The book with this name records great explorations since time began, whenever that might have been. I was browsing through it in the travel section of Waterstones this afternoon – the same corner of the bookshop where I struck up conversation with Mary Bryant a few weeks ago. Interestingly, according to the book, great feats of exploration finished in 1969. A British team made the first crossing of the Artic – from one side to the other via the Pole itself of course. Presumably, most people call it quits when getting to the most northerly point. Anyway, not only did they finish in 1969, but they completed their journey on 11th June 1969. The day after I was born. Could it be that fate has dictated that I am the inheritor of the baton of exploration and my journey to Puglia is the start of a life of epic trips? Probably not.
What do you think?