and simple. And for the first time in my life as a backpacking take-no-prisoners adventurer I simply had to pull up stumps, admit discretion was the better part of valour and make tracks for the 35 back to Oxford and live to tell my tale....

All the while through the undergrowth, 'The Tale of Lexington Crump' began to take a more vivid and actual presence in my head.

So it can't be all bad.....