I have a large bruise, a very large bruise just above my coccyx. It isn’t too sore just now but I imagine it may be tomorrow. I got it from hitting a rock near Hay Tor on Dartmoor, having slid down the slope at great speed on a tea tray. It had been snowing, it seems this is what you do when it snows.
We weren’t alone.
There were people on sledges, surf boards, bivvy-bags, bits of carpet and an alarming number of traffic signs. The old-school sledges looked polite but the run of afternoon was the woman wearing the wacky hat who started from a good distance up the hill, intended to stop half way down but couldn’t. I was rather pleased with the comedy moment when we took someone’s legs out from under them on one of our descents. A bit of foresight and video would have left us expecting a welcome Â£250 to be winging it’s way from Harry Hill.
We probably walked up the hill a dozen times or so in order to slide back down, the children would normally do it once on a trip to Dartmoor, subsequent attempts would be accompanied by terminal whining (“it’s all right guv’ they all make that noise”). This afternoon I was doing most of the descents with my daughter on my lap and each time we got to the bottom the noise was “can we do that again Daddy?”
So everything is relative. If we fall over on the hill it is bum bruisingly funny, if we fall over on the way to work tomorrow it will be a crushing experience as millions of years of human evolution is reversed in a couple of seconds.