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Is That A Mitt In Your Pocket - Or Are You Just Pleased To See Me?
I once had the most painful experience on Walk ny157 High Harker Hill and Greets Hill from Reeth in The Yorkshire Dales.

It was the depths of winter - and in the below-the-belt area of my couture.

I was wearing my trusty thermal long-johns under my trousers but unfortunately, the opening at the front was a bit like Gaping Gill, and I wasn't wearing the underwear which was a bit silly.

Anyway, such was the biting nature of the wind that day, that I began to experience severe pain, and what I took to be a freezing sensation, in the same sort of way that pipes freeze up on a cold night. I suffered this in silence for several hours until it began to become just too much to bear.

I did the only thing possible and fitted my er . . . 'little general' . . . with a thermal mitt, preferring to lose a few fingers, rather than anything else. (I've always got spare fingers!)

By the time I got back to Reeth, I was toasty warm in the naughty regions but I'd forgotten about the mitt - until a stranger brought my attention to the bulge in my trousers.

It may have been just outside the police station.

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