At What Price?
I snapped this photo at the Tate Modern in London just hours prior to hopping on a train at Kings Cross bound for Newcastle. It’s a Warhol. I’m not a huge Warhol fan but I thought it was kind of cool. The entire room was dedicated to Andy and the walls were covered ceiling to floor with these pink cows on a stark yellow background.
Little did I know then that these cows would play such a significant role in my very immediate future.
I hate cows. Unless of course, they are carved up moderately thick, marinated in Dales and seared to medium rare perfection on an open flame.
In that scenario, I think I could say that cows are pretty cool.
I have just returned from merry old England having walked its width. The width being roughly 89 miles from Newcastle Upon Tyne (at the North Sea) to Bowness on Solway just past Carlisle to the west and the waters of the Irish Sea.
It hurt.
I followed the path of Hadrian’s Wall or, as it shall be forever remembered by me, The Trail of Poo. (It could have just as easily, and appropriately so, been renamed the Great Hadrian’s Pub Crawl.) For six days I trudged the pathways that followed the wall built by the Romans in AD 122 through some of the most beautiful countryside I had seen in quite some time. And by countryside I specifically mean cow and sheep pastures. Do not be fooled by lush images of green landscapes and gentle rolling hills. There’s poo out there and lots of it!
It took me all of two days to say, “Fuck it! I’m not walking around this shit any more!” and just plow straight through. Yes, I walked in poo.
