We got up and made the short walk to the pub attached to our hotel for breakfast; beautiful spread, and as always, my eyes were bigger than my belly. I ordered a lovely cooked breakfast, but the continental spread also had my name on it. Cereal, fruit, pastries. There’s something about an included breakfast that makes you suddenly determined to eat the entire cost of the overnight stay back in food. Is that just me? Whoops.

I went for the full English, and in my impatience, had some cereal too. I wanted to finish with pastries, but I knew in my heart I had no room left, so, as any good hiker would do, I took my napkin to start the origami takeaway wrap and wrapped some up to go instead. Yes it’s allowed when you are as beautiful as me. I Grabbed some free doggy treats on the way out, and me, Laura, and Charlie were already set for elevenses before we’d even set off. I found myself already counting those minutes down until our first tea stop.

Today was meant to be the easy one. Short distance, nothing to worry about. We set off and walked for around an hour, arriving at a beautiful, completely empty beach. Naturally, I decided a swim was in order. I was feeling a bit tired, and figured a cold shock might give me the boost I needed.

I didn’t stay in long; it was fairly foggy, and with my seizures, I try to be sensible about that kind of thing. I think every time I go in the water, I give Laura a small heart attack. She watches me like a hawk the entire time, though you’d genuinely never know it to look at her. Cool as a cucumber. I can just about sense the real thing underneath, though. I’ve got that skill, the same way a predator can feel their prey’s heartbeat quicken. That sounds a bit horror film, but I mean it lovingly. It’s that thing where you know someone so well, you know they’re suffering before they even do.

Anyway, as an absolute hero, Laura’s hawk-like watching remains completely undetectable to the average bystander, and I had a lovely paddle under her watchful eye. I Can confirm the water was noticeably colder than the day before.

Pastries and a cup of tea were waiting for me out of the water, but no instant lift of energy. No miracle waiting round the corner. I’m actually an incredibly patient person, it’s one of my better qualities, right up until it comes to myself. Which, I know, is very much like a lot of people, but if I don’t feel instantly better after making one tiny change, I panic that I’ll never feel better at all.

Catastrophising. Every time.

Five seconds after taking a paracetamol, I’ll already be convinced the pain is never going to end.

Today was meant to be a short day; around 10km; although it somehow ended up at 13km. Laura seems to enjoy quietly adding a little bonus distance to each day without warning me first. Starting to become a bit of a theme especially if you read the end of last weeks article. I was tired, every step harder than the last.

I don’t want to do Life Beyond the Bend today. I would like to sit down and wait for someone to do it for me.

I was struggling. Really struggling, the whole way through Day two. I’d hoped the swim might give me a spring in my step. Instead, my legs had other ideas entirely. Mentally, I was really trying to summon my Tigger on Coke spirit animal, and he was absolutely nowhere to be found.

Quick disclosure if you’re new here: my Tigger spirit animal is a Coca-Cola energy kind of guy. That’s the only kind of coke he’s allowed.

It wasn’t the biggest day mileage-wise, but it gave us space to notice things. We sat having lunch on the rocks, watching the waves, Laura scrambling about over the stones nearby, admiring the geology Northumberland had to offer. Every turn brought something new for her to point out; a landslide here, a rock formation there.

I joke about it, but in the moment, I genuinely love it. The glow she radiates when she’s excited, and I’m equally captivated by her and by the facts themselves. I know it’s sickening how quickly my writing turns lovey-dovey. There was a time when i was uncomfortable hugging someone, hard to believe right. Now, since falling in love, I can’t stop with the lovey-dovey, icky sticky stuff.

And you know what, I bet you secretly love it.

Tangent over. I am truly interested in Laura’s geology side notes, it just takes me a bit longer to actually retain any of it. I don’t think she minds telling me twice, three times or maybe four. More excuses, and always more rocks, and always another opportunity for me to stare as she radiates beauty into those rock formation facts.

She's also wonderful at humouring me when I try pointing out what I've learnt and don't always get it 100% right; which is actually a running theme in our daily lives, not just when we're rocking about, haha.

Today the scenery was stunning. A quiet day, beautiful coastal views, different coloured rocks, easy walking, just chatting the whole way. Laura was in good spirits, and Charlie, who’d had an easier day of it, spent his time racing around whenever we let him off the lead, pining for any stick to be thrown in his direction.

We all made it through to the evening’s accommodation, slow and steady. No Guinness World Record for speed here. No judgement, please; I’ll reference the tortoise and the hare and leave it there.

Tigger never showed up today, but somehow I kept putting one foot in front of the other, and somewhere along the way, there was still a smile on my face. Hard things are hard for a reason. Today was hard. But that feeling when I finally sat on the bed and felt the weight lift? Euphoric.

Day two, done. Quieter than day one, but no less strange.

Coming next: day three, which is where things really start to go a bit sideways.

Total mileage so far on our Northumberland hike, for two amateurs and a dog: 36km / 22.5 miles.

Stay tuned.

Until next time.

Life Beyond the Bend

May your tea be hot and your adventures endless.

Enjoyed this? Click Charlie below to support us; every bit helps keep the boots, ferries, and questionable wine choices coming. No pressure, just appreciated.

Thank you for reading; genuinely. Sharing these stories with you is the whole point.

👆 Go on, tip the dog

Been on any accidental adventures of your own? Tell me about it in the comments.

Leave a comment

^{A few links in this post are affiliate links; if you buy through them, I earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. I only link things we genuinely use and rate.}

^{I write from my own experience and voice, and use AI as an editing and brainstorming tool along the way; for structure, tightening lines, and bouncing ideas around. The stories, jokes, and feelings are all mine.}

Our hikes aren't time-stamped. Our tea breaks are often, and not always little. The only real awareness is of the sun, and whatever time is last check in for our evening accommodation; and even that usually leaves plenty of breathing room. We cruise through the day. Ok, of course it's hard work, and you've heard me moan plenty about the pain, but the pace, at least, is up to us.

With Laura I feel calm, free and safe. I’ve spent a lifetime rushing around, always chasing the next thing. Since meeting her, I’ve been able to be present. Properly present; in a way I don’t think I’d ever fully managed before.

It’s not just Laura, though she’s a huge part of it. Years of therapy, and family and friends who have stuck by me through the highs and lows, all of that matters too. But I’ve spent so long chasing something I could never quite name. Different jobs. Different hobbies. Different ailments, haha. Never quite finding it.

School wasn’t always easy. There were cliques, the pressure to conform, the bullying. A lot of it was shrouded in fear; wearing masks just to fit in. And trying to find out who you actually are while wearing a mask isn’t exactly straightforward.

What was I even looking for, that I could never quite find?

I love perfection, and am a fully fledged recovering perfectionist (thank you, Brené Brown - The Gifts of Imperfection). I'm creative and artsy. But it's only now, looking back at why I loved creativity in the first place, that I've realised something. In my creations, I often made things I liked by accident. My original vision didn't quite happen, but I loved what came out anyway.

That freedom; the space between what I planned and what actually happened; it’s where I like to sit for a while.

And maybe that’s true of life too. Unexpected bends, accidental changes, little bits of serendipity. Laura wasn’t an accident, exactly, but meeting her felt like the best kind of surprise. The best thing that ever happened to me. I didn’t know what I was searching for, and I didn’t know what the future held. I still don’t, really. I have no idea what tomorrow looks like.

There’s fear in that, as a perfectionist. But there’s beauty too, in knowing life can go in any direction.

We all have those well-trodden paths, built from safety and habit. They’re there for me when I need them, and I use them often. But there’s something exciting about walking a new path instead, one less trodden, or one you’re creating as you go. What I never accounted for was how much easier that becomes standing next to someone who radiates warmth, safety, and understanding.

