June

[Sweder]

Blue skies shone on my burgeoning sunroof as I set off, dogs in tow, for a sedate 8k across the south downs. Turning to the west I saw the leading edge of a thick white cloud bank ambling towards me. Like huge puffs of rush-hour traffic the airborne duvets appeared to slow as they approached the town as if the sun, now high above the eastern cliffe, were some kind of celestial traffic light.

Beyond streaks of sky blue, the kind of blue to be found on the Manchester City badge, a sort of solar-powered electric blue, laced the far horizon. I chugged on up Mount Harry (aka Wicker Man Hill) as Planet Rock dished up a tasty soundtrack. Radar Love looked set to take the TdJ spoils, the thumping beat driving my reluctant lower limbs up the tree root booby-trap trail. No more speed now, almost there popped up at precisely the moment I most wanted to stop. I ploughed on, smiling at the synchronicity.

Moments later the accolade had been stolen, Golden Earring pipped by the Floyd. TdJ is an unfair business where Pink Floyd are concerned. Their music is so inherently organic, of this earth yet apparently conjured by other-worldly sorts. Great Gig In The Sky – you know, the one that sounds like the longest orgasm in history from Dark Side Of The Moon – floated out through my headphones to curl lazily around me like smoke from the sweetest incense, lifting my spirit and the load from my shoulders. Birds chirruped from the tall grass, others from their hideouts in the thick gorse, but the thing with Floyd, and tracks like this in particular, is these sounds mingle effortlessly with the music, enhancing rather than contrasting. Even the thrum of the breeze, stiffening out of the west as I ran, seemed entirely in time.

On the homeward leg I got welcome assistance from a variety of artists but none came close to dislodging Gilmour and Co. The ‘traffic’ had well and truly stacked up, only missing the impatient honking of horns. No doubt these great skyborne cargo carriers will eventually lose patience, unloading heavily over Lewes. Good job too; the garden needs it and frankly watering duties are playing second fiddle to the lure of Euro 2008.