It must be a sign of my age. My wife goes off to work, and what do I do? Slip out to the pub? Invite my mistress round? Fill a frying pan with lard and sizzling pig parts? Get my dusty Fender Stratocaster out of the loft?
No, I dress up like a schoolboy and run around the countryside for ten miles.
But it was a good run. I never quite recaptured the euphoria of last Sunday (over the same route), but the jaunt had its moments today, and overall, this was a splendid way to spend 107 minutes on a Saturday afternoon.
The sun was out again, but weaker and cooler than last weekend. The first half mile was cheerless and businesslike. In that time, I came across a number of open-mouthed, Polar explorers on their way to the Co-Op, but apart from them, and the teenagers on their ponies later on, approaching Bradfield, I think I came across no non-motorists over the entire ten miles.
After a half mile I was warm. The transition from cold to hot happens quickly. Like a jug being filled with warm water. Blood racing across a sheet of blotting paper.
The stretch down the tree-lined path through the estate was probably the highlight again. I was puzzled by the squirrels I saw here on Tuesday. Isn’t January way past their bedtime? I’m no squirrologist, but I’d have thought they’d be hibernating by now.
The hills were still there, though I had to stop and walk on only one of them this week. A good sign.
