By: Blonde Two
Outlandishly Outsidish 4 – Take a Crocodile for a Walk
We Blondes do recommend a sturdy pair of walking boots for outings on Dartmoor. There a bogs, stumps and holes a-plenty to grab and twist the unwary ankle. Some people opt for walking shoes; fair enough, we are not responsible for all the ankles of the world. You occasionally see someone struggling up to a tor in a pair of “girl shoes”. This induces a mixture of admiration and worry in me, I generally look away.
Crocs are not really de rigueur on the moors (Urban Dictionary: “Quite possibly the ugliest but most comfortable shoes ever …”). I am very fond of mine even if they do make my feet look like blue pasties. I decided the other day that I should put these plastic wonders to the test and took them for a very little walk up a very little tor. All three of us enjoyed ourselves.
Feel-Good-Score: 6/10
I keep on wondering: if I were to trawl back in your blog, searching out the teasing partials of your person, and snipping them out like a latter-day Vesalius, would I be able to bring the bits together, all proportional (the dull sort of thing I’m famous for) then jig-saw them into a whole? Would I then have a Blue Peter (“all you need is a toilet-roll tube”) version of the Goddess of Striding that I could glance at from time to time when the juices of invention are running low? As now
The answer is, of course, no. For you have not yet disclosed the bit which launched a thousand ships and decorated a million high-value coins.
Ah, but I have a possible answer to that too. Remember those sun-glasses based on magic glass (name forgotten) which allowed the wearer to see through the reflections on the surface of a stream, rivulet or river and inspect what lay beneath as if through the purest crystal. Would they work with a photograph? I ask.
Well, I only asked. Better the mystery, then. For mysteries are the foundation of faith.
Wow! They can do that with ice metres deep now and inspect the bedrock below it; I don’t think it’s made of toilet rolls, though; but they might find a deceased dragon or three, or the lugubrious remains of a yeti. Engraved on my memories of Snowdon is a cherished one of the Pyg Path where I met a lady ascending in high heels, with a white poodle on a slender leash.