The Right Turn Adventure

Went walking with Ma again this morning. After the first hill of our usual route down the Taff Trail, she pointed out a sign.
"What's up there?"
I shuddered. "Up there" was the sign which I'd followed on my first ever misadventure on the Taff Trail, leading to mud, puddles, desolation and horseshit. I said as much. Ma smiled, a thinnish smile.
"Let's call it an adventure!" she said, striding off determinedly up the hill.
I tried to protest that rather than calling it an adventure, we could just call it mud, puddles, desolation and horseshit, and pointed out that I knew we could call it that, because I was pretty sure I'd just done so. She slowed as the degree of uphillitude - it's a word, honest - took its toll, and we stopped to admire the "view" of monoxide-belching traffic from the vantage point of what's generally known as "The A Bridge" at the bottom of the town. Nevertheless, when Ma has the bit between her teeth, or the scent of adventure - or, admittedly, horseshit - in her nostrils, there's very little stopping her, and off we went. Any unorthodox direction she found, we turned towards. It led us through the mud, puddles, desolation and horseshit I had mentioned, round a couple of buildings that shouldn't have been there, past a whole raft of buildings that pretty much weren't there, but would be in a couple of months of further construction, through a housing estate and up another "fuck you" hill, till we emerged, at least one of us blinking and disorientated, at a place I reognised. It was the local business park.

They have a Costa at the local business park.

"C'mon!" I said, setting off like a coffee-seeking missile.
"I haven't got any money with me," protested Ma.
"I've got plastic, come on!" I ordered. We sat, and I had a bucket of pointlessness for breakfast.

The way back was equally tangential - every time we came to something we recognised, we turned the opposite way, almost purposefully getting lost in the longest manner possible.

I eventually stumbled back into the flat ttwo and a half hours after having set out, and having walked over six miles.

Fairly confident it's gonna do me no good at all though - doesn't seem to have done any good the rest of the week and tomorrow's not just a weigh-in day. Tomorrow's an "annual diabetic check" day. Highly likely, what with one thing and another, that I'll have my Xenical prescription rescinded - I will have put on at least a stone since the last time they saw me for one of these annual check-ups. But - it is what it is. Tomorrow we reintroduce proper, muscially-pushed, sweat-inducing into the mix...only to be moderately nixed on Wednesday by one of my quarterly Wednesday UberCommutes.

Sigh...Let's see what tomorrow holds, shall we?

Probably another great big bloody Adventure...