Читать книгу The Pennine Way - the Path, the People, the Journey онлайн

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A couple of hours after I arrived, another Pennine Way walker plodded wearily through the door. I’d already encountered Barry several times on the trail since Edale, including amid the murk of Kinder Scout on day 1; but although our walking schedules were overlapping, we hadn’t had much chance to talk and swap stories. Middle-aged and single, average height with thinning dark hair and a rounded face that easily burst into a smile, Barry was a paramedic from south London and was looking, he said, to get away from it all for a while. He was affable and interesting, but he was also exhausted and wanted an early night. Judging by his limp, he was also suffering with from sore feet, so we agreed to set out together the next day.

The following morning, as I prepared to go down to breakfast, there was a distinctive smell in the house, an almost medicinal odour that seemed faintly familiar. I presumed Susan had been cleaning the kitchen or unblocking the drains. Barry was already seated at the breakfast table, a sheepish grin on his face. As the odd smell intensified, he pushed back his chair, unclipped his sandals and raised his bare feet. Ugly great blisters covered almost all of his toes and one of his heels in great weals, the like of which I’d only seen in photos in first-aid books. Barry had evidently been treating the blisters with an antiseptic powder, and presumably before that they had been liberally sprayed with some sort of industrial-strength solution – hence the all-pervading smell throughout the house. It awakened dim and not altogether comforting memories of bathrooms and communal changing rooms from my youth. Susan came in with plates of bacon and eggs and promptly went back out. I told him to put his revolting feet away and we tucked into breakfast.