Yesterday, and last Friday, I did what I should perhaps have been doing for some months — went for a lunchtime run from the office.
Bracknell, a town of roundabouts that funnel traffic towards yet more roundabouts, doesn’t have a great reputation as a picturesque location. A place to work rather than to live. And yet I’ve recently found that around this fallow, futuristic core, are fringes of civilisation — and even quaintness.
On Friday I went out for a 3 mile run that accidentally became a 7 miler. Lost in Bracknell. Easily done, as one vista looks pretty much like the next. Yesterday I took a different route and found a long, rustic track leading to the pleasant village of Binfield — a place in which I have some historical capital invested. About 25 years ago I was a regular visitor here. A friend lived in a cottage in the grounds of some huge house, and hosted regular weekend parties — the sort of social events that gave the youth of the day a bad name. One day, when I no longer have to worry about keeping my job and my marriage intact, I’ll probably write about them.
On my run, I was in danger of drifting into a spell of maudlin self-reflection, but my attention was arrested by a track-suited woman waiting at the end of a leafy lane. “Oh good”, she said, “Someone to run with”. And that was it. Saved from the torture of happy memories.
It turns out that Kim works for the same company as me, so no doubt we’ll team up again.
That’s it for now. The palm trees along the Almeria seafront are waving to me.
