I wrote this week's blog post the other night and having re-read it a few times I've wondered if I should post it or not. For those of you expecting another running or cycling tale, this weeks a bit different, it wanders a bit off track towards the end and for that I apologise. It's all from the heart though and having made the decision to post it, I'm sure that you can forgive me my random wittering's. I'm certain a normal level of service will resume next week. I've been down to see the “Old Cheese” again this weekend. As I mentioned last time she's not been well, so every visit is precious, but that's not stopped me from getting in a bit of running and a bit of reminiscing at the same time. Being down that way and with a spare hour at my disposal (that's what happens when you get up before all the normal people) I took the opportunity to have a run around some of the old haunts of my childhood, and what a trip down memory lane it turned out to be! Setting off, bright and early Saturday morning from the “Fromagerie”, as it should probably be known, her being “The Old Cheese” and all that, it's only a few hundred yards until you can pick up a footpath which leads up onto the South Downs and eventually intersects the South Downs Way. It's a fair old climb though, on rough and sometimes muddy tracks, climbing steadily for nearly 3 miles, whilst passing over the A27, as it in turn, passes via a tunnel, under Southwick Hill, and onwards towards the high point at Truleigh Hill and the South Downs Way proper. I'd walked “The Way” a few years previously and remembered this stretch for having some amazing views, and with Saturdays clear sky's, I wasn't disappointed. As you work down from the high point at Truleigh Hill, heading towards the Adur Valley, the view opens up to the sea on one side and across the Sussex Weald on the other. Despite being 30 or so miles away familiar landmarks to the North from other adventures were clearly visible in the early morning sunshine. With Box Hill, home to the Knacker Cracker, and the Greensand ridge and Surrey hills, home to an epic weekend back in July 2020 both being clearly visible and bringing back recent memories. It was as I worked further down towards the River Adur and I started to get back onto the stomping grounds, and source, of my earliest adventures, that the memories really started flooding back though. As I passed the car park at the top of Beeding Hill I thought back to the “Den” me and a few mates had in the woods just below here and the weekend we lugged a chimney pot and assorted parts that we'd found on the beach (a good 4 or 5 miles away) up here to build a primitive wood burning stove. A stove which I'll hasten to add worked incredibly well and occupied us for many a happy hour. Continuing onwards, I left the South Downs Way and picked up the Southern end of what is now the Downslink path. Home to my first Ultra Marathon, but, what was at the time of my childhood, still a disused railway line, complete with track, sidings, line-side huts and other assorted industrial items. All disused and slowly decaying at the time, but a source of endless fascination, adventures and learning, for a couple of inquisitive and mechanically minded 11 or 12 year olds. Further still I crossed the old Toll Bridge and looking back up river was transported back to the time, that as 10 year olds, we had swum across the river complete with wellies, and wondered how we hadn't been drowned that day. Looking back there's only been a few times that I've seriously worried if I was going to make it home alive and that day was one of them. As I stood on the bridge itself, I thought of my early fishing expeditions. Fishing for Flounders and Dabs in the muddy river water, digging for bait and generally messing around in the muddy silt banks that extend down to the water as the tide goes out and climbing around the old wooden bridge structure. Further still down river and heading for the sea I stood and admired the little boats moored up, swaying gently in the fast flowing current and thought back to how owning one of those little boats had been our dream at the time. Thoughts of the writings of Arthur Ransome and the boating adventures of his books. Books which I devoured as a child, dreaming of the days I could have those sort of adventures too and not be sat staring at the teachers in another dull and pointless school lesson. Oh, too have owned a boat and set sail for great adventures! Following the river onwards I eventually came to the other source of endless childhood fascination. The sea and the industrial areas of the docks. Oh, the happy hours spent fishing from the breakwaters and exploring the rock pools and massive concrete sea defences piled haphazardly to protect the coast from erosion. Oh, to again be able to stand and watch the boats being dry docked for maintenance, fascinated as the dirty water was pumped away to allow the gangs of workers to gain access