On A Bummel With A Beer
"It has been a pleasant Bummel, on the whole," said Harris; "I shall be glad to get back, and yet I am sorry it is over, if you understand me."
"What is a 'Bummel'?" said George. "How would you translate it?"
"A 'Bummel'," I explained, "I should describe as a journey, long or short, without an end; the only thing regulating it being the necessity of getting back within a given time to the point from which one started."
Autumn's closing in, Sunday lunch was sat in a pot waiting to be heated, the Brazilian Grand Prix had the common decency not to start until 5 o'clock, so I had no excuse not to lash on my boots and go out to kick some leaves around for a while. All I had to do was be back before the pot bubbled over. And find a beer to take with me.
I live minutes away from some gorgeous rolling countryside, so I owe it to myself to get out and about when I can. The fact that there's an excellent farm shop and an award winning pub within a 20 minutes walk either side of the house tends to force me out now and again. But today, with the leaves turning, the wind whistling and no need to be back until late afternoon, a bummel seemed a worthy thing to do.
So I wandered over the bottom fields, disturbing knots of rooks picking over clotted brown earth. Through copses shredding turned leaves into a keen breeze. Then over a sandstone ridge where the woodland has been clinging on for time immemorial. And with long-tailed tits scampering over the branches, with squirrels diving for dear life, with the wind literally whistling through my hair, I stood back and enjoyed a beer:
Brewdog Paradox Longrow carries a whiff of smoke, some toasty roasty notes, clean whisky and some dark, dark cherry buried deep into an accomplished malted finish. Nothing but great beer, tweeting birds and rustling trees for fifteen minutes. The rest of the walk was taken with a dirty great smile on my face. I really ought to bummel more often.
Top quote from Jerome K Jerome, 'Three Men On A Bummel'. Photos (c) me
"What is a 'Bummel'?" said George. "How would you translate it?"
"A 'Bummel'," I explained, "I should describe as a journey, long or short, without an end; the only thing regulating it being the necessity of getting back within a given time to the point from which one started."
Autumn's closing in, Sunday lunch was sat in a pot waiting to be heated, the Brazilian Grand Prix had the common decency not to start until 5 o'clock, so I had no excuse not to lash on my boots and go out to kick some leaves around for a while. All I had to do was be back before the pot bubbled over. And find a beer to take with me.
I live minutes away from some gorgeous rolling countryside, so I owe it to myself to get out and about when I can. The fact that there's an excellent farm shop and an award winning pub within a 20 minutes walk either side of the house tends to force me out now and again. But today, with the leaves turning, the wind whistling and no need to be back until late afternoon, a bummel seemed a worthy thing to do.
So I wandered over the bottom fields, disturbing knots of rooks picking over clotted brown earth. Through copses shredding turned leaves into a keen breeze. Then over a sandstone ridge where the woodland has been clinging on for time immemorial. And with long-tailed tits scampering over the branches, with squirrels diving for dear life, with the wind literally whistling through my hair, I stood back and enjoyed a beer:
Brewdog Paradox Longrow carries a whiff of smoke, some toasty roasty notes, clean whisky and some dark, dark cherry buried deep into an accomplished malted finish. Nothing but great beer, tweeting birds and rustling trees for fifteen minutes. The rest of the walk was taken with a dirty great smile on my face. I really ought to bummel more often.
Top quote from Jerome K Jerome, 'Three Men On A Bummel'. Photos (c) me
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