I dunno: that Dartmoor. Just when you think you’ve got it cracked.....
Pork Hill car park to Cox Tor ? Easy-peasy, even in the damp and the clag and the mist. Uphill until you can go no further, then stop. Thus we trogged to the trig point behind our navigator with he who sells wine and he who sold homes yackering away like a couple of demented jackdaws. Next stop, Roos. Well, you would, wouldn’t you ? Besides, what could possibly go wrong ? Eschewing map, compass and electronic aids and with all the confidence of his years, our newly-lean and intrepid leader strides off unhesitatingly into the mist towards Chipping Norton. Others pause en route to Roos and scan the gloom, torch-beams diffusing into misty moorland softness as we realise there should perhaps be rather more of us than there are. A scan for lights against the darkness and an eventual regrouping is followed by a hurried consultation of... the map. A swift conferring of rumours, a blind hazarding of guesses and on we tramp. Suddenly, out of the gloom, the gleam and swish of a car’s yellowed headlights . Next thing we know, we’re on tarmac. A turn to the left and - blimey ! I could swear I left a car just like that at Pork Hill car park ! Time ? 2035. And so to the Whitty. Mine’s a pint of Jail, thanks. Pete.