to the hulls for cleaning and repairs, the boats sat delicately on wooden props fitted by divers wearing bell helmets, descending into the murkey depths as the water was slowly drained away. The gangs of Stevedores rushing to unload cargoes of coal for the power station and wood from overseas. The dredgers coming in and going out with the tide to unload their cargoes of gravel sucked from the sea bed just off shore, and the big trawlers coming in with their cargoes of fresh fish. The power station, along with it's massive chimneys, coal stores and unloading cranes has gone now, “King Coal” replaced by a modern Gas Turbine unit. The gangs of stevedores no longer required, now modern automated machinery does the job of many men and the dry docks, no longer big enough to maintain modern size vessels stand empty. The lighthouse at the entrance to the harbour, likewise now stands as a reminder of times past, replaced by modern electronics, it's guiding light and booming fog horn no longer required. As I turned away from the coast and headed back towards “The Fromagery” and the chance of a brew and shower I took my life in my own hands to cross the busy roads and thought back to how we used to cycle, happily and safely on these same roads as children, back before the days of 3 car families, driving 50 yards to school or the shops, and the one-upmanship of my “Wankpanzers” bigger than yours!
I thought back to the days of being allowed out to play and have adventures without the fear of being run over by some twat in a 3 ton SUV, speeding along on their way to the shops, whilst playing with the Sat Nav and answering the phone. I thought back to the days when you could let your kids go out to play and have adventures, unsupervised, without being branded a bad parent by the social media mafia. I thought back to the time's when you could let your children go out to play and have adventures without the fear they were going to be kidnapped. A risk that's no greater and indeed is probably less so now, than in the 70's and 80's, but has been stoked and fuelled by the ever braying Media. A time when children were allowed to take risks and learn by their mistakes. A time when a man could approach a child in distress in the street and offer assistance without the fear of being branded a paedophile. A time when children were allowed to grow up, learn and have their own adventures. Back at “The Fromagerie” as I settled in to my second breakfast, I thought back to my childhood and some of the places I had passed during today's run. I considered my age at the time of most of these adventures and suspect that I must have been between 10 and 13 at the most. Ages, when we are now, still debating if our children are old enough to walk to school on their own. Yet I and my mates were having adventures within, and indeed beyond, a 5 miles radius of home. No mobile phones, no Sat Nav, no nothing. Just some sandwiches if we were lucky, or instructions to be home for tea at 6, and if your late your going hungry. They were happy days though, days which made me into the man I am today. They sparked my spirit for adventure, awakened my inquisitive nature and helped instil in me a spirit of independence and self reliance which I rely on to this day. I'm not saying, and never will, that we should go back to the “Good old days”. I'm a firm believer in progress and change. Indeed there was a lot wrong in the 80's. The lack of workers rights, poor H&S, death trap cars and machinery, the Raliegh Chopper, wearing ties and blazers to school, rubbish haircuts and sandwich spread, the list goes on. Without a doubt technology has improved our lives beyond belief. But, and it's a big but, is sitting at home all day playing on the X box progress or just an easy get out? Is feeding your children chocolate bars to keep them quiet or letting them open cans of pop in the supermarket because they're a bit thirsty the right way of doing things? Is driving 50 yards to drop your kids off at school because it's not safe on the roads the answer, or are you part of the problem? I'm not here to preach, indeed it's something I try (unsuccessfully) to avoid. I know where my thoughts lay and they are not driven by social media, the need to follow others or the mainstream media. They are made from life experience, experiences which I started gaining as an adventurous young boy, adventures and experiences which have stood me in good steed for the next 40 years, adventures and experiences which “The Old Cheese” allowed, and indeed encouraged me to have. There's been a few occasions, in the more maudlin and self reflecting moments over the years when she's asked me if I had a good childhood. If I thought I missed out because we went on camping holidays instead of package tours to Spain. If I thought she should have done more with us, or we should have had more organised days out? Well, I think the answers are in the speil above. Camping, fishing, den