By: Blonde Two
If you happened to be walking/running/cycling on the Malvern Hills earlier this week, you may have spotted Mr Blonde Two and I wondering around and pointing at rocks.
There are plenty to point at up there, not quite tors but they maybe could be in a few thousand years (cue geology correction!) The reason that we were doing so much pointing (never with sticks, that is just rude) is that many years ago, Mr B2 and I had a very romantic, teenage encounter on one particular rock. Nothing naughty, you understand, just a cheeky cigarette (filthy, would never do it now), some view spotting and a few chaste(ish) cuddles.
We have been Malvern rock-spotting before, and have always failed in our mission. We both have very clear memories of the rock (smooth and jutting), the approach to it (downhill, about 100 metres) and the view (down into Great Malvern, just above Brays); but in the intervening 30 years (30!?!?) either the undergrowth has changed or the rock has rolled off its hillside.
I blame the cyclists, or maybe the sheep, there were never either in my day. In fact, in that day, the Malvern Hills Conservators were a force to be reckoned with and forbade just about everything (that is probably why we were so well-behaved on our rock). There is now gorse too, which is as confusing and prickly as it is on Dartmoor.
I think we have agreed that we are not going to find our rock. We will maybe have to adopt another one; this time planning ahead with ariel photos, GPS traces and route cards. We are too old these days for cigarettes, but maybe now the Conservators are more lenient …
(I meant that we could have a cup of tea, please control yourselves!)