Weirdly, through loving Laura, I’ve learnt to love myself in ways I didn’t think possible. I actually have days now where I look in the mirror and love what I see. I can name the personality traits I wouldn’t give up. I enjoy being me, and continuing to be curious, crazy, and a work in progress.

When we're hiking, I notice things. I mean I’ve always noticed things; I can be incredibly nosey, and Miss Marple-like in my attention to detail; but this feels different.

Something is different!

Maybe I'm feeling them now, rather than just noticing. I'm standing still when it happens, even if only for a brief second. I feel lighter in seeing the world. Leaning into my own intuition, and breathing in the energy that always surrounds me.

I’m not always thinking about what’s next, or what I can order off Amazon to arrive tomorrow. Sometimes I’m just there, walking beside her, and that feels like enough.

I’d be lying if I said I never think about where we’re going next; planning the next trip, the next adventure, filling the Amazon basket just in case. That excitement running through me feels fantastic, and I don’t think it’s going anywhere. I’m not perfect. I’m human.

But being present, especially out here on these hikes, has been an incredible starting point for growth.

Direction doesn’t feel as important at the moment. I have a thirst for life, an energy for action, and a whole lot of love in between.

And I’m so glad I get to introduce you to all the characters who keep these adventures going along the way.

Keep your eyes peeled; character profiles are coming very soon. 👀

Until next time.

Life Beyond the Bend

May your tea be hot and your adventures endless.

Enjoyed this? Click Charlie below to support us — every bit helps keep the boots, ferries, and questionable wine choices coming. No pressure, just appreciated.

Thank you for reading; genuinely. Sharing these stories with you is the whole point.

👆 Go on, tip the dog

Been on any accidental adventures of your own? Tell me about it in the comments.

Leave a comment

^{A few links in this post are affiliate links; if you buy through them, I earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. I only link things we genuinely use and rate.}

^{I write from my own experience and voice, and use AI as an editing and brainstorming tool along the way; for structure, tightening lines, and bouncing ideas around. The stories, jokes, and feelings are all mine.}

Maybe this is where it started, actually. I always assumed I just couldn’t sit still, never once thinking it might be boredom I was avoiding.

I always thought of myself as a couch potato. Laura laughs at that. Sit me down for a nice, romantic evening in front of a film, and I’ll be up off that couch at least sixteen times.

Do you leave cupboards open? Because somewhere between all that jumping up during a film, I seem physically incapable of doing anything in the kitchen without leaving a cupboard door open. It’s a running joke in our house. You don’t need Poirot or Sherlock to work out who’s been in the kitchen; there’ll be three cupboards left open. I’ll save you the detective work. It was me. Every time. Without fail, always that one above the kettle.

So I stopped and asked myself why. Why can’t I close a cupboard door? It genuinely annoys me. And then it hit me.

Opportunity.

I get up to make a cup of tea. The kettle goes on, the cups are lined up, teabags in, and then it’s a waiting game.

Time.

Too much time. Those two minutes and twenty-three seconds while the kettle reaches the boil make me itch. Why am I not doing more? I could unload the dishwasher. Put a wash on. If I’m quick, I could tidy the front room too. Feed the dog.

Two minutes and twenty-three seconds, and I cannot stand and wait. I cannot bear to just sit in my own thoughts, stare into the distance for a moment. I tell myself it’s practical and efficient. I could do a hundred things and make a cup of tea in 2 minutes and twenty three seconds.

Let me pause here and give you a bit of context on where I’m actually at right now. I’m currently dealing with seizures, having recently been diagnosed with FND, functional neurological disorder. In a nutshell, that’s my nervous system essentially having a tantrum, which for me looks like seizures, both absent and convulsive. For other people, it can look like paralysis, tremors, memory problems, and plenty of other difficult symptoms.

That’s not the only thing going on either. I also apparently make rubbish collagen. I have hypermobility syndrome, my joints don’t really know how to behave, and I live with a fair amount of pain in my joints and body generally.

I know. Walking’s a bit of a pain in the backside for someone like me, and yet here we are. Jokes aside, I’ve sat in both the mental hole of struggling with this and the physical hole of it too, and the conclusion is always the same: I’m the only one who can help myself, and climb back out of the hole. Take it from someone who knows, there is no shame in asking for a rope ladder to be thrown down. Laura has actually put stakes in my holes now and then when I ask for a ladder she can just motivate me to climb the stakes instead from her comfy, seated position haha.

That context was important, because now we come back to the kettle. Bear in mind everything I’ve just told you. A sensible person in my position would treasure those two minutes and twenty three seconds as a genuine chance to rest, to put less stress through my body. Instead, I get so excited that today I can move, that I try to fit everything into it at once. I think you can already see where this is heading. Laura certainly can. She knows me well enough to see it coming about a month in advance.

Burn out.

Flare up.

Moaning.

I do too much, and then I simply can’t do anything at all. And I could give you a thousand excuses for why I push myself that hard, why I feel the need to do everything at once. But recently, I’ve started to see it from a slightly different angle.

On one of our many long car journeys, feeding Laura biscuits, tea, the occasional Red Bull, whatever it takes to keep her awake and alert behind the wheel, we listen to podcasts. One of them was Rob Dial’s Mindset Mentor, an episode on ‘why boredom is good for you’, and it shifted something for me. I don’t want to ruin it if you fancy listening yourself, but the gist is this: we’re overstimulated, overwhelmed, and drowning in more than we were ever built to process, all available at the press of a single button. We never truly sit in boredom anymore. And boredom, it turns out, gives us something valuable. Space. Breathing room. Thinking time. Room to invent, to process, to actually create.

Is my body simply so overstimulated that it’s had to start shouting at me in different ways, just to be heard?

Which brings me back round to this blog, full circle. This blog is here today to celebrate the ordinary. Walks. Camping. Living. Noticing the small things. Sitting in the presence of something. Appreciating the quiet.

If you’ve been following, you’ll know my seizures have already dropped from five a day down to a few a week, and life has genuinely become easier to live. That’s where Laura comes in. Where Charlie comes in. Where The Boss comes in. (Don’t forget Character profiles coming soon if you want to know us better). They all remind me that life simply keeps moving, one step at a time, round one bend at a time. We don’t have to run. We can walk. We can lie down. We can just breathe.

That’s why we’re here, really. We’re just doing life. Nothing extraordinary. Just life. And somehow, in the middle of that, we’re feeling better. Safer. More connected. Freer.

I’m trying to sit in the boredom a little more. To flow with it, rather than fight it. To float through the day instead of racing it.

So far, waiting for the kettle to boil is as far as I’ve got. But I smile every time now, standing there, wondering why on earth I’m just standing. And somehow, the view from that kettle is always better than I remember.

Until next time.

Life Beyond the Bend

May your tea be hot and your adventures endless.

Enjoyed this? Click Charlie below to support us; every bit helps keep the boots, ferries, and questionable wine choices coming. No pressure, just appreciated.

Thank you for reading; genuinely. Sharing these stories with you is the whole point.

👆 Go on, tip the dog

Been on any accidental adventures of your own? Tell me about it in the comments.

Leave a comment

^{A few links in this post are affiliate links; if you buy through them, I earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. I only link things we genuinely use and rate.}

^{I write from my own experience and voice, and use AI as an editing and brainstorming tool along the way; for structure, tightening lines, and bouncing ideas around. The stories, jokes, and feelings are all mine.}

There was just one small complication: the dog. Keen to take him on an adventure, but worried about the heat.

We checked the forecast. Heading south looked tempting until we realised the weather down there was even hotter. I’d always fancied Hadrian’s Wall; cooler, at least; but after falling in love with the sea on the Isle of Wight, Laura wasn’t ready to give up on more coastal walking. So the real question became: do we go back and finish the Isle of Wight coastal path, or find somewhere entirely new?

