Wary of Wellies...

Since I first arrived in the UK, I've fought the Wellies movement with the hope it would .... well, move on. The cascade of polka dots, flowers and stripes have been a little too much to bear... as evidenced at last year's folk festival when a little rain brought out everyone's short shorts and rubber.

There is another personality that ascribes to the Wellington boot, i.e., the country walker. Usually in our village that means the dog walker, but occasionally we see others sporting them. Alastair and I do own pairs of wanna-be wellies, but they are stashed in the attic since I found them a bit complicated when worn around mud and very hard on the knees. I just couldn't get the hang of them around the riverbottom mud that assumes the surface position after a good rain here. It's like cake icing.

A couple of weekends ago, Alastair and I joined friends for a walk in Essex. It had rained the day before but was clear Saturday. After an interesting lunch at The Cricketeers in Clavering, which some of you would appreciate knowing is where the Naked Chef got his start, we wandered about the fields, enjoying the clear skies and a small hill. Up a hill means down a hill, right ... which is where we came upon a little ravine with the announcement, "It's a little slippery down here." That was a classic British euphemism for a 100 yard bobsledding track. With much holding of breath, children and our trousers, we finally got skidded down it. As you can tell from the photo, I finally gave in and walked right through it. Further afield, we passed a dogwalker, well dressed with a clean dog. He took one look at me and shook his head... he was wearing wellies.

I can't say how I would have managed in wellies on that walk. I was grateful for the waterproof quality of my Blundstones ... but perhaps a little rubber would have made the clean-up easier.