The Only Way Is Up

"Remember when I was bitching that there were no big hills in London?" I groaned to d at about 8.30 this morning.
"Errr yes dear..."
"You're married to a stupid man, you know that? A very stupid man," I said, clomping towards the bathroom. I hesitated at the foot of the stairs. I followed them with my eyes.
They went up.

Bastards.

"Would you really mind if I peed in the sink?" I asked, optimistically. d's eyebrow answered me, and I yanked myself. See, here's the thing - I'm sick of my own bitching about not actually doing anything, so I gurgled my way out of bed at 6.30, and decided to go for a walk before work. Decided to avoid Grandma and the Men With Dogs, which meant going Uphill.

Situated as we are at pretty much the bottom of the town, there is arguably only one genuine "downhill" road from our house. Evvvvery other direction you go, you're going up. I went up a thing called Twyn Hill (non-Welsh folk, it's pronounced sort of as Toyn, but with a rather more rounded vowel). It's like you called any hill you know a sissy, and it brought its big brother to come and sort you out. I followed it up as far as it ran. It was positively nosebleeding, and dissipated eventually into estates. I snuck a little back down, and across a long plateau, looking across what feels like a caldera. A caldera of coal, twinkling with houselights in a black, pre-dawn world. At several points along the way, even when it felt like I'd gone up as far as was humanly possible, I'd look to my right, and find - another damn hill...going up. At one of them, one where I had the opportunity to go down, it was almost as if the Valley itself was mocking me...
"Oh, gone all soft and Londony have you? Can't cope with us now, can you, you old fart? No no, that's fine, go down if you like...we'll understand..."
I went up. Up and up and up some more. Ended up on a thing called the Goat Mill Road (who knew you could mill goats?), and walked on, up to Dowlais, site of one of the Ironworks that made Merthyr one of the engines of the Industrial Revolution. I only decided to go downhill and come home when it looked as though I'd be late for work at nine if I did anything else.

So by the time I got home, and struggled up the flight of stairs to our maisonnette, I had had quite enough of Up, so the final steps to the bathroom were kind of like Merthyr laughing at me.

Still - a good long walk does make you feel terribly virtuous. I've eaten oatmeal, and a cheese toastie, and rice.
"Phew," said d over dinner. "I'm stuffed."
"But you've eaten all your meat," I said. "Was that what you were told as a kid? At least eat the meat?"
She looked at me like I was mental.
"No," she said. That's cos I'm a carnivore!"
"Ah," I said, as she handed over her plate of rice. "Guess that makes me a carbivore," I said, tucking in without much of a sense of calorific guilt.

Not long after dinner, d enjoyed a local delicacy - Welsh cakes with cream and jam. I ground about an inch of enamel off my teeth.
"Make us coffee," she grinned. "It'll help me get rid of this quicker."

I don't know whether this was subconscious, or merely stupidity, but I made us a couple of real, fully caffeinated coffees (the trigger for my tachycardia)...It was only after I'd stirred them I realised my mistake.
Suddenly all Uphills seemed jussst fine. Except the one up to the local hospital!

Blood yesterday was 4.9, in case anyone's keeping score. Blood this morning after the odyssey of Upness - 5.1. See - Uphills are bad.