The way along Kinder Edge id flat sandy and allegedly devoid of waist deep
puddles. we process (or should that be precess?) along rapidly as befits idiots of
our station. (Leicester all change please).
Clive is at the back and still babbling which vexes Mark. He wants to go faster.
This ellicits the first (modified) chorus of a song which, whilst we did not
understand the secret gnostic message in the lyrics at the time, was curiously
appropriate to some of the situations we found ourselves in..... Those who know
the real meaning keep quiet....
He's turning Japanese
I think he's turning Japanese
and going faster......
There was a 'whooooooooosssh' and Clive was gone into the mist although for
many minutes we could here gibbering, cries of "wayhaaaaaaaayyyy" and loud
crashes and rumbling. Silence gradually descends, broken only by marching and
the grumbling of Mark's stomach.
"Mmmmfff" says J "I'm a wee bit peckish like...." (has he,in fact, turned Geordie?)
"Theres no food left is there?"
I grin at him "You're joking right?" I quip, teasing
"errr no - I'm still hungry" He looks well famished still despite his lunch and some
Mark can't resist it. "Well you should eat properly and not drink beer, look at you
you're all dusty despite the rain why is that? and your sack isn't packed properly
and why do you stash your stick so it sticks out the back? and another thing......"
J looks heavenward and is obviously counting to ten. I decide to intervene before
there's a murder.
"Well let me have a look in my sac pockets....there might be some glucose"
I relent and whip out my surprise package - a pork pie each and a can of Ruddles
best. J's eyes bug.
"Where on earth did you snaffle those from?!?!" I grin in reply and pass the
goodies. We slurp and munch while Mark, who has turned his down, fumes
Suddenly the path dips down steeply and we leave the relative safety of the
escarpment. Moments later and the path then climbs again to Mill Hill - a lonely
wooden post marks the summit.
Mill hill looking South
We turn right (northeast) and follow the drab, featureless and rather waterlogged
ridge. This, unlike the gritstone plateau behind , is composed of glacial moraine
and is very sticky. "No mill," says Wainwright, mournfully, in his guidebook, "and not
much hill". Too right!
Mill Hill merges imperceptibly with Moss Castle ("much moss, no castle") and
continues to Featherbed (no feathers, no bed, lots of moss etc)Moss. So do