Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Dunraven Castle for decades. Almost nothing remains of the actual buildings but the large gardens are still there.
Halfway on the excursion I tore a muscle in my right calf. I was attempting to climb a steep slope too quickly and with too heavy a pack. I distinctly heard a twang as if a rubber band had snapped. It was not unmusical. Needless to say, I wasn't able to walk very easily afterwards. Indeed I had to hobble seven or eight miles on an improvised driftwood crutch all the way to Llantwit Major to catch a train home. Three days later my leg still twinges but is getting better fast. I was lucky the injury didn't happen somewhere even more inconvenient, such as on a rockface.
Of course one does have to sit in a chair to get some writing done, unless one stands like Nabokov did... Anyway, I have been dreading this moment for decades... Yesterday morning I finished my 665th story, which means that the next one will be number 666!!! I'm going to crack on with it immediately to get it over with. Not that I'm superstitious or anything but... Story #666 will be about two climbers who can't go climbing outdoors because it's raining (Wales), so they decide to do some indoor climbing instead; inevitably they get stranded on the highest shelf of their kitchen and have to bivouac with the tins of beans while awaiting rescue. It's going to be called 'Left on the Shelf'.
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