This hill is lovely isn’ it? Really hilly. Perfect hill-shape. And look! A little twisty path. And I’ve eaten so much and basically sat around on deck looking very dissimilar to Rihanna on her super yacht and it’s about time I did some vigorous exercise and got the blood… you get the narrative. BUT STOP: this hill is not for climbing. At least not barefoot in a bikini holding a camera.
It’s a cautionary tale. Up I went, behind Adam and Ed. The first bit of the ascent was fun (Whee! I can Climb Stuff!) – I think getting up them rocks in Sri Lanka went to my head – but then… oh boy… it got to ‘Clinging Onto Tufts of Grass with Nails’ level followed by ‘Major Regret At Ever Having Begun’ level. I think I might have said the word ‘Mummy’ under my breath.
But this is nothing… NOTHING… compared to the nightmare on the way down. Basically, reader, I slid on my arse. Yes – the same arse, in the same big pants, that I was foolish enough to document on this website. Now they’re snagged to rags and studded with tiny, sharp, splinters of dried grass – shabby chic. I was scared, tired, pissed off and it was utterly preventable.
See also KAYAKING: I shall not set foot in one of the plastic bastards again. If you see me within a metre of one, remind me. When you’ve found yourself battling against the current, suncream pouring into your eyes – unable to wipe them clean – shoulders cramped, hands slipping, brow burning, small child in back saying ‘faster mummy why is daddy winning‘ and all the while you could’ve been nursing a cold Bintang on a fold-out chair – that’s when you realise that you have a tendency to occasionally make very bad choices.
But other than Hill-Gate and Kayak-Gate, our last day of Mischief was pretty idyllic. Beach barbecue, Insta-Sunset.
Beautiful Indonesia: you’ve been … emotional.