I love history. There’s something genuinely fascinating about standing where people once stood, particularly the Romans, imagining what they started, all those centuries ago. I also love the sea. Laura loves the sea. The ocean breeze and the promise of salty water to jump into were far too tempting to give up.

Then we found it. A compromise. The Northumberland Coastal Path! Seas, shores, cliffs and castles. We were sold.

We bought Charlie a cooling coat off Amazon before we’d even properly committed, and the decision itself only actually got made the evening before we left. Nothing like a last minute decision, no worry, life is for living and going with the flow of the rivers round all the bends and beyond.

We were feeling confident; smug, if I’m honest; especially after the Isle of Wight hike. I’ve never given birth, but I imagine it’s a bit like that: you forget how hard it actually was in the moment and you decide to go again. And I’d only given birth to the idea of hiking just two weeks earlier.

Now we’re setting off on the next thing, clearly with muscles built and fully equipped for any hike that might come our way. One hike in, and I genuinely think I’m basically Ray Mears now. Unstoppable. Wildly, overly optimistic.

Persistent, with a huge dose of FOMO thrown in is probably how Laura might describe my sudden hiking enthusiasm.

We’d learned from our mistakes, or at least we told ourselves we had. Fewer clothes this time. Food properly planned rather than winged. We picked up anti-chafing cream, genuinely helpful for preventing blisters, more blister plasters, and disposable ice packs in case of injury. What we hadn’t yet learned was how Charlie would actually cope with any of it, this was his first time coming along on something this big but he is like one of his owners, suffering from FOMO, huge optimism and very very persistent.

And we’re off!! No stopping us now.

We stayed overnight on the way up, since it was a long drive and, because of my seizures, I can’t drive; so sadly driving all falls on Laura. That part isn’t fun, and I’m aware of it every single time we go somewhere. I’m not a brilliant passenger either but we keep going and keep Laura fuelled with good podcasts, strong coffee, and lots of biscuits.

Arrived in time for the Football kick off. The first hotel was lovely. Basic, cheap, dog-friendly. I took a quick shower, came back into the room, and found Laura and Charlie already cosying up on the bed without me. I can confirm I did not end up sleeping on the floor in the dog bed, but Charlie made it very clear that’s exactly where he thought I belonged. Only his first adventure, and he was already feeling just as smug as we were. After a conversation with a fellow Substacker, I realised that the dog is training me all the time, not the other way round.

Day one, Hiking time!

I was keen to get the boots back on. Laura wanted to try out her walking sandals she’s had for years, full lesbian-hiking-icon energy. We both decided on the big rucksacks this time to account for longer time away.

I’d ordered an extra Bruce the backpack from Vinted, the same brand and size we’d used on the first hike. We both loved the size, not too big and not too small, comfortable and easy to adjust. Sadly it didn’t arrive in time. That’s what you get for last-minute decisions. So I pulled my old rucksack out of storage instead, and honestly, I’d forgotten how much I loved it. It’s covered in patches where it’s torn over the years, all lovingly stitched back together by my mum in bright orange thread. Properly full of character, used for Duke of Edinburgh hikes and travelling, packed with memories but much bigger than the backpack i was hoping to have on my back.

I haven’t named this one yet. She feels like a woman, sits beautifully on my back, and comfortable round the waist. Laura, meanwhile, took Bruce. Bruce the Brute. Although, in fairness, we hold a lot of love for him. He’s a lovely Bruce, really.

Car abandoned for the next few days. On foot from here. We were off.

Thirsty for a new adventure, fresh air in our lungs, we had a spring in our step.

The hikes are having a genuine positive impact on my physical and mental health; my seizures had been easing also, down from around five a day to just a few a week, which made the whole trip feel far more achievable than it might have a few months earlier.

We were keen to see how Charlie would handle it. We kept him on the lead throughout day one so he didn’t overexert himself. He’s brilliant off-lead, but he does love to run, and he’s still only eighteen months old, all puppy energy. He did really well; we used an extendable lead and this gave him plenty of wiggle room without losing control of him entirely and him exerting himself too much.

It was about 24°C, which felt mild compared to the 36 we’d escaped in South London, but after a while we tried out the doggy cooling jacket properly. It’s a sort of Shammy material, which reminded me of waxing the car; not that I do that regularly, I could probably count the number of times on one hand I’ve waxed a car.

Back to the cooling jacket. You soak in for a minute, wring it out, and pop it on. Charlie didn’t seem to mind it at all. I used a safety pin to stop the extra fabric flapping about and keep the velcro clean, and honestly, it worked brilliantly, he wasn’t panting nearly as much. He also looked unbelievably cute in it, which felt like an extra bonus.

We found our first beach, and it was beautiful. Laura took the opportunity to check the map properly; chief map reader, as always.

Along the way we met Scary Mary; some kind of monument, and honestly, looking back at the photo, I’m not entirely sure whether it’s Scary Mary or Laura who’s more terrifying. I won’t leave you waiting for the answer: of course it was Laura who was more terrifying. That joke may have cost me a lifetime of tea making, Laura you are beautiful, love you always!

First proper stop was on the beach, tea break, obviously our stunning flask and little Edna joined for a cuppa. What struck us most about Northumberland was how quiet and dog-friendly every beach was, it was so beautiful.

Laura was still carrying two injuries from the last trip; her Achilles, which she’d been stretching out, and a hip problem that had sent her to the chiropractor beforehand. So she used the beach stop not just for a swim, but to run through her chiropractor exercises too. Genuinely can’t think of a more stunning studio to complete your physio in.

We kept walking, and spotted a hill in the distance that I assumed was chalky white. As we got closer, we realised it wasn’t chalk at all; it was entirely capped in bird poo. Weirdly satisfying to look at.

A lovely couple walked by as I was admiring the poo. Yes, I realise that’s an odd thing to do, but I am odd. Stay tuned for more odd things.

The woman excitedly asked if I knew the name for it, pointing at the poo-covered rock I’d been studying so intently. I braced myself for a punchline. Instead, very seriously, she told me she’d just learnt that the accumulated deposits of seabirds are called guano.

So day one became educational as well as eventful.

We passed plenty of sheep too, which meant keeping Charlie on a short lead. The extendable lead was definitely the right call; control, with a bit of freedom built in. Laura had a stroke of genius, threading the handle through her waist strap to turn the whole thing hands-free. My beautiful navigator, now also an excellent inventor and engineer.

By the time we reached the town, Laura told me accommodation was close. Close is not how i would’ve described it………………….another mile and a half, right at the end of an already long day. My legs were wearing thin, but I couldn’t wait to lie down.

When we finally arrived, it turned out to be an incredibly posh establishment, with a wedding in full swing. So there we were, walking into a gorgeous reception, sweaty, haggard, dog in hand, enormous backpacks on our backs, looking like we’d been dragged there against our will, amongst well dressed cheerful bubbly party guests. The man on the desk took one look at us and wouldn’t even let us pay properly on account of our current state, he just sent us straight up to the room, very appreciated.

Not long after, I started feeling genuinely unwell. Sick, headachy, properly fluey. I couldn’t tell if it was exhaustion, dehydration, or my hypermobility flaring, and the nearest food was a pub ten minutes up the road which, in that moment, felt like a hundred miles away. We made do with leftover pitas, a glucose pouch, water, paracetamol, and called it an early night.

I lay there feeling genuinely worried about the four days I’d signed us up for so eagerly, and about pushing both our bodies once again through something neither of us had trained for.

Day one, done, 23km walked in total, Three more days to go. I’m not sure I'm going to make it!

Until next time.

Life Beyond the Bend

May your tea be hot and your adventures endless.

Enjoyed this? Click Charlie below to support us — every bit helps keep the boots, ferries, and questionable wine choices coming. No pressure, just appreciated.

