Sauntering Vaguely Downward

Okay, so getting here was not exactly the dream journey from camping to luxury Center Parcs lodge we were hoping for. We did encounter some shockingly delicious waffles at a hipster cafe in Windermere. That is the first time in ages that I've had crispy streaky bacon drenched in maple syrup. It is just not a thing in this country. Keiki only wanted some of the waffles, not the bacon, so I happily hoovered up all three slices.

Unfortunately, the waffles came back to revisit us about an hour down the twisty winding mountain roads. ( TMI for vom )

Anyway, we got here, and fortunately one of the lovely things about Center Parcs is that before you check into your accommodation, you can use the massive swimming complex. So we got out, walked up to the changing rooms, showered very thoroughly and enjoyed splashing around in the pools until we could get to our lodge. Once we were allowed in, we bunged in all our stuff, put the groceries in the fridge, and headed out to go bowling.

Now the kids are down, a fire is blazing, Barry is on the stereo, and I gotta go. <3

Despite doing the usual internet searches and having read the books on sprogging up that have been loaned to me by kind friends, I note that there are a few things no one tells you.

1. Braxton-Hicks contractions are both scary and painful. The Wikipedia article on the subject must have been written by a robot. "They should be infrequent, irregular, and involve only mild cramping." To which my response ( gets a bit sweary, frankly. )
   
   
   
2. No position you can assume will relax you once you pass a certain size threshold. I have passed that threshold. Sitting, standing and lying down are all uncomfortable. My back hurts. My feet hurt. Various limbs go numb periodically. It's horrible, and if anyone had told me in advance that I would have to spend three months in a state of constant physical pain, I would probably have insisted on having a large vat of cooling gel installed in my bathroom and would currently be dictating all my work and this post from there.
   
   
3. At some point it becomes impossible to maintain the topiary conditions of your nether regions. Forget losing sight of your feet. ( This may constitute TMI for family members and work colleagues. If you decide to read it, on your own heads be it. )

Every time I think I've turned into a Real Grown-up, something happens to prove that I'm not. For instance, I thought I'd finally conquered the whole "packing-at-the-last-minute-while-drunk" malarkey. I was wrong.

Last Thursday, I met a few fellow geeks at a pub near Kings Cross for beers. I only had two, but it was enough to send me to the train in a merry state. When I arrived home, the bloke helped this along by pouring me a large glass of sherry. I then packed my rucksack for our walking weekend in the Peak District.

Here is what I discovered I had flung into my bag on arrival at the hostel.

• 2 pairs trousers
  
• 2 pairs socks
  
• 2 sports bras
  
• 1 fleece
  
• 1 mostly empty washkit

You will notice a few key items are missing. These include:

• Thermal tops (or indeed, any tops at all)
  
• Toothpaste
  
• And most importantly, underpants

As a result, I have now hiked a section of the Pennine Way in the style of a commando.

You will be happy to know that today, I am wearing pants, and it feels a little strange.