Commentary and pictures by Sir Hardly Anyone who accepts no responsibility for any errors or misapprehension which might inadvertently have slipped in unnoticed and without permission. All rights reversed. There is no need to read the commentary – you can just enjoy the pictures.
We were greeted with signs proclaiming that “Paxton Pits Nature Reserve remains open” as if some sort of volcanic activity which had somehow gone unreported by the Little Paxton Weekly Gleaner could be restricting movement. But if it was we didn’t see it.
Now I was particularly keen to see this area, as it is the proclaimed meeting point River Great Ouse, Rudd Lake, Sailing Lake, South Kake, North Lake, Diddington Brook… I could go on. In short, this is a watery crossroads, a bit like the A14 when it is wet, but with added pedestrians as the signpost proclaimed.
(I did spend some time looking for these pedestrians as we crossed the road until our leader helpfully pointed out that at this moment we were the pedestrians.)
But I must admit sometimes these places can be rather confusing. For as you can see from the sign the Village/Pu (whatever a Pu is) is actually underground. I did look for the tunnel but couldn’t find one.
Still it was a helpful sign and took attention away from the fine array of our cars all neatly parked (except mine of course as I don’t do neat on the grounds that being “neat” was what I was told to be at school, and I do not have happy memories of those days). (Contrary to popular belief I was also taught English at school, but whatever that was all about seems to have slipped my memory. Although curiously I was never taught “walking” and yet I can manage that quite moderately well, which just goes to show that schooling isn’t always all it is cracked up to be by local education authorities, which in my view should be….)
But enough of this chitter and chatter, one final look at the car park showed that yes, as proclaimed afore, we were all there parked oh so neatly in a row with my rather unwashed car out of view for fear of causing embarrassment.
And it was from here that we started walking. Now this was a good thing because walking is what we are about, and it can be interrupted by n’ere-do-wells who go around taking pictures all the time. Actually I think n’ere-do-well is a jolly nice word and
should be used more frequently. Indeed this was a prime topic of my conversation as we walked and you can see everyone joining in with much accord on viviality.
The opening of the walk was fairly straightforward consisting of what we regulars on the walking scene like to call a “path” which comes from the Old English pæth, or “motorbike”.
So this was a good start, and as you can see your photographer was studiously avoided with everyone 
looking the other way and taking purposeful strides. The bridge we then crossed was made of trees, which is a local speciality dating back to the early 20th century, and which ensures that the number of uppy and downy “en route” bits were reduced.
It was in fact a really interesting environment and one that quickly got interestinger (a word that for reasons I cannot fathom – which is one-eighth of a nautical milestone – is 
not in the dictionary). But it should be because this path led to a most beautiful setting (to use the creative artist’s term) of trees and water; something that one all too rarely finds on the M1.
It was quiet and calm, there were no other walkers around and I must say that on several occasions I simply stopped and looked, as we had nothing at all like this in Tottenham, whereupon I was brought up.
But here again, I was also reminded how one’s upbringing can lead one to be out of touch with other neighbourhoods. I mean, where I was brought up, no one had to be told to avoid drowning; it was just taken as read.
Likewise, I suppose someone might have been tempted to ice skate down Tottenham High Road, but since that is just the fancy name for the A10, locals tend to realise that the lifespan of an ice skater on that thoroughfare is less than that of a poltergeist at a party political conference, if you catch my drift.
But we are obedient people so no one went drowning although the yellow sign at the foot of the noticeboard pointed us to the left in case any of us did fancy a spot of that en route.
Thus we proceeded, and to whence we went I shall reveal in more detail once my minder has been along with a bowl of soup.
