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The Worst Journey on Earth – or, Where Did My Omelette Mojo Go?

The Worst Journey on Earth – or, Where Did My Omelette Mojo Go? Posted on 31/03/2015Leave a comment
Ahoy, hello! My name is Jenny. I am a thirty-something human female from Manchester in the north of England. I enjoy rainy days and sad songs, custard donuts and salt & pepper chips and beer, lentil dhal and fried okra, X-Files and Twin Peaks, fierce fat heroines and mental health advocates, dogs and cats and otters and a very special beirdo. To paraphrase Sylvia Plath: "I blog because there is a voice within me that insists on writing lots of ridiculous chuff".

Dear readers, let me tell you a story…..a story about an ordeal. The Famous Five’s worst nightmare: three humans and two dogs surrendered to nature’s punishments. It all started when I had to choose a destination: a countryside stroll of moderate difficulty, suitable for dog walking, but most importantly, a perambulation that would not involve excessive sweating, smudged make-up, the danger of falling into mud or otherwise onto my arse in the company of my new man-friend, who I felt I hadn’t known quite long enough to humiliate myself in front of. Of course, this is inevitable, I am an oaf, but I was just hoping it wouldn’t happen just yet.

I should have suspected the worst when my breakfast went awry, and my cherished non-stick ceramic pan exhibited STICKING. Where did I go wrong, folks? I used the PPK omelette recipe, but I added soya milk to help the mixture blend. Was this my fatal error? In any case, what it lacked in aesthetics it made up for in taste, for sure.

Some of it vaguely ended up like an omelette. Some more like scrambled eggs. But an omelette is just flat scrambled eggs, right? Uggggghhh well, I can admit defeat, sure I can – if anyone has a SURE FIRE vegan omelette recipe to share, please go ahead!

Well, in any case, all full of one effed up tofomelette, we three humans and two dogs piled into the car and headed for beautiful Derwent Valley in the Peak District. The forecast was Much Rain, but we’re all English (um actually two of us English, only one Northern, one American human, one American dog, one Romanian dog and one German human…..but anyhow) ANYHOW! we said BOO SUX to the rain and put on our waterproofs and off we went.

At this point, I’d like to draw your attention to the National Trust’s walk literature. Some words and phrases are very casually tossed around here, like “Grade: Moderate” and “Time: 1 hour 20 minutes”. Admittedly I didn’t pay too much heed to “A bracing walk” or “rough terrain” or indeed “steep wooded cloughs”……(what is a clough?)….

But off we romped nevertheless. And boy was it bracing. Boy was the terrain rough. Boy were the cloughs steep and wooded.

I confess I stopped taking photos when, trudging across moorland, the rain and wind and hail lashed us. Those hours were not entirely pleasant you guyz, and by the time we limped back to the car we were all effectively wearing trousers made of slappy wet fish and had to sit in them for an hour. The worst bit was when I got home, those 8 seconds it took to climb the stairs in my slappy wet fish trousers and peel off all my clothes until I felt seven hundred times warmer not wearing anything at all. I knocked back p much half a bottle of red wine whilst in the bath. That was all purely medicinal.

I can’t help but wonder if I cursed the day with my omelette disaster. I srsly need to find a reliable recipe to make sure nothing like this ever happens again.

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