Time is marching. I feel as though I have been on a high for weeks, full of adrenalin and energy. Natasha and Bonnie arrived in Edinburgh and suddenly our days took on a new dimension as we were treated to ‘cups of tea’ with monkey and teddy, stories, bath times, walks and goodness knows what else.

John and I had the fun of taking her to the museum. We were both bemused when she lay on the floor, spread-eagled in order to see the creatures suspended from the ceiling. She was delightful, funny and so entertaining.

We drove north to Ardnamurchan and joined Gerry and Cathal for a long weekend.

The storm clouds gathered, the rain fell in torrents, and we passed the time watching The Wicker Man, and wondered what on earth we were going to do on this bleak, deserted peninsula. The morning peeped through dramatic curtains of mist, and Natasha was inspired to paint the scene from the bedroom window. But later the sun did shine and we each pursued our own interests, some climbing up to the skyline and some foraging on the shore. It was good to be amidst the wild places again, walking past pink granite rocks and seeing the oystercatchers parade on the foreshore.

John and I drove Tasha and Bonnie down to Wales, through the madness of lorries and traffic and drizzle and wipers. En route we met up with an old VSO friend from Vietnam days, Steph Cox who now lives in the Lake District and has a little girl. It was so good to see her again.

We were glad to have a break in Trentham Gardens.

Bonnie had to smell every flower she passed and Tasha forced me to walk barefoot along the track to experience all the sensations.

I was surprised how horrid yet luxurious the feeling of gloopy mud was. Bonnie downright refused to meet the challenge.

And finally we left the little family reunited in Wales, though Tasha did manage to recreate a Victorian parlour scene as she painted John and Leo playing chess.

We drove through the green wonderland of Wales; the grasses looked so spongy I could have fallen into them, they were so inviting. Thank God I didn’t though, as we had designs on Snowdon, and I didn’t fancy falling off that monster.

First though, we visited a little gem of a village. Portmeirion was a random collection of architectural follies.

There were domes, columns, a campanile, Buddhas, and an Atlas holding up the world. This eccentric man, Mr Clough William-Ellis, who loved to wear plus fours with bright yellow woollen stockings, had wanted to create a home, not for fallen women, but for fallen buildings. It was his life’s work and passion. I enjoyed it all, and felt so in tune wearing my new purple wellies.

We stayed in the Pen-y-Gwryd Hotel at Gwynedd in Snowdonia National Park.

It felt like falling back in time to the early part of the century. Our single beds were like boarding school issue; there were round-pin plugs in the wall, and a chintz lounge just waiting for the men to come off the hill, boasting of their daring-dos.

On one wall was a picture of two former residents, Edmond Hillary and Tensing Norgay, and ancient climbing boots hung on a makeshift line.

George Mallory, the great climber who was part of the 1922 and 1924 expeditions to Everest, also stayed there, and the story goes that he left his pipe on top of a peak, and ran back later to claim it. In the light of day when his friends saw where he had climbed, they were appalled. It was a sheer face, and he had gone up like Spider Man. This climb is still called ‘Mallory’s Pipe’ to this day and a huge warning is attached to it. Basically don’t be so MAD.

John and I are so intrigued with George Mallory and the mystery of ‘did he make it to the summit or not?’ His body was found, but the camera was not. His wife’s picture was missing. He had promised her he would leave it at the summit. BUT there is no proof.

We were summoned to dinner by the gong, and the next morning we set off in the rain, full of trepidation, hoping the mists would lift. I had slathered my face in Egyptian magic cream, and with boots and weatherproofs we set off on the Miner’s Track.

The going was good until we had to scramble up an almost vertical incline. A lot of puffing and straining to get up over the big rocks saw us eventually get to the summit and we posed in the thick mist, and saw absolutely ZERO!

Down down we came and the sun broke through and we made good progress on the Pyg Track. The views were wonderful, and the peaks dramatic, and our knees and backs were jarred by the harsh impact as we descended. I was horrified when my fingers blew up like sausages and my rings were cutting in to the flesh. We took three hours to get up and two and half to get back, so not bad for mere mortals (elderly!).

Then we met Alice. She runs the most unusual B&B. It is St Curig’s Church in Capel Curig, which she has renovated. It has an original mosaic domed apse that is so beautiful, and made me think I was back in Trastevere in Rome.

Steve, her partner, made us a cup of tea and showed us around. There was a grand piano that was delivered by two local guys. Steve told us that he heard a snap as they were raising the piano up on to the stage beneath the apse, and it was the young fellow’s Achilles’ tendon. Manfully he completed the job, even though he was in agony.

John and I were shown to our room. We had a four poster and a pulpit. Quite random! Also a little disconcerting, and didn’t let you forget you were in church!

Alice began work on the project fifteen years ago, and on scaffolding as high as you can imagine, she wore a boiler suit and sandblasted the entire wooden ceiling back to its natural creamy colour. She is made of stern stuff. She was separated and alone with two small children, and did a lot of the project work by herself. She is very cheery and said at first when she began the B&B she was afraid of axe murderers and so on, but soon discovered how nice people can be and now she hates being in the church alone. Of course now she has Steve, a rock climber and photographer, so they are a good team and made us very welcome.

John and I headed north, and arrived home a little weary and quite sore. I was glad of a brandy and my blue sofa, and later a very hot bath. We need to catch our breath and just take the time to reflect.

I am now going to find the book, “Into the Silence” about George Mallory. It is just all so inspiring, especially when I am now warm and cosy and DRY!