building, BBQ's, messing around on boats, climbing hills, swimming in the sea in the UK or 24 hours sat in an airport, a shit flight squashed on board a smoke filled VC10 and a good dose of 1980's food poisoning? Catching Flounders, mud fights on the bank's of the river, digging for bait and messing around on home made rafts, hanging off the bottom of the bridge over a fast flowing river or sitting in front of a ZX Spectrum (the X box of the time) whilst it loads Manic Miner or some other pointless game? Days out on your second hand 10 speed racer which was 4 sizes too big for you with a packet of home made sandwiches and a bottle of squash, BMX racing, coming home covered in mud and stinking of bonfire smoke without a word asked or a 10 bed palace with en suite Khazi? Tinkering with lawnmower engines I'd retrieved from the tip, sleeping in a tent in the back garden, exploring disused railway lines and having the freedom to stand and watch the industrial landscape or a couple of nights away in a cheap hotel? I know which I'd rather have had, and as I said above, I know which formed me into the man I am today (for better or for worse). Adventurous, self reliant, flexible, resourceful, inquisitive, adaptable, their all skills that are formed as part of your childhood and I can tell you for a fact that they're formed on muddy river banks and disused railway lines and not on the beaches and package holiday hotels of 1980's Spain!
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Here we go again then, the sun’s shining, the birds are singing, the Daffodils are in full bloom, I’ve had a very productive weekend and everything’s looking good in the world. Unusually, I’m going to start off this week’s exciting installment with a bit of a strange tale and a word of praise for some very much abused members of our community; Planning on getting in a long run early on Saturday morning, (more of which later) I’d taken the van up to one of my normal little hideaways late Friday night and settled down at around 10:30 for a good night’s sleep. There was no one around when I’d gone to bed and surprisingly, I was woken a couple of hours later by the sound of a large diesel engine pulling in too the space next to me. Judging from the engine note it certainly wasn’t one of the normal boy racers which frequent this area and it didn’t sound like fly tippers or illicit lovers either. Not giving it much more thought, I turned over and was just dozing off again when there was a gentle tap on the van window. Wide awake now, I lay there for a moment considering my options and wondering what to do. Should I just ignore it and lay quietly hoping whoever it was would lose interest and go away? Or should I go out all guns blazing? Before I’d had too long to consider my options there was another louder tap and I knew that whoever it was wasn’t going away. Taking the bull by the horns I pulled the curtain to one side and peered out. Not that that helped much, as the other vehicle’s lights were shining at the van stopping me from seeing out. Oh well, only one choice, open the door and face whoever it was to see what they wanted! Sliding the door open and expecting trouble, or at least a load of grief, the wind was somewhat taken from my sails as I was faced with a pair of extremely apologetic policemen, apologising for waking me up! Not what I was expecting at all, and certainly a better outcome than I was expecting to face. A pair of very nice chaps they were too. Who, after apologising again for waking me up explained that they were just checking I was OK having seen the van parked up, seemingly all on its own, tucked well out of the way, during one of their routine checks of the area. Now I think the police do a fantastic job in unbelievable circumstances, and whilst you might think otherwise, I think this was a great bit of community policing. Their willingness to approach an unknown situation (they had no idea what I was doing, just as I had no idea who they were) could have resulted in a totally different outcome. For all they knew I could have been a dog walker who had fallen and broken a leg many hours ago out on the hills unable to return to my vehicle. The van could have been stolen and dumped there by some low life or another. Or I could just have been in bed getting some well-deserved sleep prior to an early morning run. Whichever it was, it was as likely to end in a load of grief for them as my initial thoughts had been for what I was going to face when I opened the door. Despite the shock of the unknown when they tapped on the window, and the disturbance of being woken up, I’m more than glad they did. As I mentioned, personally I think that’s a great bit of pro-active policing and should be applauded. I could sit here and rant and rave about the police state checking up on me, invading my privacy, getting in my face etc. Or I can see their concerns, their genuine, polite, friendly and approachable manner and their