The evening before my hiking day in Kent I tried explaining to my daughter why I was looking forward to it so much.
“We’ll be walking all day, probably eighteen to twenty miles,” I said.
She looked at me as if I had suggested I was considering stapling my tongue to the wall.
“It’s going to rain,” she said.
“All the better. It will make the pub lunch so much more enjoyable.”
I then sought to explain that I had planned the Kentish country walk around a specific village pub, which has its own brewery. To Nicola, beer is beer, so it was hard to share my excitement at the prospect of walking all morning in the rain to reach a pub serving six real ales that can be found nowhere else. To her, that was like making a long journey to buy postage stamps in a distant post office, because they might have different pictures on them.
So I struggled to convince her I wasn’t just wasting my day. And it was only the next morning, as Jerry and I walked away from the town of Tonbridge, following the river Medway, that I appreciated exactly what it was about a day hiking in Kent that gave me so much joy.