If you had to climb up those hills [no, mountains] to get to that pile of old rocks, you would be calling it that too.
I joke. It was cool. Roman stuff isn't my thing, but it was Vati's main request for the trip. So the "Wee Red Bus" dropped us off to hike up the hills to the wall. Mom was smart and took the "less-intense option," which involved being escorted by a kilt-wearing Scottish gentleman to a particularly beautiful section of the wall for a quick photo-op, followed by a cup of tea.
Me not thrilled part-way up the steep-ass hill.
Climbing the hill.
You must admit it's pretty though, once you catch your breath.
Rocks.
A house on the hill.
Many sheep.
Scarin' lambz since 1987.
At the top.
The Roman Fort {aka another pile of rocks}.
Daddy's flown across the ocean.
Walking on Hadrian's Wall.
Through the glen.
On the wall.
The wall snaking into the distance.
All in all...
Letting in the sunshine.
Did we really count to one hundred ?
Cold summer listening.
Hot colour.
Melting the anger to stone.
I still remember the dream there.
I have seen the writing on the wall.
Don't think I need anything at all.
Just chilling in the Roman outpost.
Dad pretending the wall is taller than him like in Roman times.
Daddy only stares into the distance.
Romans wuz here.
Many miles away.
We don't need no thought control.
xx
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