professionalism and dedication to doing their duty. I’d say that was a job well done gentlemen and as I said at the time, thank you and please don’t apologise for waking me up. They were doing exactly the right thing and it makes me sleep a bit better at night knowing that there are people like that out there at all times of the day and night, in all weathers, doing an incredibly difficult job, looking out for all of us. So, thank you guy’s and please don’t hesitate to knock again. Oh, and bring your mug’s next time and I’ll make you a brew for your troubles! Anyhow, moving swiftly on. The real reason I was out in the van in the first place was to get March’s Marathon a Month effort ticked off. With a planned early start I’d had hopes that I’d still have enough of the day left (and enough energy) to do something more useful with my time once I’d finished True to form I was up early and ready to go just after 07:00, with the plan being to run the route I’d previously run in June 2020 from Kingsclere up to Combe Gibbet and back. A handy 13.2 miles each way and all off road to boot. It’s a lovely little run this, provided it’s not too windy as the wind tends to absolutely whip over the hills here making for some hard going and sapping your morale on bad days. No such problems today though and despite there still being a chill in the air due to the early hour, there was no wind and only a slight cloud cover which looked like it would burn off later. With the sun still rising behind me it was all up hill for the first half (and seemingly not all downhill for the return leg), but the trails were dry and firm and despite the uphill gradient my legs felt fresh and full of energy. I’d been taking it easy all week as my ankles were both giving me a few problems and not running on them had certainly helped. I’m guessing that they are always going to be my weak spot, or Achilles heel, and if I’m not careful it’s easy to overdo it and hurt myself. No problems today though and things were feeling good, almost too good in fact and I had to keep on telling myself to slow down. This is a marathon and not a sprint, there’s no point in killing myself in the first couple of miles. Things soon settled into a steady pace, and it was great being able to look down on the surrounding North Hampshire countryside as I made steady progress along the ridge line. After the first couple of miles it’s a steady drop down to cross the A34 before a long slog back up through woodlands to regain the height again. You can appreciate why there was so much opposition to the routing of the A34 through this area, as it’s an unusually unspoiled for the South of England, with no other hint of human interference apart for some long barrows and other prehistoric earthworks for miles around. No time for archaeology today though, it’s onward, ever climbing, with stupendous views over Burghclere and Highclere (home to Downton Abbey) with Red kites and Buzzards soaring at head height along the ridge in front of me and the Sky larks singing in the fields alongside, it’s a lovely day to be out in the fresh air. A short pause at the half way mark to take in the view from the high point at Combe Gibbet whilst stuffing my face with a hot cross bun (the running food of champions) and then it’s back the way I’ve come. It’s amazing how different things look from the other direction though and there’s still plenty to be admired as I make my way slowly back towards the van. Having seen only a small handful of people in the proceeding miles it’s a bit of a shock to the system as I get to within a couple of miles or so of the finish and the numbers slowly increase. It’s amazing how close most people stay to the safety of their tin cans, never venturing more that a mile or so from the car park and all seemingly congregating on the same parking hotspots. By the time I get back to the van, 4 hours after setting off, the car parks heaving, with people queuing to get a space. Some change to last night then when I was the only person for miles around! A fraction over 4 hours for 26.5 miles of off-road fun and another marathon a Month ticked off. What started off as a “Can I do a marathon every month” 17 months ago has now become a bit of a ritual and has given me something to look forward to and aim towards every month during the long Covid lockdowns and restrictions. It’s not been easy though, finding the motivation to get out there through the winter on my own, knowing that I’ve got at least 4 hours of running ahead of me and trying to keep the routes different and interesting. Hopefully not much longer now though, with the end possibly in site and a return to more organised running and the opportunity to spread my wings a bit further afield drawing ever closer. Fingers crossed I’ll see one more socially distanced marathon effort in April and then we’ll be able to get involved with a few more people to brighten things up a bit. A bit of competition will hopefully