4 October 2009--More time at the internet café this morning...Mr Fathead Whiskywriter has made good his threat.
I spend some time composing a rebuttal, only to find that the thread has been locked by the moderators before I can post.
Just as well, I suppose. The entire exchange does not itself amount to much, but I know already that there will be some
unhappy consequence. I am now clearly on the wrong side of a line I've been carefully straddling for quite some time.
Nothing to be done about it now.
It's a glorious sunny morning, with no cloud or wind to speak of. Viewed from the town, the top of the Old Man of Coniston is entirely clear, and it seems to me the perfect day to walk up. Several hundred people agree with me. The direct trail is quite steep, but well maintained. I pass the ruins of a gondola, the remains of slate mines (there is one still active), and what appears to be an alpine tarn, where folks are basking as if on the Riviera. Sort of. At the top, the view is spectacular in all directions. I share it with the weekending multitude. It's not such a high peak--2600 feet or so--but I've seen it described as "the twelfth most prominent mountain in England." I can see that there are many good routes to follow from there, but I'm not really prepared to go gallivanting. Back down the way I came, wishing I might take a more roundabout and less steep descent. It's about a five hour round trip.
The weekenders have all gone home, and it's a very quiet night in town. I have dinner at the Sun, and find their wi-fi signal after all. Something screwy with my settings. My conversation with Mr Fathead Whiskywriter has disappeared, as if it never happened. If there is no trace of it on the whisky forum, there is a large hole in my gut to indicate its passage.