New Year's Day on Bodmin Moor

Mercifully not nursing monumental hangovers (although Dong looked a teensy bit greyish), Mrs The Millbrooker and I were driven to Minions on Bodmin Moor to spend the afternoon of January 1st tramping over the Cheesewring and saying things like "aah, this is bracing" or "glad I wore me thermals".

Dong and Shazzerooneypoos often do a circuit or two around this marvellous spot (and then bring back chocolate dinosaurs from their favourite shop nearby) and have equally often threatened to take us on a yomp.

We had been there before with our old muckers Anal and Sandybum but on that occasion the weather had been so soggy and horrid that after a quick cowpat fight between Anal and me (very messy, don't ask) we gave up and went for a pint instead. This time it was chilly and a tad windy but we persevered and made it to the top of the Cheesewring from whence I sent a text to Anal telling him where I was and wishing him "Happy New Ears". He later rang to call me a very rude word because he loves Cornwall, and Bodmin Moor in particular, and he wanted to have been there too.

Here's Mrs The Millbrooker nearly at the summit with Dong doing his famous Edmund Hillary impersonation just in shot on the left, whilst a tiny, mitten clad Shazzer-hand intrudes into shot just below him:

There were plenty of fellow yompers around also welcoming the new year in energetic fashion. There was a family on a rocky outcrop having a portrait photo taken; I overheard a great bit of childhood rebellion taking place. Imagine this exchange in well spoken "Queen's" English.

"...no, you're not a chav." said a wax jacketed and Barboured Dad.

"I am. I'm a chav," semi-sulked a little girl of about seven or eight.

"You are not a chav, Cicely..."

I have to say, Cicely, you're Dad is probably right on this one. Your chavdom is of the mind, not of reality.

We continued around the Cheesewring using what must be a very ancient path, using convenient paving stones to avoid the mud. Well, we all found the paving stones handily spaced except for a certain very little legged person who might be a familiar sight at the Land Registry. Shazzerooneypoos leapt gamely from stone to stone as we stepped daintily onward.

Needless to say the adventure was brought to a suitable close as Dong sighted the highest pub in Cornwall not far in the distance. The Cheesewring Hotel was warm and buzzing, the ale was yummy. What a brilliant way to see in 2008.