Renowned outdoors chronicler returns to Muckthwaite following his alpine adventures and finds the village gearing up for a traditional Muckthwaite Christmas.
Muckthwaite, Friday 15 December, 2006
I'd best apologise for my absence from pages of OUTDOORSmagic.
Thing is, after Jack Clegg's unfortunate accident on t'north face of
the Igor, I were reduced to walking home from Switzerland and it took
some time and no mistake.
We're bred hard though, us Todgers, and I finally arrived in
Muckthwaite two days back now. And what a grand time to return home.
Now, Christmas in Muckthwaite is unforgettable. First sign were the
Christmas lights on the sheep as I made my way across the moor.
Powered from portable generator they are, and give the whole place a
right Christmassy feel.
Of course they've had to reduce the voltage since last year when
Farmer Bolton's whole flock were incinerated with a nasty whiff of
charred mutton hanging over village for days, but how were he to know
the lights were only designed for use on trees?
Obviously first place I called in when I reached town were
Muckthwaite Arms. Right moving it were, decked out in black tinsel in
memory of Jack as news had reached the village via the BBC. I paid my
respects to his widow and respectfully pointed out that he should
never have been carrying those Lambretta keys on the mountain.
'Never mind,' she said. 'Have a pint of best on the house. I'm
sure it weren't your fault.'
I pointed out that I'd pushed Jack to his doom, but one of the
strengths of our close knit little community is that forgiveness
comes easy and it weren't long before we were laughing and joking as
if the whole Igor thing were a bad dream.
Some three hours and several pints later, I finally reached home.
I stood outside and breathed in the the smells and sights of
Muckthwaite. By god, I thought, there's no place like home. In the
distance the Christmas sheep twinkled and not for the first time, I
were glad I lived in this beautiful idyllic place.
I were just about to knock on the door when I felt a hand on my
shoulder. 'Alfred Todger', said the burly officer attached to the
hand, 'I am arresting you on suspicion of murder, you do not have to
say anything but anything you do say may be taken down....'
Alfred Todger