Thank you for reading; genuinely. Sharing these stories with you is the whole point.

👆 Go on, tip the dog

Been on any accidental adventures of your own? Tell me about it in the comments.

Leave a comment

^{A few links in this post are affiliate links; if you buy through them, I earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. I only link things we genuinely use and rate.}

^{I write from my own experience and voice, and use AI as an editing and brainstorming tool along the way; for structure, tightening lines, and bouncing ideas around. The stories, jokes, and feelings are all mine.}

Day one, energy-wise, there was a moment when my body had the shakes. I felt weak, and thank god we had glucose pouches; I couldn’t recommend them more for a quick energy boost, especially for us, given our bodies had no idea what was going on with the sudden eagerness to do a massive long-distance walk.

I have hypermobility syndrome, which causes pain in my body, mostly in the joints, almost all of the time. Moving often helps; there’s still pain, but it keeps things moving. As soon as I stop, it feels like no amount of oil will help. Mind over matter, again.

Day two was particularly hard for me. Laura started low, and I’m often caught by other people’s emotions; I feed off them like a leech. So although I felt lifted, I also felt sad that I couldn’t lift Laura’s mood, and you can probably see where that cycle takes us. Round and round AND ROUND AGAIN.

The bag. The pain in my shoulders. The ache in my hips from the weight of it. So difficult to keep carrying it one step more each time. I particularly struggled with the tightness around my stomach, and the bloating and stomach cramps that kept the wind coming.

On that second day, we also welcomed another of my ailments. I’ve recently been diagnosed with FND (functional neurological disorder) which causes seizures. For me they can be both absent and convulsive. Laura knows before I do that I’m going to have one. It takes me longer for my brain to catch up with the signals, though I’m starting to get there. I can tell you it’s not fun. We deal with it, of course, but it means Laura spends a lot of energy just worrying about whether a location is suitable, in case I have a seizure while we’re walking; and what she can grab quickly to support my head.

This time, the day sack was whipped off her back and thrust under my head in seconds. Apparently my drunken-like state, the slowing down, the stuttered words; all the red flags were there. I did bruise my elbow on a pebble, since I like to thrash about. Very shark-like. Not quite as cool or deadly, I’m afraid.

Coming back round is always an odd process for me. I’m fortunate that, unlike epileptic seizures, my recovery is often short and sweet; seizure plus recovery, all in, is about twenty minutes.

We’ve had seizures in lots of places. Shops, homes, church, the list goes on. But on a hike, where you’re genuinely quite open to the elements and vulnerable, when I come round and start feeling more conscious of the world again, I do worry. Slowly I start to feel the sloshy whirring in my brain, and the noises around me, and I smile goofily at Laura, who is always there looking relieved and saddened at the same time.

We are two sides of a coin. A carer and a cared for. Our lives have flipped upside down in very different ways, and we’ve tried hard to see it from both sides; but we are very much living the two sides of the same diagnosis.

After the seizure, I felt disappointed. I’m an impatient person, and the fact that I’m still having seizures, still not recovered, is so frustrating. We can talk more about this another time, if it sparks interest.

This walk was beautiful in so many ways. A huge achievement, for me and for Laura. A spontaneous walk that filled us with joy and connection. I felt like we could conquer anything. But it was hard. It was tiring. It definitely had pain, suffering, and discomfort in it too. Blisters that meant I was in flip-flops for the days that followed. Trips to the osteopath for me, the chiropractor for Laura, and some war wounds in the shape of scrapes and bruises from brambles and rocky roads.

Let’s talk about sweat. It was hot, we were walking miles, there was a lot of it; sweat in places I don’t care to remember. But even though I was losing so much fluid, I still needed the toilet just as much as usual.

And so, the last bit that didn’t make the lovely version of the Isle of Wight story: the wild wees gone wrong. My goodness, there were a lot. Some in bushes. Some in open fields. Some in the sea. But there’s one that sticks out (pardon the pun), and you’ll see why as I tell you.

There I was again, desperate for a wee, scanning for an open space through a lot of brambles. Finally I spotted an opening and took my chance.

Nettles.

The ones that sting.

I heroically finished the wee, then leapt up, hunting for a dock leaf with my trousers still down. At this point Laura didn’t know whether to laugh or disown me completely and walk away. Dock leaf located eventually. Some relief. Not a complete cure.

One thing that will continue on this blog, much to Laura’s disappointment, is the mishaps that seem to follow me through life, and the fun they bring to my day-to-day existence. Putting it simply: I am excellent at solving a problem, or clearing up a disastrous mess. Usually one I’ve caused myself.

Until next time.

Life Beyond the Bend

May your tea be hot and your adventures endless.

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^{A few links in this post are affiliate links; if you buy through them, I earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. I only link things we genuinely use and rate.}

^{I write from my own experience and voice, and use AI as an editing and brainstorming tool along the way; for structure, tightening lines, and bouncing ideas around. The stories, jokes, and feelings are all mine.}

Edna (our amazing flask), as ever, was the saviour. We started with a walk along the seafront, quiet, not too windy, and then were hit by some horrendous steps round the bend. I like to just get them out the way; mind over matter, although my heart rate screams very loudly at me, sounding like an army of devils on my shoulder shouting stop, quit while you’re ahead, and other unhelpful comments.

First summit done. Ok, not summit, I’m still new to this, but despite being an amateur I felt like a mountain climber, so I’m sticking with summit. We found a good spot to stop and refuel.

Edna to the rescue!

One thing we noticed throughout the hike: we were never particularly hungry. Eating little and often kept us going without ever really feeling the need for food.

Disclosure: No food was wasted in this hike, we finished the leftovers on the drive home late that evening.

I felt sad that day. As the Needles came into view in the distance, it suddenly hit me; this meant our spontaneous, slightly unhinged adventure was coming to an end. Our crazy adventure and unrealistic goals were actually in sight. But the sadness brought a question with it: would this just be one crazy adventure, or was Laura silly enough to keep following my high-spirited, over-committed random plans and ideas? I think the fact I’ve started a blog might give you the answer.

As we got closer to the end, I was excited to take Laura down to the Needles on the old chairlift. If you’ve been on it, you’ll know exactly what I mean; rickety, wobbly, the sort of thing that looks like it’s been there since the war, because it probably has. Laura was never getting on that thing. Luckily for her, it was closed for maintenance anyway, so she suggested we simply walk down to the beach instead.

Now, I’ve done this walk before. I knew that without a lift, we’d be climbing straight back up those same stairs. Remember, I’ve walked a long way at this point; practically half way across the world!

Laura’s psychic powers kicked in; I’m sure that had nothing to do with the fear plastered across my face, my stubborn silence, and my glaring eyes. She valiantly offered to carry the bag back up. Didn’t have to ask me twice. I agreed and down we went to the water front.

We finished day two’s hike with lunch under the sands at Alum Bay, Laura cheerfully pointing out how safe it felt to be sitting directly under what was technically landslide territory. The weathering and rock types make the sand genuinely beautiful there. I was hoping to impress Laura with the layers of coloured sand; I hadn’t accounted for her years of geological field work, and it didn’t land how I’d expected. She didn’t stand in awe and wasn’t remotely tempted to pay for a sand-filled ornament

I couldn’t resist another dip in the sea. It was wonderful; seeing the sandy cliffs from the water, I’d never seen them that way before. It made me smile, and there was a real feeling of success in it too; we’d started hiking, and we were still smiling at the end. I can also confirm I had an excellent wild wee in the sea.

Wee with a view.

As we clambered back up the stairs, the sadness returned, and I found myself wanting to do a little more. Laura checked the map and said we could do another three miles. I was thrilled; the journey wasn’t over yet.

