‘Where is the furthest you have walked to in your life?’ Overton asked me over dinner last week-end. It was a splendid occasion, a four course meal, with candles and fine wines (although these days I don’t drink), and distinguished guests. A real celebration.
I tried to recall the most steps I had ever made across the ground on foot, and the furthest distance I had travelled, but always a car or bus or train intervened, and a warm bed at night, and meals in a house.
‘At the most three days. Once walking across the plains south of Hanover in Germany. I had twisted my ankle and been left behind’, I replied. It was a long time ago. I had been an Army reservist and on a training exercise.
‘Several people I know have walked to Rome’, Overton continued. ‘They tell me it takes about eight weeks’.
From London to Rome – or perhaps starting from Canterbury – I had not expected the suggested destination to be Rome. The possibility… the possibility of the first step towards that great city.
mmj