I do this sometimes you know ...

I go walkabouts ....

I wake up grumpy for no apparent reason, get through the morning rituals that that well known You Tube video of the song Mom exposed, and then as soon as the school day starts, I put on my trainers, tie my hair back in a chaotic mess, grab a small bottle of water and, with keys stuffed down my cleavage, leave the house planning to never return

It's just after 11am and I have been gone nearly 2 hours - I turned left out of the house today instead of the normal right, and speed walked down the hill towards Iznájar. I had determined a day or two ago to strengthen downhill muscles so that I could climb more of the hills and mountains you see, and while I have no problem going up, I fall to pieces coming down...

So once I was at the bottom of the La Celada hill, I was already thinking to myself "How am I ever going to persuade myself back up there?" - you see it is steep most of the way, and then it has a 200m stretch where it is about 1:3 - and I was feeling a bit daunted at the return prospect.

So putting that out of my head, I forged ahead and through the olive groves til I found myself at a tiny babbling brook - the noise was just tinkly and lovely - and I made myself stop there and enjoy it for a moment - if I was never going to return, I might as well take a break there ...

So I crossed the stream and started to walk along a scar of a road hacked out of the side of the mountain - well used and undergrown, and with Iznájar in the distance, I was starting to feel that I may return to my house after all, just making a big loop out of my determination to leave.

Then I saw horses - gambolling 50 yards beneath me at the base of this rocky crag I was discovering - and felt extremely grateful that I had chosen to cross the river rather than walk unbeknownst into this frolicking foray of long strong legs that would undoubtedly have seen me as a chance to play.

On and on - ah - there's my chance to cross the scrub and arrive outside my friend Gonzalo's house - so I stride out across a "field" which looks unthreatening and actually rather beautiful spotted with zillions of wild flowers ...

And the grasses get longer and longer and longer. Before long I am wading up to my thighs in grains, bergamot, vast variegated thistles and goose grass - leaving me covered in tiny sticky seed balls ... and I go the wrong way, turn back, wade up the hill as if through solid treacle, my thighs and bum by now screaming with the effort and then Splat - I lose my footing completely and end up in a heap of ticks, seed heads and goose grass balls ..... !

It did me the world of good ...

My grump was left on the floor, and I stood up, smiled at my trousers now totally covered in goose grass balls, and headed for Gonzalo's house and bashed on the door. No reply, but a 10 minute deballing took place before I stiffly got to my feet and started to head back here.

It's a LONG way .... and my water ran out so I refilled it at the Cuatro Vientos bar (they do brilliant tapas there) and as I rounded the corner I was thinking that I might actually hitch my way home - it was getting warmer, and that 1:3 hill was taunting me somewhat ...

And then I heard it - toot toot - my angel had arrived - Peter, who lives just down the road, scooped me up and drove me, engine howling, all the way up to the top of the hill, cutting my walkabout short by about an hour and a very sore pair of legs ....