Not quite Kokoda

I was tied to my computer for much of today.  So while Roy Plasterer was mending holes in walls and ceilings, and Mum was getting violent with some virulent ivy in the front bit, I was tap tap tapping.  No fun.

So when time came for me to step away from the machine, Milo and I decided to take a walk DOWN TO THE BOTTOM OF BIGGEST HILL.  It's taken on some serious mythical proportions, has BIGGEST HILL.  So our adventure was eagerly embarked upon.

The ascent, of course, was a piece of cake, with the assistance of gravity, and with a distracting small child narrating every step, pointing out every hole in the bitumen, every rut, every rupture, every random vehicle and in raptures over the  romance of our trek.

If I die trying, I am going to succeed in
capturing this scene on celluloid in a manner that truly
reflects the enormity of this hill.

The bit at the bottom
which closely resembles the countryside...

...except for this.

I did wish, however, as we mounted our ascent, that we had set off better prepared: an energy bar in hand, a bottle of something icy and bracing, a pair of sunglasses and perhaps a small pack horse to help me back home.