But the mist had properly rolled in. We could see it opening up over the sea in the distance, and every weather app we checked disagreed with the last; Met Office said rain, BBC Weather said no sunshine at all. Laura wasn’t keen, understandably, but we’d missed the bus and had an hour to wait either way, so the decision made itself. Off we went into the mist.

Our luck held. The mist stayed, but the rain never quite arrived. We climbed a hill that, in the moment, felt genuinely resurrection-of-Christ dramatic; a monument at the top, an open field stretching up to it like some sort of regal path.

It was windy at the top, so we didn’t stay long; which turned out to be good timing, because we spent the walk back down racing the mist behind us. Chased by a cloud. I know I probably should have been a little worried, but by that point we were properly close to the end, the land below finally in sight, and the whole thing felt more like the tense final stretch of a horror film than anything actually dangerous. Racing the clouds before they swallowed us. Beating the odds until the bitter end.

Dramatic should’ve been my middle name, I know. But it’s important to love life, and to see the most of everything

Ten miles total for day two, we finished. We sat on a bench waiting for the bus home, finishing off Edna’s very last dregs.

I’d love to tell you the journey ended calmly from there. It did not. The Harry Potter Knight Bus had nothing on our final bus driver, who apparently took no prisoners. In fairness, the timekeeping was excellent, so I’ll assume it was simply me not being used to a bus taking corners at that speed.

On the ferry home, Laura tucked herself into two hoodies. Tiredness and dropping temperatures had finally caught up with both of us. We wrapped up, bought two extremely overpriced Costas from the machine, and crossed the sea back to the car.

Twenty-seven unexpected miles. Sore feet. Full hearts. Pride, joy, and a thirst for more adventures.

Until next time.

Life Beyond the Bend

May your tea be hot and your adventures endless.

Enjoyed this? Click Charlie below to support us — every bit helps keep the boots, ferries, and questionable wine choices coming. No pressure, just appreciated.

Thank you for reading; genuinely. Sharing these stories with you is the whole point.

👆 Go on, tip the dog

Been on any accidental adventures of your own? Tell me about it in the comments.

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^{A few links in this post are affiliate links; if you buy through them, I earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. I only link things we genuinely use and rate.}

^{I write from my own experience and voice, and use AI as an editing and brainstorming tool along the way; for structure, tightening lines, and bouncing ideas around. The stories, jokes, and feelings are all mine.}

The aches were real; feet, legs, shoulders, mentally; but we kept going, all the way down the stairs to breakfast. That was a start. Every step on those stairs was felt in every inch of my legs.

Something else followed me into the morning, down the stairs, along with the pain… a distinct sulphur smell. Poor Laura has had to suffer some kind of explosion from my end. Naturally, I asked the internet why, and apparently it could be down to a change of diet, or a rucksack strapped tightly around my abdomen.

All I can tell you is that in the wide open outdoors, Laura was still reaching for a gas mask. After a lovely full English, I did manage some relief. The gas, however, just kept coming.

Sorry, Laura. I can confirm she still loves me.

We also learned something else about each other that day: how differently we deal with a bad mood.

If I’m in a low mood; which rarely happens…..please don’t ask Laura; I sometimes… ok, a lot of the time, moan and whine until the cows come home. I apologise for moaning. I rant some more. I apologise again. I go fully dramatic. I’m sure if you’ve been following the blog, this isn’t exactly a shock.

Laura’s way of dealing with a low mood is quiet. Reflective. An entirely internal process.

Naturally, because I’m me, and I’m a people pleaser, I tried to cheer her up. This involved me telling her that if she was going to be grumpy, she should do it properly; go on, have a scream, a shout, a full moan, 100% commitment.

I don’t think I need to describe the look on Laura’s face.

Let’s just say that was not her style. I believe the exact response was: “Just let me be grumpy quietly.”

Noted.

Until next time.

Life Beyond the Bend

May your tea be hot and your adventures endless.

Enjoyed this? Click Charlie below to support us — every bit helps keep the boots, ferries, and questionable wine choices coming. No pressure, just appreciated.

Thank you for reading; genuinely. Sharing these stories with you is the whole point.

👆 Go on, tip the dog

Been on any accidental adventures of your own? Tell me about it in the comments.

Leave a comment

^{A few links in this post are affiliate links; if you buy through them, I earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. I only link things we genuinely use and rate.}

^{I write from my own experience and voice, and use AI as an editing and brainstorming tool along the way; for structure, tightening lines, and bouncing ideas around. The stories, jokes, and feelings are all mine.}

By late afternoon my hips were hurting. I have Hypermobility syndrome disorder and am in pain all the time so this was a good sign i needed to stop. The miles had caught up with me. The excitement was still there, but my body was starting to submit a strongly worded complaint. I was sealing the envelope and sending it recorded delivery.

Then Laura spotted a sign.

A path down to the sea. Another one of her little detours, just a few extra steps……

I was torn, I love the sea but i could see some stairs through the trees, if i go down steps……. i have to come up.

What would i do?

Of course i said yes, she was so excited and in my current state i was a wandering sheep.

Fortunately there were only a few steps. At the bottom was a tiny stretch of beach with a promenade. Quiet. Beautiful. The sort of place that feels like a secret.

“I’d love to go for a swim,” said Laura.

The idea sounded wonderful. The effort sounded less wonderful. We didn’t have swimwear. We did have one towel. We were tired. We still had walking to do to our hotel.

Yet somehow, within a few minutes, we were standing at the water’s edge convincing ourselves it was a good idea. Underwear is the same as your swimming gear, after all.

As I was just about to dive in, I had a quick thought; I’d only packed the one sports bra, and I really didn’t want to get it wet. Any woman reading this will know a good bra can make all the difference, and this was only day one, what would i wear tomorrow?

There was only one thing to do. I quickly whipped it off and jumped straight in.

The sea was cold. Beautifully cold. The kind of cold that makes you gasp and laugh at the same time.

The confidence of knowing I was swimming topless was so liberating. I was proud that I’d reached a moment in my life where I was proud of my body, and could enjoy that water in my best outfit.

Body image is hard for a lot of people. I’ve battled with my weight my whole life, and it’s been a strong, constant theme running through it. I can honestly say that for the first time in a long time, I love the skin I’m in.

I still have moments where the mirror makes me doubt that. But I’m wearing clothes now that I would have actively avoided in the past, and I’m feeling great; lighter, freer. That half skinny dip was the trophy, the moment I chose to celebrate and honour all of it.

For a few minutes I stopped thinking about aching hips, tired feet and how far we’d already walked. I was simply there. Floating. Breathing. Feeling completely free.

The sun was gorgeous. It was such a beautiful moment.

Mine had just carried me seventeen miles.

That felt worth celebrating.

When we finally dragged ourselves out and put our walking shoes back on, neither of us wanted to leave.

But the pub was waiting. Fish and chips were waiting. A glass of wine was waiting. Most importantly, a bed was waiting.

By the time we reached Yarmouth we were exhausted. The good kind of exhausted. The sort that comes from spending an entire day doing something you’ll remember forever.

Back in our room, after dinner, my body had transformed into something resembling the Tin Man. Every movement creaked. Every step felt tougher than the one before. The thought of cleaning my teeth felt like everest.

We rolled into bed and disappeared.

Tigger on Coke had finally run out of batteries.

Until next time.

Life Beyond the Bend

May your tea be hot and your adventures endless.

Enjoyed this? Click Charlie below to support us — every bit helps keep the boots, ferries, and questionable wine choices coming. No pressure, just appreciated.

Thank you for reading; genuinely. Sharing these stories with you is the whole point.

👆 Go on, tip the dog

Been on any accidental adventures of your own? Tell me about it in the comments.

