Going to Gurnard

 It’s hot, really hot, but the walking boots are on and we are off. Our campsite is actually part of the coastal path, so we head to the beach and turn right. The path takes us across the stony bay and into a field, as we climb up the cliff path, the views are stunning.  It’s hard to believe this may well be our home soon. We hardly meet anyone on our way, so no problems with social distancing, We spot another site a bit further up the path, and are thankful for ours, it’s basic to say the least. As we climb, we go from bright open sunshine to darker, and thankfully, cooler woodland. I’m so tempted to pick a blackberry, but Ian would think I had lost the plot; he’s not one for eating foraged foods!   

And then, all we can hear is bbbbuuzzzzzzzzz.  It’s loud, the path is narrow, there is only one path and it’s a swarm of wasps (or at least we think it is, we didn’t stop to check).  Before we know it we are running (yes running) to get away, sweating, backpack bouncing, uneven ground, a narrow path, heavy walking boots on. I’m in front and Ian is shouting, “faster, move, run!” How I didn’t fall and break a bone (something I am an absolute expert at), I will never know. I’m not sure I have ever seen Ian run so fast, clearly his flight or fight response, has a strong flight bias! We made it, unharmed, but breathless. The next stile took a bit more ‘oomph’ to get over as my legs were still complaining, but we were soon heading downhill and into Gurnard, a beautiful village on the coast.

Now, you may know Ian has a sixth sense for a fabulous pub. Neither of us drink much, although we do seem to take a lot of drinking photos, but he’s spotted one on the map. “It’s just up here,” he says,”….. yes, up, and up, and up, and not just here… maybe another mile up here.”  By the time we arrive at The Portland Inn, we are dishevelled, probably a bit ripe, and certainly ‘moist’. I used to hate the word moist, but as any Miranda Hart fan will know, she reclaimed it, and made it fabulous, so we are absolutely moist, not damp. After a very slow pint (and agreement to return to this lovely pub in a more respectable guise) we head to the local shop for BBQ supplies.  Choices are limited, so steak and sausages it is! That’s normal BBQ food, isn’t it?  I do manage to find coleslaw, so at least there are some veggies in today’s meat feast.     

As we head back, I brace myself for the run of survival, but what’s this? “You braved a pint”, my bladder says, “You stupid woman!  No self respecting menopausal woman would have done this knowing you have a decent walk back.”  But I’m not stupid, oh no, I have a ShePee, and I have it with me. OK, it was a whim, I wasn’t planning on using it, but it’s there for wee-based emergencies.  So now is the moment to shine ShePee. Save me!

Now, I have used it in the privacy of Agy’s bathroom (yes, she has a bathroom) and I had plenty of practice in the shower at home before we left (a very good idea if you are thinking of getting one), but I have never, never ever, used it in public. However, I have to go. I absolutely have to go, NOW!  I won’t make it back.  Ian helps me find a suitable spot – men are much better at finding a good location for a standing up pee it seems, can’t think why. He keeps lookout and I prepare for… well, a public pee. It is perfectly possible to do this with dignity in tact, so the You Tube videos suggest, but this is my first attempt. None of this squatting, all you have exposed, stinging nettle/ bramble attack of many a woman’s fate, no..not me, I manage to keep my shorts on, ‘arrange’ my equipment and Ta Da!!  Oh my word, it’s liberating, so easy and nobody could see a thing. 

Yep, you guessed it, our ‘not seen anyone for hours’ walk did produce fellow walkers whilst I performed, but all they could see was a fully dressed woman looking inexplicably out into the woods while her forever patient husband stood on the path and said good afternoon to passers by. Ladies (apologies to my former BCC colleague, I know you hate that word) but you NEED one of these. Be you a young (or even old) festival go-er, a pregnant or breast feeding woman (I seem to remember them complaining about always needing to go at inopportune moments), or like me now have a bladder the size of a gnats. This contraption is for you! Apologies if this is a bit TMI, I can feel one of my fabulous friends (who loves walking) blushing, despite his nursing background, but it has to be said. I used to worry about what people thought, I now worry about not saying what I think, and I think every woman needs to know this.