do my pace wonders too, with people to run with and someone to pace against making the efforts a bit easier. It’s all to easy to fall into the “taking it steady trap” when you’re on your own. Watch this space and let’s see what the rest of 2021 brings. After Saturday’s marathon efforts and an afternoon on the allotment when I got home (Brassica’s, leeks, early peas sown and a few other odd jobs ticked off) Sunday called for an easier day. Things didn’t quite work out like that though, as once I finally got going, I managed to get a fair bit done! I’ve been saying for ages that “Project Patio” is nearing the finish line and after a good day’s work on Sunday the backs finally broken on it (The patios back that is not mine. I’m made of stronger stuff than that). There’s still plenty of finishing off to do of course, but all the slabs are now down, the washing lines ready to go back up, hopefully to coincide with the better weather, and there’s no more piles of mud, bricks or sand to trip over. The tool buckets been emptied, and the cement mixers wrapped up safe and sound for a few months awaiting the next project, the wheelbarrows gone back to the allotment and all that remains now is the good bit. Sowing seeds, planting plants into the new beds and kicking back with a few beers to admire my handiwork. Like that’s going to happen; I’ve been ignoring the allotment, bikes, woodworking and other projects whilst this one’s been ongoing. I’ve got 6 months of other stuff to catch up on and its nearly summer. Now where’s my tent and walking boots, that should give me plenty of thinking time to plan the next project! Oh and before I forget, I’ve racked up well over 500 miles on the bike so far this month between commuting to work and going down to visit “The Old Cheese” last weekend. With the van averaging about 500 miles on a tank of fuel that’s a saving of approximately £80, which is handy as that’s what the replacement exhaust pipe is costing too replace the bit that fell off at the weekend!
Hopefully the replacement will get here in the week, but it’s not a job I’m looking forward too. Laying on your back, manhandling a length of heavy van exhaust into place with one hand whilst trying to hold the other end is never easy. Of course I could just take it to the garage and get them to do it, but that will at least double the cost, if not more, and I’m not sure my legs have got another 500 miles in them to cancel the labour charges out too! It’s been a bit of a “bitsa” week this week, that’s “bitsa” as in bits of this and bits of that, but nothing really worthy of note. I managed to get bit of adventuring in over the weekend with an extended cycle trip down to the coast to see “The Old Cheese”. Before anyone start’s pointing or throwing stones, in this case due to the circumstances, it is a fully legitimate and Covid compliant trip, although judging by the amount of traffic about and the number of people milling around, I’d say that any pretence that we were still in a lockdown has now gone fully out of the window. Having cycled into work on Friday morning with my overnight kit, I was away in good time Friday afternoon and back on the bike for the 60 mile leg down though the South Downs National Park towards Brighton. After the midweek gales trying to blow us off the face of the earth, Friday wasn’t too bad and what wind there was, despite still being pretty blustery, was almost blowing from behind so didn’t cause any real problems. It’s not a bad little route this, sticking mainly to quiet back roads and passing through a number of pretty little villages, whilst avoiding all the major urban areas until you get right to the coast. Despite a heavy rain shower towards the end and a general feeling of tiredness in my poor old legs after a full week of commuting into work by bike and running, it was quite a pleasant day to be out and about, and with the rolling terrain keeping things interesting and a few bigger climbs thrown in too stop me from getting complacent, the miles fairly flew by and I made my destination well before dark. Obviously having made the journey down by bike, at some point I was somehow going to have to get back home again and after a good day with “The Old Cheese” on Saturday I was up early to retrace my steps (or should that be peddle strokes) on Sunday morning. On the road before the traffic and with the sun shining, the first couple of hours of the trip back were lovely and it wasn’t long before I’d had to stop and strip off a couple of layers. Unfortunately that didn’t last long, as by the time I stopped for a brew at about 09:30 the wind had picked up considerably and was blowing, coldly and strongly, straight in my face! Not to be downhearted though there’s only one thing to do when it’s cold and the winds in your face and that’s to man up, get your head down and get on with it! Luckily, as I mentioned earlier, the terrain throughout is what you would probably call rolling (or hilly if your that way inclined) which gives the odd bit of shelter from the wind (normally when your going uphill anyway), and stops it from becoming too much of an in too wind slog, whilst helping to kept the effort levels up and stopping you getting too cold into the bargain. The gods of weather must have been looking down favorably on me though, as the rain managed to stay away until I got home, when I kid you not, it absolutely threw it down just as I was putting the kettle on having put my bike away and got in the back door! Now what are the chances of that happening? It’s normally the other way around and it stops just as you get in. Not a bad little adventure then and better too have put 140 miles into my legs than added to the traffic and pollution by doing the same journey in the van. Free training as they say, and what’s not to like about that! In other news, it was “The Emmas” birthday in the week and you can’t let a birthday go by without a birthday cake. There was however 2 small problems with my cake plans 1) The pesky Emma was at home whenever I was, so it’s wouldn’t be much of a surprise and 2) I couldn’t be doing with making a special journey to the shops just to get cake stuff. Not insurmountable problems by any stretch of the imagination and a little bit of lateral thinking and a quick bit of tinkering once “The Emma” had gone into work for a night shift had this little delight knocked up in short time. A packet of supermarket cookies, brownies and Cornflake cakes and hey presto, one comedy birthday cake. Job done! And that’s about it for this week, a quick trip up to the allotment Sunday afternoon to check that it was still there after the midweek gales gave me the chance to check on the seeds I sowed a few weeks back and I can report that everything has now germinated (That’s early Cabbage, Sweet peas and Broad beans).
The Goosberry’s and Current’s, along with the Rhubarb are just starting to show signs of new growth too and the Robin’s were busy in the hedge singing their hearts out, showing off and trying to attract a suitable mate. All further signs that spring is on its way along with better weather and the chance to get out and about a bit more. If it stays warmish and looks promising for next week I’ll look at getting a few more seeds sown in the greenhouse and start thinking about sowing Chilli’s and Peppers on a warm window sill to give them a head start soon. Unusually I got a bit lost while I was out running on Sunday morning. Well, I say unusually, it’s actually quite a common occurrence as navigation certainly isn’t one of my strong points. “The Emma” will quite happily tell you that I never know where I am and although I’ve got better over the years, I’m certainly no Captain Cook. What’s me being lost got to do with anything though, I hear you ask? And why has this week’s exciting blog post started off on such a tangent? Well, whilst being where I shouldn’t have been, I stumbled across a strategically placed information board telling the tale of 3 Spitfire pilots who had come to an unfortunate end in the fields below, during the Second World War. (Link) Pausing to reflect on the loss of 3 brave young men and take in the picturesque view of their last resting place, my thoughts turned to how many of these little placards and information boards there are scattered around our countryside and just how much history there is around us. We notice on a regular basis how every village, no matter how small, has a war memorial marking the sacrifice of their parishioners, but until we take the time to look, we miss the smaller intricacies and history of the countryside around us. I commented in a blog post back in September 2020 about Gilberts story (another unfortunate tale from the First World War) and mentioned in August how easy it is to miss the little things around us, as we tear through life at a million miles an hour, safely enclosed in our steel cocoons. It’s not just memorials to those that fell in the 2 wars that abound in our countryside either. Within a couple of miles of home there’s a plaque commemorating the part the Railway Navvies played in creating our modern railway network. Laboriously digging thousands of miles of tunnels, cuttings and embankments by hand, putting in place the network we still rely on today. The Basingstoke canal, picturesque running location and beauty spot that it is now, was built in the same manner a few years earlier and likewise carries a memorial to those that suffered and toiled to create what was the motorway network of the day. In our brave new world of automation, computerisation and endless free time it’s almost impossible to imagine the back breaking graft that went into digging these outstanding civil engineering projects by hand. But dig them by hand they did, and often faster than we can manage now with all our mechanisation. They also took the time to add a beauty and craftsman ship to the structures they constructed