I'm really looking forward to this trip away, even if I do have a stinking cold (my friend went to the V Festivel and all I got was this rotten cold).

I've never been to the Brecon Beacons, but I remember learning about that part of Britain from my school book in lessons of 'Englisch' when I went to school in Germany.

Englisch was the one compulsory foreign language at school (Französisch and Spanisch were optional - oddly called a Wahlpflicht subject, which means "compulsory choice" ) so there was no getting out of it. I spent most of the lessons in a delightful daydream. One day, I had been idly wondering what might be on the lunch menu at the school canteen, would it be mincemeat wrapped in cabbage leaves or the even less palatable stew that had gristle as the main ingredient. I drifted back into consciousness and was quite surprised to hear the class answer questions on Welsh Wellies.

Welsh Wellies?! Welsh Wellies?! Where in the book are they?!! flicking through the textbook, looking for a picture that might be something

but then another classmate went on to mention the beautiful welsh willidges.

Odd isn't it - how stage German makes Vs of W's, when in reality they tend to me W's of V's.

I also used to get irritated by the use of "closes" for clothes. Even the teacher used to pronounce it like that and his English was reasonably good.

The Brecon Beacons are stunning. We went to the Black Mountains and opted for a long walk up to the highest point (Waun Fach, 811m above sea level) and walk along a ridge around a valley and back to the road again.

It started off great. The sun was out but the wind was unbelievable. It took about three hours to reach the first high point. The wind was so strong you could stand on top of the mountain and lean into it (or lean back on it) which was fun (but noisy). It felt like the wind could just scoop you up and throw you off the mountain if it felt like it.

Standing mountain top you had a breathtaking 360 degree view of hills and valleys and not a human habitation (or being) in sight. We were just two small walkers in a landscape of short shrubs and heath plants

After the third or fourth hour of walking, I jokingly spoke into my thumb and pinky "hello? Mountain Rescue? yes um, we're on top of the mountain, and um, we're quite tired now, so could you come and pick us up, please? and a cup of tea would be nice"

And then, the weather turned. We had our waterproof trousers with us and after some comedy moments trying to get them on over our boots without falling over (unsuccessfully on my part) we felt a bit more protected from the elements.

As visibility got to 20m or so from the cloud that had dropped, I just kept having the Richard Burke commentary from the programme 999 run through my head "they had set out on a fine, clear day and were experienced walkers, but then the weather suddenly closed in on them" (now I understand what that term means - it really does feel like it's closing you in and makes you feel oddly claustrophobic in this wide open space). "Unable to find the right path they sought shelter from the driving wind and rain" Michael Burke went on to describe the feeling of disorientation and quiet panic as the two walkers realised they had lost the path. Much of the path disappeared and reappeared, the weather having eroded the feint traces of human presence up here. They had passed only two walkers since they'd set off at 11am that morning and it was now late afternoon

With no visibility and no path, their situation became desperate and they had become disorientated."

We had no torches and no food except a small block of chocolate. We knew we needed to make progress, but I felt we should be heading more left and he headed of to the right. We argued briefly and then I asked that we get the compass out "just to make me feel better" which we did. I am glad I insisted because it turned out he was heading off east when we needed to be going west and then south. I was still arguing my point that we needed to head off west right NOW when my heart leaped as I spotted two walkers in the mist from the west.

We scrambled over and tried to hide our mild distress and asked if there was a path down that way. They assured us it was there but it disappeared frequently. Oh Thank God! A path! so we went that way.

We still could not see more than a few metres and the rain was like needles on the sides of our faces. The wind was merciless and I was glad for the waterproof trousers. Although the path did disappear at parts, reclaimed by nature, we did have some motorcycle tracks to follow. We found a cairn (not on the map) and I had a bad feeling. Checking the compass confirmed we were heading north and we should turn back to the high point. Gorgeous Landlord insisted that one compass reading is not a guide for overall direction. I wasn't sure. We turned back and then back agaon and were aware that our desperate situation was getting no better and I hid from him that I was actually afraid we might have to spend the night on this mountain.

We took another compass reading and he was right - we were heading west (hurrah!) and hopefully the path would swing south soon.

