We’ve been reading one of those terrible books. Instead of allowing us to gradually become more and more decrepit as the years pass, lazily, by – apparently we have to eat sensibly, drink less, and horror of horrors – exercise!
It wouldn’t have been too bad if I had been able to keep it to myself. Disturbing tales of this sort do affect me deeply – but luckily, I’m resilient, and within a few days, a week or so at the most, I can recover my equilibrium, and return to normal. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of sharing the book with Jackie.
Now, on reaching the T junction – where previously, we would pause for a moment before retracing our steps – Jackie has decreed that we must extend our journey, briskly, down to the railway embankment and through the tunnel.
When you turn and look back, from the other side of the tunnel, the great mass of the embankment seems to block out the sky. Then, you notice that the road disappears into the tunnel, and at the end of the tunnel is a small, bright spot of daylight. Taking your courage in both hands, you plunge into the gloom, while the weight of the whole earth presses down above you. (At this point, it’s often good to go “Hoo-oo-oo!” and wake the echoes.) As you progress through the Stygian darkness, the light at the end of the tunnel becomes brighter – as does the vista that opens up.
There is an inspirational message here, but I’m not going to tell you what it is.