along the way, something which is sorely missing in our modern drive for speed, low cost and simplicity. Surely, the additional costs are worthwhile if we can create a beautiful, yet functional space, instead of a tin shack, which, whilst functional does nothing to enhance the area around it and will be just another eyesore in a few years time. No matter where we look human hands have had some part in shaping the countryside we inhabit today. Whether that be prehistoric man moving massive stones to build their Henge's and burial mounds, or middle age castles, with their impressive fortifications and earthworks, to more modern times, with the introduction of mechanised farming and the creation of larger fields and massive transport and infrastructure projects. A lot of these things go unnoticed as we rush around trying to fit as much into each day as we can. Something I’m as guilty of as the next man. The joy of running, walking and cycling though is that you’re out in the countryside and by travelling at a slower pace you have plenty of time on your hands to look around, take in the world around you and spot those little intricacies. Even travelling at cycling and running speed it’s amazing how much you miss compared to walking. I’ve cycled the same routes many times and not noticed things until I’ve laced up my walking boots and plodded slowly along the same piece of road. Back roads and county lanes often have small plaques and strategically placed benches (ideal for a lunch stop) placed in memory of some local character or noteworthy occurrence, details we miss as we speed past in the car. Likewise, Churchyards carry a wealth of history from times when the church was the focal point of village life and often offer a secluded and sheltered spot for the weary traveler to rest awhile and contemplate their journey. As we fly through life at a million miles an hour, cramming more and more into each day, maybe we are missing out on some of the more important things in life. Trapped in our cars and centrally heated houses we can’t hear the birds singing or feel the bite of the cold North wind on our face as we struggle into it. Sitting at a computer all day we don’t feel the tiredness and aches that come from having put in a solid days toil. Moving bit’s of paper from one pile to another we miss out on the satisfaction of standing back at the end of the day to admire our handiwork with a sense of pride, or being able to say to your grandchildren in years to come “I made that”. I’m not suggesting for one second that we go back to “the old days”, progress is progress and should be embraced, but I think that there’s a lot to be said for getting outside, enjoying the world around us and slowing down a bit. I suspect some sage or philosopher will have uttered the immortal words “the slower you go the more you see” at some point, and if we slow down and look around it’s amazing what we will see! In other (actual) news, you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve finally made some more progress on “Project Patio”, turning my attentions to the final area (for now). The plan for this bottom bit is a row of slabs around the periphery with a gravel infill. Originally the whole area was slabbed over but I think it needs something to break up the monotony of just slabs and as there’s a drain cover right in the middle which needs to be accessible (don’t get me started on that one previous builders!) I think gravels the best bet. The paved perimeter will still provide plenty of hard standing for some plant pots for a bit of summer colour and give easy access to the washing line and shed so that’s the current plan. You’ll also be pleased to know that the cabbage seeds I sowed a couple of weeks ago have finally broken through the surface of the compost. There’s no sign of the Sweet Peas or Broad Beans yet but I’m keeping my fingers crossed. Looking back at this time last year we seemed to be a few weeks ahead on the growing front, so I guess that this year’s been a bit colder than 2020 was. By 24 Feb last year I had sweet peas and cabbages sprouted in the greenhouse which is a good 2 weeks earlier. My fingers and toes certainly think it’s been chilly when I’ve been out and about on the bike and I’m not going to argue with that! One to share just because! I stopped here for a brew when I was out on my bike Saturday morning. With the early Spring sunshine glinting through the trees it was just stunning. Looking at the photo now just makes me want to pull on my running or walking shoes and get out there and investigate where this path goes to! |
Paul PerrattOld enough to know better, young enough to still feel invincible, stupid enough to keep on trying the same thing again and again. Cyclist, Gardener, Runner, Hiker, Cook, Woodworker, Engineer, Jack of all trades and master of none, Anti social old git and all round miserable bugger. Archives
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