Leave a comment

^{A few links in this post are affiliate links; if you buy through them, I earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. I only link things we genuinely use and rate.}

^{I write from my own experience and voice, and use AI as an editing and brainstorming tool along the way; for structure, tightening lines, and bouncing ideas around. The stories, jokes, and feelings are all mine.}

Here’s roughly how it goes, from both sides.

Minute 1
Me, internally: This was a stupid idea. I’m not fit enough, what was I thinking.
Laura, looks at the map and out loud: “Right, it’s this way.”

Minute 5
Me, internally: My legs don’t work. How soon can I wave the white flag and keep face.
Laura, out loud: “Careful, mind the dog poo.” Embarrassing how many times this is necessary for her to point out, but much appreciated 🙂

Minute 10
Me, internally: Am I feeling like I’m going to have a seizure, unsure, maybe we should find a café just in case.
Laura, out loud: “There’s a fault in that rock over there.”

Minute 15
Me, internally: Are we nearly there, I can’t go on……… oh no, Laura is looking at the map again.
Laura, out loud: “Ooh, if we go a bit further this way, there’s a nice river we can walk along.”

Me, internally: More steps, is she trying to kill me????

Minute 20
My legs don’t ache so much, my mood lifts, the buzz begins, and I know Laura will now be the one asking for the first tea break, not me; point to me, even though she doesn’t know she’s playing.

I turn to her with a goofy smile and she returns this smile with a cheeky eye roll. no matter which path, it feels like we are going round the bend on the right one

It’s almost embarrassing how predictable I am. Every. Single. Time.

Luckily, I hike with someone who doesn’t panic. Laura is wonderfully calm. She doesn’t tell me to stop moaning, even though she’d probably be justified; I should point out the initial moaning is internal, but don’t think for one minute I don’t make use of moaning during the hours we walk side by side. Surely it’d just be a missed opportunity if I didn’t. She just keeps walking, chatting away about whatever interesting rock we’ve just passed, quietly being the strength that keeps us going, and letting me catch up to myself.

I don’t think she even realises how reassuring that is.

Even when she isn’t actively encouraging me, my competitive streak will never let me admit defeat.

So I keep walking. Every cup of tea tastes slightly better the further we walk. Every sit down feels more feather-like than the last, when we finally take the weight off our beautiful Mammut boots.

Every hike ends with exactly the same conversation.

“So... where shall we go next?”

Apparently all I need to do to become a hiker is survive the first twenty minutes.

Enjoyed this? Click Charlie below to support us — every bit helps keep the boots, ferries, and questionable wine choices coming. No pressure, just appreciated.

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👆 Go on, tip the dog

Been on any accidental adventures of your own? Tell me about it in the comments.

Leave a comment

^{A few links in this post are affiliate links; if you buy through them, I earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. I only link things we genuinely use and rate.}

^{I write from my own experience and voice, and use AI as an editing and brainstorming tool along the way; for structure, tightening lines, and bouncing ideas around. The stories, jokes, and feelings are all mine.}

Let’s talk about the heavy bag. We didn’t name him on our hike, but I feel like a “Bruce” would be fitting for the sheer brute he was.

Bruce was a con artist!

For the first two minutes after putting him on, he felt fine. Comfortable, even. Then, as if Bruce knew you had this superiority feeling, he secretly started adding bricks to it. He became heavier. And heavier. And somehow even heavier than that.

We drank more water, we ate more food. Bruce continued to gain weight????

I’m convinced there’s some sort of scientific explanation. Or perhaps backpacks simply feed on human optimism. Bruce certainly did.

Either way, we’d developed a system. One of us carried the big backpack. One of us carried the day sack. Then we’d swap. If your sitting here daydreaming about that new backpack, I want to reassure you, you really can never have enough 😊

Every time we swapped from Bruce to the day sack (let’s call her Denise), I felt like I had sprouted wings. I finally understood the Red Bull adverts. The difference was ridiculous. One minute I was trudging along questioning my life choices. The next I was floating down the coastal path like some sort of hiking gazelle. Denise was featherlike and comforting, i fell in love over and over every time I held her.

Laura wasn’t having quite as much fun. Bruce was being a brute!

Quick bit of context, for two reasons.

First: I recently had my bio-age tested for different muscle groups at the gym. This was all very exciting until it informed me that my upper body strength was apparently seventy-one years old.

No, I am not 71. Thank you.

Second: Laura is a stunning 5 foot 10, tall enough to change a lightbulb without so much as a step stool; and also, unfortunately, someone who deals with ongoing back problems.

Bruce was heavy. So despite my seventy-one-year-old upper body strength, I did a lot of the lifting on day one; I was Laura’s knight in shining armour.

Ok, so no shining armour, just a lot of sweat and attractive hiking gear. Don’t forget the Mammuts; I really do love them.

So every extra minute carrying that backpack became a small personal victory. I wasn’t just hiking. I was proving a machine wrong. Or at least attempting to.

Laura calls me “Tigger on Coke.” Before you judge, no actual coke is involved. What she means is that I bounce. I skip. I hop. I walk like somebody who’s had three coffees and exciting news. Meanwhile, Laura moves calmly and purposefully like somebody who actually knows where she’s going.

Together we somehow average out into one reasonably functional hiker.

I have a lot to thank Tigger for. Most of my spontaneous, un-thought-through decisions come from Tigger, and sometimes I’ve acted before even thinking; and those are the most memorable moments.

There are some things nobody tells you about hiking as a couple. For example, kissing gates become opportunities.

Every single one.

Now, when we started the walk, I think Laura found this quite sweet. A quick kiss here. A quick kiss there. A little moment before carrying on. Lovely. Romantic.

By gate number seven, I suspect enthusiasm had started to fade.

By gate twelve, I was receiving a mixture of amusement and mild eye-rolling.

Did this stop me?

Absolutely not.

Persistence is one of my most charming characteristics. If there’s a kissing gate, I’m contractually obliged to use it properly.

Along the route we also stumbled across something entirely unexpected.

Naked postbox toppers.

Yes, really. Tiny knitted naked figures perched proudly on top of local postboxes. They’d been created by a local nudist couple to celebrate the birth of their two children.

I don’t know what I was expecting to see on the Isle of Wight, but it certainly wasn’t that.

Yet somehow they made perfect sense. They made me smile. They felt joyful. A little bit cheeky. A little bit rebellious. A reminder that life is probably more fun when you stop worrying so much about what other people think.

At the time I didn’t realise just how much that idea would stay with me. But somewhere between the kissing gates, the tea stops and the naked postboxes, a tiny seed had been planted. One that would grow considerably before the end of the day.

The plan was simple.

Walk ten miles. Catch a bus. Feel very pleased with ourselves.

Instead, after reaching our planned stopping point and collapsing onto the ground for what we assumed would be our final tea break, Laura casually looked at the map and said:

“It’s only another seven miles to Yarmouth.”

Only.

Another.

Seven.

Miles.

I should point out we’d already walked ten, with no training behind us.

A sensible person would have got on the bus. A sensible person would have congratulated themselves on a successful day. A sensible person would not have looked at their partner and said:

“Let’s do it.”

Unfortunately for my feet, I am not a sensible person.

At first it felt fantastic. We were invincible. Proper hikers. The sort of people who casually add extra miles to their day.

Then my body started filing complaints. I felt shaky. A little weak. The sort of feeling where your legs and brain are no longer fully cooperating.

So we stopped. Out came the world’s greatest flask. Out came the electrolytes. Out came one final cup of tea from Edna.

Prior to hiking, I hadn’t enjoyed the benefits of electrolytes. We were using glucose pouches on the hikes, and I’ll continue to use those; but for daily use, especially gym workouts and general exercise, I’m in love with Free Soul. Tastes great and keeps me hydrated.

I genuinely don’t understand why tea tastes so much better after you’ve walked for hours. Perhaps somebody should investigate it. Perhaps this is a question for another blog.

