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You Can't Ride Around With A Tiger On Your Bike One man-cub, one motorbike. And a tiger-striped poncho, just in case.

Sheeps & Shit

UNITED KINGDOM | Friday, 14 October 2011 | Views [800]

Sheeps being sheepish. Haha, that was a baaaaad pun. Ahaha, lamb. I mean, lame. Ha.

Sheeps being sheepish. Haha, that was a baaaaad pun. Ahaha, lamb. I mean, lame. Ha.

"It is better to have a lion at the head of an army of sheep, than a sheep at the head of an army of lions" ~ Daniel DeFoe. I'm reading his most well known book at present, Robinson Crusoe. It's about some idiot who ends up stranded in a strange land but he makes do. Eats twigs and stuff.

Just a quick word on sheeps. Staying at the campsite situated on Borrowdale Farm in Grange, near Keswick. I set up my tent and had my dindins (tomato pasta and bread and a cup of coffee and a sip of port, then another few sips of port and a cigarette) in the dark so didn't get a chance to survey my surroundings. Surroundings? Or surrounds? Whatever. Whichever. I went to sleep but was awoken a few hours later by rustling noises around my tent. I at first thought 'Oh no, badgers haf come to hoof me in the neck with their large talons!' so I made a noise I assume bears make to scare off badgers, and whatever was outside my tent scampered off. After a few minutes of not breathing, I summed up the courage to open my tent fly and shine a light (Rolling Stones, 1972, Exile On Main Street) into the darkness (shitty teen horror flick, 2011) to see what I could see. Nothing but forest and field. Spooky. I got out and turned on the bike and rode around the perimeter of the campsite just in case, I dunno, it was a trap or something. Satisfied whatever it was had gone and wouldn't return, I went back to bed, with a pointy stick next to me.

A few hours later, I heard it. A freaky moaning noise coming from the woods behind my tent. M-m-m-m-aaaAAAAHHH!!! Double-you-tee-eff it scared the heck outta me! They say fear is not knowing, and I didn't know WHAT THE FUCK that was. Didn't really get much sleep after that. Once daylight came, I poked my head out to see six or seven sheeps staring at me up in the woods behind my tent. Bloody sheeps, I should have known! I contemplated chasing them, because I've chased squirrel before and they were fun, but there's no actual chance of catching a squirrel so you don't really think past the act of chasing. Whereas, what if I chased a sheep and then caught it? What do you do then? Let it go, after all that effort? Awkward moment passes between sheep and human. Yeah, nah, I decided to go have a hot shower and pay for use of campsite instead. My marmalade cat was up at the farmhouse waiting for me. I liked that cat, it was a bit dumb but super friendly. Reminds me of a lot of friends back home...

The Lake District is home to Herdwick Sheeps, from the Old Norse term herdvyck which means sheep pasturisation. They're seen as the districts gardeners, they roam wild in the forests and um lakes too perhaps. They're much tougher than those stock-standard mimminy-pimminy sheeps. Much prettier too. I didn't say that, it was a quote from a Welshman..

There wasn't much to do around here except take in the scenery and go for walksies, which I was more than happy to do. Needed to stretch and relax after the first couple of stressful weeks I'd had, and since the weather was going to stay nice I decided to stay around for another couple of nights. Castle Cragg was a few miles up into the mountains abouve where I was camped so I wandered up for a quick walk, which turned into five hours of exploration. There were caves and streams and bridges and mountains of pointy shale that I had to scamper up and the views through the fog were incredible. Now Castle Cragg isn't actually a castle, or if it was, it ain't no more. I think it's just the name of the mountain peak which was given to Sir Something-face in recognition of stabbing a Frenchman in the name of King Dick. It afforded a great view of the valleys and lakes, shrouded in fog and mystery and misery, but more neat than that were the piles and piles of shale (it's a type of flat rock, Goggle it if ye don't know) that were used to construct really eerie monument-type things on top of the mountain, there were large pieces stabbed into the ground like gravestones, and little Stonehenge-ish alters scattered about. Either it was scene to some strange midget/goat rituals, or bored tourists put them up as a memento to their boring trip up North. Memento, that's a fun word to say. The thing that most made my hike (hiking is brilliant, all the cool kids do it) was seeing a big pile of shit with someones footprint square in the middle. AHAHAHAHAA YOU STUPID TWAT!! Open yer fookin' eyes, what are they painted on? Ahhh heck.. It's still funny :D

Shit, sheeps, and scenery. Makes me wonder if I'm perhaps mentally ill, finding such stuff interesting.

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