The weather was unbearable and I was afraid we wouldn't make it before dark but that south turn wasn't coming and another compass reading showed north again. More than an hour had passed and I still felt we were going wrong but thenthe weather lifted and we could make out a valley - we checked against the map and the valley made no sense looking at the contour lines we had. Shit shit shit shit we are not anywhere near where we thought we were - and in the distance, on the side of the hill we saw a path - ohmygod, that might jsut be the path we should be on, it IS heading west.

(sheep in the fog)

So we (perhaps unwisely) left our path, tramped down the steep side (scary!) and picked up the path heading west. We still had no clue what valley that was on the map but at least we were heading in the right direction.

I felt a little less worried we'd be spending a night on the mountain as I felt we would hit a road (eventually). Instead, we hit a fork and had to choose: go south (but uphill) or west (but downhill) and that's when two mountain bikers appeared (bloody nice they were, too) and checking their map against our map - we'd missed our mountain home and were on the next ridge (they are like fingers) and miles and miles and miles wrong.

but an hour later and we were in a pub - where we called a taxi and got home £20 poorer. Later we admitted to each other just how scared we had been up there. We'd kept our spirits up and had maintained a cheerful exterior but both of us had secretly been planning how we might survive a night out there in the absence of any shelter (not even a shrub or tree) if we couldn't find our way home before dark. But thankfully Michael Burke did not need to tell our story on 999.

So we'd done the getting lost up a mountain bit, now we decided to just take it easier and drive to the Forest of Dean and visit Symonds Yat.

We camped by the Wye and took a canoe out on the river for a couple of hours. If you've never canoed, then get thee to a river now! (well not now, at least finish this paragraph). We paddled upriver, took some daft pictures, explored the banks, had a pint each at the pub and then paddled back. We had the canoe for two hours and we'd got the hang of it after approximately 1hour 55 minutes of splashing around/going in circles/crashing into banks/arguing over who was steering (it was meant to be me but I was doing a terrible job of it).

The next day, we went for a walk in the woods, mostly because Gorgeous Landlord wanted to get to Symonds Yat, a rocky outcrop that gives an amazing view of the valley and is a nesting site for peregrines, apparently. Most of the walk was uphill and his knee and my hip were still aching from the mountain expedition, but we did manage it and got to the top, suitably wearied only to find a cafe, gift shop and lots of elderly people in nylon slacks and beige shoes. I'm sorry, did we miss the stanna stairlift to here or something...?

The mystery of the grey invasion was solved when we found the disabled car park (just around the corner near the public convenience) making it easy and accessible to the walking-stick brigade.

The gift shop stocked the usual selection of Symonds Yat pins, Symonds yat cloth badges, Symonds Yat bookmarks, Symonds Yat coasters and rainbow coloured Symonds Yat rubbers that it is (I believe) required by law to do. Legislation was passed to make it an offense not to have these items for public sale, right? I can think of no other reason why they would try to sell me stationery at a beauty spot in the middle of nowhere. It wasn't all Symonds Yat branded goods, as besides rubbers and bookmarks, they also had a display box advertising British Birds Playing Cards, Butterflies Playing Cards and British Wildlife Playing Cards, which is odd since I didn't think badgers and squirrels knew the rules for cribbage. (but then, I've been playing crib with Landlord for two years and I still don't know the rules)

Aside from the gift shop usuals, I couldn't help but notice that they served cheese toasties that frankly, looked delish but since Landlord had dutifully carried our lunch (consisting of 1 packet of pitta bread, 1 can of mixed beans, 3 tomatoes, 1 bottle of tabasco, 2 sachets of pepper and 1 onion, to be prepared with 1 swiss army knife) all this way up here, i felt it unkind to reject his lunch in lieu of a lovely... melty... cheesy... toastie. *sigh*

As we had our lunch, a chaffinch fearlessly joined us as if invited (but then buggered off when it was clear we were't sharing) and we idly listened the dear old couple sat at a picnic table just a metre or so from us.

'How nice' I thought 'that this old couple still spend time to enjoy the countryside together'. I wondered how long they'd been married, and how they might have met, considered the marriage they will have built over the many decades together. I pondered how nice it would be to become a couple just like that - growing old together, still living life and getting out together, sharing their day with one another.

And then the man threw a massive tantrum because his wife had bought him a cheese toasty rather than the ham and cheese toasty he'd asked for and to ease his infantile tantrum, his wife, having been shouted at, meekly offered to take it back and get him another one, which she did while he harrumphed to himself over her gross neglect of his needs.

Grumpy git. He deserved a clip round the earhole.