Refuelled and rehydrated, I performed another strategically located wild wee. Timing is everything. Particularly when the locals are beginning to wheel their bins out ready for tomorrow’s collection.

Then something miraculous happened. The energy came back. Not normal energy. “Tigger on Coke” energy. Glucose pouches are a big plus; highly recommended in the backpack. At one point I started skipping. Actually skipping. After already walking ten miles, with Bruce still on my back.

Laura was not impressed.

I was delighted.

We were doing difficult things. We were seeing beautiful places. And somehow I still had enough energy to annoy my fiancée.

Life was good.

Until next time,

Life Beyond the Bend

May your tea be hot and your adventures endless.

Enjoyed this? Click Charlie below to support us — every bit helps keep the boots, ferries, and questionable wine choices coming. No pressure, just appreciated.

Thank you for reading; genuinely. Sharing these stories with you is the whole point.

👆 Go on, tip the dog

Been on any accidental adventures of your own? Tell me about it in the comments.

Leave a comment

^{A few links in this post are affiliate links; if you buy through them, I earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. I only link things we genuinely use and rate.}

^{I write from my own experience and voice, and use AI as an editing and brainstorming tool along the way; for structure, tightening lines, and bouncing ideas around. The stories, jokes, and feelings are all mine.}

We did not.

The plan for day two changed at least six times before we’d even finished breakfast.

Trying to be sensible we thought ten miles a day would be achievable.

Yes that will be good

10 Miles.

Nice and achievable.

No overdoing it.

Then we remembered The Needles existed.

Laura had never been to the Isle of Wight before, and I simply couldn’t allow her to leave without seeing them.

Were they slightly out of our carefully planned route?

Yes.

Did that stop us?

Absolutely not.

After what I’m sure was a completely rational discussion involving maps, accommodation, buses and optimistic maths, we came up with a compromise.

We’d walk as far as Shalfleet and catch a bus from there to Yarmouth.

Problem solved.

This kept us to the 10 miles a day…….. would we stick to this?

I’ve noticed something about myself whenever I walk or exercise in general.

The first mile or first 15 minutes is always awful.

Every single time.

My brain immediately starts listing all the reasons why this was a terrible idea.

My legs start to feel heavy.

My lungs start negotiating.

I start questioning every life choice that has led me to this exact moment. I do love a bit of drama.

Then something changes.

The rhythm settles.

The scenery starts to work its magic.

The panic disappears.

Having Laura beside me definitely helped.

She doesn’t even have to say much.

Partly because she’s encouraging.

Partly because I’m incredibly competitive and there was absolutely no chance I was going to admit defeat before she did.

_{‘There's something about watching Laura lost in a view like this — a beautiful reminder why we started this adventure’}

The views made the early doubts disappear pretty quickly.

Blue sea stretching into the distance.

Sailing boats drifting across sparkling water.

Sunshine that somehow made every climb feel worth it.

It was one of those walks where you keep saying, “Just look at that,” every five minutes.

There was, however, one challenge nobody had warned me about.

I needed a wee.

Frequently.

Laura, on the other hand, appears to have the bladder capacity of a camel.

She’ll probably deny it, but I’ve accepted that we are simply built differently. (OK…..I absolutely have not accepted this, how does she hold it so long!)

Thankfully, the coastal path is surprisingly accommodating.

There are public toilets along the route...

...and there are also plenty of discreet opportunities to fully embrace nature.

I’ll leave it there….. Subscribe if you want the wildwee mishaps, coming soon 🙂

^{‘Our First proper stop. Tired legs, cold water, hot tea — somehow the perfect combination’}

One of our favourite moments came during our first tea stop.

We found a little hidden path away from everyone else, sat down, opened the flask and congratulated ourselves on packing such an excellent brew.

We realised on the ferry we’d forgotten our proper camping mug, complete with carabiner handle. I’ve recently learnt every lesbian must own at least one carabiner, and I have slowly been increasing our supply, thank you AliExpress.

In the rush to catch the ferry, it’d been left behind.

Instead, we had one tiny metal cup on top of our new flask.

Laura smiled.

That smile said, “I told you so,” without saying a word about me leaving the extra mug behind.

We decided this cup needed a name, so Edna was born.

If you understand that reference, I already like you.

If you don’t, go and watch The Incredibles.

Every adventure deserves a mascot.

Ours just happened to be a tiny tin cup/lifesaver at each stop.

As we passed Edna backwards and forwards, drinking tea with a view over the sea, I remember thinking something that has become a bit of a theme on our hikes.

It wasn’t the expensive gear.

It wasn’t ticking off famous landmarks.

It wasn’t even reaching The Needles.

It was sharing one cup of tea with my favourite person in a beautiful place.

Everything else was just a bonus.

Enjoyed this? Click Charlie below to support us — every bit helps keep the boots, ferries, and questionable wine choices coming. No pressure, just appreciated.

Thank you for reading — genuinely. Sharing these stories with you is the whole point.

👆 Go on, tip the dog

Been on any accidental adventures of your own? Tell me about it in the comments.

Leave a comment

^{A few links in this post are affiliate links — if you buy through them, I earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. I only link things we genuinely use and rate.}

^{I write from my own experience and voice, and use AI as an editing and brainstorming tool along the way — for structure, tightening lines, and bouncing ideas around. The stories, jokes, and feelings are all mine.}

I’m beginning to think that every good adventure starts with someone saying, “Well... why can’t we?”

The answer, in our case, is usually, “No reason at all.”

We’ll come on to this properly another time, but this last year has been a lot. My health has been extremely disrupted — a diagnosis of FND (functional neurological disorder), and up to six convulsive seizures a day, should really make “why can’t we” a phrase we don’t get to use much. That’s part of why I want to write this: a love story, and the strength of a relationship and a life, even when things get hard. But the full story will come later. For now, let’s stick to the fun parts.

One minute we were wandering around Southampton thinking we’d have a leisurely day before starting the Thames Path. The next, we were power-walking back to the car, changing into hiking clothes in what I can only describe as an Olympic-level quick change, clutching a brand-new map from Waterstones and trying not to miss the ferry we’d only decided to catch about half an hour earlier.

Completely normal behaviour.

^{"This is the last photo where we still thought we knew what we were doing."}

The ferry crossing itself was glorious.

I can get nervous at the best of times — I can feel seasick just by looking at a boat, let alone being on one — so I fully expected to spend the whole crossing gripping the table and regretting every decision that had led me there. Instead, I felt completely calm. The sun was shining, our new flask had already justified its existence with a proper cup of tea, and we spent the crossing looking at the coastline, getting increasingly excited about what we’d just talked ourselves into.

Quick sidenote on the flask — we did have a nice one, purchased from Decathlon, 2 litres with 2 mugs. Sadly, one morning as we pulled away, there was a bump. This flask was not meant to live a long life. Yes, reader, Laura had crushed it, driving straight over it with the weight of the car.

OK, it may have actually been me who accidentally let it fall out of the car the night before. You know what, forget I mentioned it. Love you, Laura 😘

Anyway. The story continues. Confidently striding off the ferry onto unknown territory, dun dun duuuuuun………. Sorry, only joking, it was the beautiful Isle of Wight.

^{"Fresh off the ferry. Laura looking lovely, me looking like I've been dragged through a hedge backwards, long hair, zero regrets, several tangles."}

Reality arrived in the form of the big backpack.

Our plan for the trip had been simple. We’d packed one smaller day bag and one much larger 45-litre backpack, with the intention of taking it in turns carrying the heavier one.

I confidently volunteered to go first.

This confidence lasted approximately until the first hill.

Now, experienced hikers are probably reading this thinking, “Hill?”

Let’s just call it... an incline.

