We trudge up the slight rise towards Blackstone edge. As we do so we are
"G'day" says an ever so antipodean voice. "I'm Bob from Melbourne".
"Hi we reply" cheerily
"Lovely Sheep round here!" he quips, vanishing at high speed.
J looks at me sidelong. "Did he just say what I thought he just said?"
"Yes!" I reply worriedly "He did"
Just then there is a very loud "BBBBBBBBBAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" from up
ahead where he'd vanished to and about four sheep zoom off at high speed.in
different directions. There is a shout "CRIKEY!" from Bob from Melbourne. What
on earth is happening we wonder.
We run over the rise and are greeted to a rare sight indeed. There, in a state of
"Dishabille" is Bob....He is covered in shit from head to foot.......
J nudges me. "Told you" he hisses "Sheep browning....its addictive..."
We ask, solicitously, if he is OK.
"OK?" He sniffs disgustedly "OK? If I was OK I'd have me trousers on and I
wouldn't be covered in shit".
Apparently (allegedly?) Bob the Australian was "caught short" and nipped behind
a handy hillock to do what he needed to do as nature intended. For some
reason, the sheep apparently had other ideas and butted him into the pile of his
own doings..... and thus his doings were undone.
we wander up to Blackstone edge itself and lo! The sun cometh out! Not only that
but we reach sight an important landmark - THE PUB! There gleaming in the
noon sun is the White Hart pub and eaterie.......mmm beer an Fud!!
Along the way we encounter a roman road, which it turns out may not be Roman
after all and a guide stone which has many esoteric inscriptions on it like "Mazie
Shagged Fred here till we fell over". I can see the burn marks....... Meanwhile the
pub awaits so along the track and up the A58 we go...
the White house Inn......Yipee!! - BEER!