Living on the edge :shock:
Thanks Jan, that’s great fun… 
Thanks Barry. Such a shame the actress died a few years ago. 
Something to stir you. :-p
Sounds a bit industrious for a Sunday Vlad…:-p
It went down a treat with the chops Rhian…
Thanks for asking…
Most folks seem to thrive on the premise that, if they chose to do something they could, but, at that moment in time they choose not to, roughly translated that means they are LAZY.
Harbals paragraph seems seems to muse that something different is being considered for a none weekday, my suggestion is (when social mobility permits) is to visit the Barber and get something for the weekend.
1 Like
Ok I’m curious…just what is exactly the definition of ordinary and therefore, how do you get out of it…?
For once, I actually did something interesting last weekend. It probably wouldn’t be everybody’s cup of tea, but it was something I had been meaning to do for some time, ever since I heard a story that intrigued me. A sort of local legend.
I heard tell of a railway tunnel that few men claim to have set eyes upon since it was abandoned many years ago. It is called the Blackwich Tunnel. Many have sought it, and many of that many have never returned. And few of the few who have returned have found it. It is for this reason I am able to say that few men claim to have set eyes on that tunnel. We cannot know, of course, how many of the many who sought to find the tunnel and never returned did find the tunnel, but it is thought to be very few. I meant to find that tunnel and be one of the few who have found it and returned.
The Tunnel was said to lie 15 miles or so northwest of here, as the crow flies, but I would be cycling. I anticipated many trials, and quite a few challenges, so I expected to be out all morning and possibly into the afternoon; I therefore decided to take a packed lunch.
When the day of my expedition arrived, I hit the trail early and made good progress for ten miles or so, then stopped for a mug of coffee and a chocolate biscuit. Refreshed, I continued on until I reached the place where I knew the hidden path leading to the tunnel had to be. I had a map, given to me by the only man still alive to have been to the tunnel and return. He refused at first when I went to him asking for directions to the tunnel, but relented after I explained what I would do to him did he not give them to me. Even with the map, it was not easy to find the path in the thick undergrowth, and took much beating about the bush.
The path ran through dense woodland, and as I made my way along I found myself thinking, this path isn’t very good for cycling, but the old man with the map had warned me that I might have to get off and push my bike, so I was prepared. After a while, an uneasy feeling began to grow in me. All was complete silence; not a bird could be heard, nor the slightest rustle of any tiny creature in the undergrowth. No evidence of the presence of a single living creature anywhere, apart from one woman with a dog, coming the other way down the path. As the woman passed, I nodded and said, “good morning”, but she walked by giving me no more than a sideways glance and a faint smile. People out walking always say good morning back to me, so I knew then that something was not right.
I was getting close to the tunnel; I could feel it; I could sense it in the very air. Another fifty yards and every nerve in my body was screaming at me to turn back, but on I went. The path then started to become less well defined, and got narrower and narrower as the woodland vegetation encroached on it until there was hardly a path at all, and then there was no path. Again, I was expecting this, and knew that I must now look for two giant trees standing 10 feet apart. I could see them, and between them the thick, seemingly impenetrable wall of shrubbery that I must breech if I was to go on.
The struggle was epic, but after much thrashing about I eventually emerged at the far side of the thicket. What then lay before me made my blood run cold. There, right in front of me, were the remains of the many of the many who had sought the tunnel and never returned to become one of the few of the many. And beyond those wretched many, there it was, the tunnel itself, with the metal barrier that once blocked its entrance wrenched asunder from its fixings. What could wrench such a robust construction asunder? I asked myself, dreading what the answer might be. I was right to dread the answer, for a moment later I knew how dreadful it was. From the ghastly mouth of the tunnel, emerged a creature so terrible that I can scarcely bear to think of it, even now. I have never before seen the like of it, and would never have thought it possible for a badger of that size to exist.
I turned and fled, but driving through dense vegetation at speed, pushing a bike, and with a massive badger at your heels, is as hard as it sounds. Somehow I made it all the way back to the main track, where I jumped on my bike and flew like the wind until every last drop of strength had drained from my frantic legs, and at last I slowed to a stop and fell sideways, bike and all, onto a grassy bank. I cannot say how long I sat there, staring blanky into empty space in despair and disbelief. It felt like an age, but was probably no more than a few minutes, and then I lowered my head into my hands and wept for all those poor badgered souls. 
And that was my weekend.
I might do something out of the ordinary again this weekend
Just a note. If you’re doing it again it’s no longer out of the ordinary. Just a thought. 
1 Like
Thanks, my headache just got worse 
2 Likes
A badger? 
Must have been huger than giant if it wrenched things asunder!!
1 Like
You should’ve written that Ghost story instead!!!
Lovely storytelling though 
2 Likes
It’s not Christmas yet.
1 Like
I have a photo somewhere, he’s a big fella. 
1 Like
He must me smoking that wacky backy again!!
4 Likes
Scrub that. The site won’t let me post photos. It’s a shame, it was a damn spectacular photo. 
1 Like
Thanks.That will give me something to read on the weekend.
1 Like
Can’t wait!
4 Likes