My Fat Friend

 I have a fat friend.

He's an aquaintance, a new friend. Someone I'm going to have to get to know over the next two months.

He's seriously fat. On the scales he weighs only 20kg, but to me, he's like a tonne. Heavier when he's wet, of course, and he's going to get very wet.

He sits on my hip bones, and sways gently as I stroll along.

He's black. And yes, that's a purposefully lower-case b. Because he's only black on the outside. Inside, I'm trying to think of him as sky-blue, a blue as light as air, a blue that floats along with me, on the trail. It's the only way I can cope with his weight, to think of him like this.

Inside, he's soft and warm. Downy soft, and hot-tea warm. And he's protective, because he's the one who is bringing along the plasters and the first-aid kit, as well as the maps and the compass.

It's a complicated relationship, him and me. Yes, it's new, so we're both exploring the other's vicissitudes, and limits. I need him and he, frankly, needs me - otherwise he'd get nowhere - but mutual need is not a great basis for a friendship. That sort of relationship can be pretty brittle. I'm not sure where the relationship is going - although I can clearly say that it is heading north. It's possible we'll come to like each other, in time. But not before we've taken a good few knocks. 

He's called Vaude. Has his name tattoed on his back, just so you don't forget it (is this arrogance?) It's a German name, although it sounds better if I say it in a French accent. I quite like the name. It sounds a bit like baud, which (as you'll know) is a measurement of the speed of data transfer. I like that speedy connection, as though he and I could fly over Scotland at the speed of light.

 I'll let you know later how we get on, Vaude and I.