An odd thing happened this weekend…I bagged a hill. I bagged a Marilyn to be precise. I bagged Moncreiffe Hill just outside Perth. I didn’t mean to bag it. I didn’t even know I had bagged it – other than the obvious cairn and the distinct lack of any further “up” in a 360 degree, all round, view. And I certainly didn’t set out to bag it. It sort of got bagged by accident. In fact I didn’t realise I had bagged it until I got home. It’s quite worrying to be sitting quietly at the keyboard and have the sudden thought, “Did I bag a hill today?” then find you have…and didn’t realise it. I put it down to the ageing process.
After dropping out of the whole hill bagging thingy it’s exceedingly disconcerting to find one has inadvertently bagged yet another bloody hill! Who gave it the right to sit there tricking reformed baggers into bagging it! Now the urge is back to bag another one!
But here’s the rub…can I actually bag a hill if I didn’t know I was climbing one and didn’t know I’d bagged it (or not) at the time of arriving at the summit? That’s a 3 glass of red wine problem at least!
But enough of exclamation marks; what about geocaching…yes, geocaching!
Oops there’s another one of those exclamation marks.
We went to our first geocaching event yesterday. Nope, I really don’t have the strength to tell you about that yet, sorry. I haven’t had nearly enough wine for that. Without going into detail I think I now see why geocaching is mainly a solitary occupation…and should probably remain so.