An average pace of less than 10 minutes a mile goes down as a tempo run in my book. So that’s how today’s three miler can be classified. Working from home today, so once again I’ve had the pleasure of a run in the strong, late winter sunshine.
I’m distressed to see so many people mooching around in their gardens, digging and scraping, interfering with the smooth operation of Mother Nature, and generally making a nuisance of themselves. Does this presage some requirement to do something in my own garden? I muse, fearfully, on this question as I tramp round the village. We have a large garden – about a third of an acre – and there’s nothing at all in it at the moment apart from a thick blanket of couch grass, a smashed-up greenhouse, and miscellaneous evidence of good, but unfulfilled, intentions here and there. In a rash moment at the start of the year, I promised M that six months from now we will be self-sufficient in vegetables. She believed me.
The day of reckoning approaches.
