This blog is supposed to be about running so I normally try and intertwine the more interesting aspects of life (i.e. everything but running) in and around this subject.
If you’ve read other posts on here you’ll soon realise that the link between the “I put on my running shoes and ran 10 miles” and the real content can be fairly tenuous.
that said, possibly the only thing worse than reading about sore nipples and chaffed thighs (from running, obvs) is reading about someone’s holidays.
If I can pull this off the next few posts are going to have you thinking:
- Gosh, Richard’s running and holiday stories are Pulitzer Prize material (I can always dream)
- Gosh, I think I’ll take a train around Europe with my small kids and long suffering wife!
As you can surmise the holiday wasn’t a caravan in south west France or a fortnight on the Costas. No, It was the hobo dream of riding the rails with your hobo buddies, living on your wits, sleeping off the two buck chuck as the trains carried you across the continent. – Interrailing is the PR name for it!
This was a great holiday, and while not exactly restful, it was certainly full of adventure and excitement (i.e. sailing into the headwinds of disaster with gay abandon). I can’t attest to your family dynamics but I can tell you that we’re just your common or garden dysfunctional group of people thrown together by biology, lust, dog ownership and the alignment of the stars (i.e. we’re a family and no one else will have us) and this sort of holiday was less of the day-in day-out routine of mum+dad versus the terrible trio and much more of the famous five go hobo-ing.
The holiday was a clockwise C from Amsterdam across Germany, over the Alps to Italy and back across the Cote D’Azure to Carcassonne (it seemed pretty easy on a map………….)
I’ll stitch the running into the next few blog posts so you can justifiably say that you waste half your time at your desk reading running blogs and not wondering what sort of idiot thinks railway station tramps are role models.