To us, on our first proper hiking adventure, carrying far more than we probably needed, in warm sunshine and fuelled almost entirely by enthusiasm, it felt enormous.

Google Maps confidently informed us that our hotel, the Prince of Wales, was just five minutes away.

Five minutes came.

Five minutes went.

Still no hotel.

“It’s got to be just around the corner,” I said. Feels like a missed opportunity to have said “around the bend,” really 😉

It wasn’t.

Google insisted we should keep going, so we did, because apparently we trust tiny blue dots with our lives.

Eventually, after what felt considerably longer than five minutes, we spotted the hotel.

I’ve never been so relieved to see a building in my life.

Our watches proudly informed us we’d clocked up around 13,000 steps that day, although I’m convinced at least half of those were from wandering around Southampton pretending we knew where we were going.

Still, we were ridiculously proud of ourselves.

Not because we’d conquered some epic mountain.

Not because we’d walked particularly far.

Simply because we’d started.

We don’t have a photo of the two of us at the hotel that evening, and honestly, that’s probably for the best — we were sweaty, wind-blown, and fairly sure we smelled of ferry tea and regret. Some moments are better left undocumented.

Quick shout out to the Prince of Wales Hotel — absolutely beautiful food, and I paid for a medium glass of wine that somehow arrived as a large, no extra charge. Even the bartender took one look at us and clearly decided we needed it. This is probably a second reason that evening remains undocumented.

Looking back now, I don’t think either of us realised we’d just taken the first steps into a hobby that would quietly take over our lives.

At the time, we were mostly just looking forward to a shower, something to eat, and discussing tomorrow’s route approximately seventeen more times before going to sleep.

As a final note, below you’ll see a picture of our doggy Charlie, he is our beautiful four legged, dopey, flirty, fluffy friend who joins us often on our adventures. He will get a proper introduction soon but for now he is helping us out, please see below :

Enjoyed this? Click Charlie below to support us — every bit helps keep the boots, ferries, and questionable wine choices coming. No pressure, just appreciated.

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^{"I write from my own experience and voice, and use AI as an editing and brainstorming tool along the way — for structure, tightening lines, and bouncing ideas around. The stories, jokes, and feelings are all mine."}

I’ve started this blog because I want somewhere to put all of it — the hiking, the camping, the chaos, the family — and eventually, the parts of my life that don’t get talked about enough, like living with and diagnosis of Functional Neurological Disorder (FND) with non-epileptic seizures. For now, it’s mostly hills and questionable planning. That’ll widen out as we go.

Here’s what to expect: I’ll be posting twice a week — full trip write-ups, but also shorter stuff in between, honest updates, random fun facts, gear obsessions I probably didn’t need. It keeps me accountable, and hopefully gives you a reason to check in more than once a week. Everything’s free to start. As this grows, some future adventures will move to paid subscriptions, but you’ll always get enough of the story free to know if it’s for you.

Right, here’s how it all started.

Laura didn’t realise when she met me that when I say something out loud, I’m probably going to do it. Not eventually. Not “one day.” If I say, “I’d love to do that one day,” there’s a very good chance I’m already halfway through buying the equipment.

I’m not sure if this is one of my best qualities or one of the reasons Laura deserves some sort of award for patience.

Somewhere in the middle of all of this, there was a dog.

I already had one. Laura fell in love with him almost immediately. I’d like to think she fell in love with me too, but let’s be honest, the dog definitely sealed the deal. Walking the dog started as exactly that—walking the dog. A lap around the woods, a bit of fresh air, nothing particularly adventurous.

Then Laura started introducing me to maps.

Now, if you’ve never met someone who genuinely gets excited about geology and contour lines, let me tell you, it’s quite something. What started as woodland strolls slowly became longer walks, different routes and little adventures. Before we knew it, we were planning weekends around where we could walk next.

Then I made the mistake of saying, “I’d love to do another Duke of Edinburgh expedition.”

Not the sleeping-in-a-tent-and-eating-questionable-food version. The luxury edition. Walk all day, stay in a hotel, have a proper shower, sleep in a real bed, repeat.

To Laura, this probably sounded like a nice idea for sometime in the future.

To me, it sounded like a shopping list.

Obviously, I needed a new backpack.

Now, did I already own a backpack? Yes.

Did that stop me? Absolutely not.

I don’t think it’s actually possible to be a lesbian and own too many backpacks. Besides, this one was smaller, and I’d convinced myself that a smaller bag meant I’d pack less unnecessary rubbish.

Reader, it did not.

Then came the boots.

Laura told me—at least six times—to buy Mammut walking boots. She’d had hers for over sixteen years and they were still going strong.

Naturally, I decided to spend hours researching every other brand instead.

After successfully confusing myself, I bought the Mammuts.

I did, however, have one tiny victory. Through my extensive research (and by “extensive”, I mean disappearing down several internet rabbit holes), I discovered you should buy walking boots about half a size bigger than your normal shoes.

So, I smugly ordered a size seven and a half instead of my usual seven.

Extra room for thicker socks.

Extra room for swollen feet.

Extra room to quietly feel superior every time Laura mentioned her boots felt a bit snug.

It’s the little wins.

The plan was simple enough.

We already had tickets to see Amy Macdonald in Southampton, so afterwards we’d drive over and spend a couple of days walking part of the Thames Path.

There was, of course, another shopping trip.

Waterproof jackets.

Mountain Warehouse waterproof trousers (thank you, Blue Light discount).

Lightweight emergency ponchos that we justified by saying, “Well, if hiking isn’t for us, they’ll do for festivals.”

We even built in a recovery day after the concert because we assumed we’d be hanging.

Instead, we ended up wandering around Southampton.

I’d never really explored it before, but I loved it. The old city walls, the historic feel, the little market stalls—it had so much character. Naturally, I also bought some gloriously baggy bohemian trousers because apparently what I'd already packed to change into just wasn't giving the vibe I was looking for, any excuse to add a bit of swagger to my life.

As we wandered down towards the harbour in glorious sunshine, Laura looked across the water and casually said,

“I can’t believe we didn’t think about walking the Isle of Wight Coastal Path.”

Now remember what I told you about me saying things out loud.

I looked at her.

Raised an eyebrow.

“Well... why can’t we?”

A quick walk to the ferry terminal revealed there was space on the next sailing.

Five minutes later we’d booked tickets.

Suddenly we were power-walking back through Southampton.

We needed to get changed into our incredibly attractive hiking outfits.

We needed to find a map.

We also somehow squeezed in a quick visit to a jeweller’s because I’d recently proposed and, obviously, this seemed like a perfectly sensible thing to do before catching a ferry.

For the record, we didn’t find the ring.

We did eventually find the right one, but that’s a story for another day.

Map purchased from Waterstones? Tick.

Walking clothes? Tick.

Ferry? Tick.

Somehow we’d accidentally swapped the Thames Path for the Isle of Wight.

As the ferry pulled away from Southampton, we brewed our first proper hiking tea using our brand-new flask, prepared earlier (Blue Peter memories flooding back). With a splash of Premier Inn's finest long-life milk and a PG Tips tea bag, it tasted like the perfect start to the adventure.

The tea was still wonderfully hot.

The adventure hadn’t really started yet.

But somehow, sitting on that ferry with a mug of tea, a backpack full of probably unnecessary gear, and my favourite person beside me, it already felt like we’d stumbled onto something much bigger than a weekend away.

It felt like the beginning of whatever this blog is going to become.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learnt about myself, it’s this:

Be very careful when I say, “We should do that one day.”

Because one day usually means today.

What we didn’t know yet: within the hour, our “recovery day” plan was completely gone, and we were about to find out that carrying a 45-litre backpack up your first hill is a very different experience to carrying it around Southampton. That’s next time.

Gear mentioned in this post is linked above — as an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

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