Sometimes a good turn just isn’t appreciated in the way you want or expect. Sometimes it doesn’t even turn out the way you imagined it would. But that shouldn’t stop you from doing it anyway, or reduce your willingness to do another in the future.
Our first day back on the road again is always a long one. We fool ourselves into thinking many miles makes for happy miles. We’ve a long way to go. Better get on with it. Six o’clock sees us pitch up at Parc La Closure – in the heart of the Ardennes. We’re surprised. This part of Belgium is French speaking! Walloon country to you and me. At reception we’re handed a cleverly constructed guide of Grupont. It becomes our means to walk off the day’s frustrations. Allows us a better feel of the village in a more intimate way than usual.
We take a narrow track alongside a cottage. Brings us to a fenced-in bit of scrub. We’re greeted by this friendly face. He’s eyeing up the long luscious grass our side. All out of reach. Mouth not quite drooling. Mrs S takes the hint. He’s ravenous. Can’t get enough of it.
Our greeter has a dishevelled friend that looks in some distress. Caught up and tangled in a huge bramble and thorn bush. Twists and turns one way, then the other. Seems there’s no way out. Only further in. He does just that. Gets more tangled. He seems trapped. Not quite a lost sheep. I decide to help him out. My good turn for the day. Find a suitable place to climb over. Ready my-self. My hands are going to get ripped and bloody. Still, it will be worth it. As I get closer, he mistakes me for a Welshman. Nostrils flare. Panics. Within half a nano-second and with terrifying brute force he pulls free. Leaves just one straggly piece of bramble hanging limply down from under his chin.
