Bless me father for I have transgressed. It’s been 2 or 3
months since I last blogged. In that time I have mostly mooched about and lost
contact with reality. My 2007 Mortlach is finished and has been replaced by a
Glendullan of the same age and hue. They could be the same whisky.The heating is on again and the gardens a state. who cares?
The cold weather that marked the middle of February has given way to much milder conditions and with it, my mileage has recovered. It’s a pleasure to get out in a short sleeved top as the thermometer nudges into double figures. I clocked three ten mile runs over the weekend, threading my way through the linked couples and threesomes who have resurrected that old social ritual of promenading, even if they lack, in some cases, its craft. Half of them in great long downy padded coats that look like they’ve inadvertently come out wearing their sleeping bag.
I have noticed that it’s a struggle on some days when starting a run to get my
heart rate up and, as a result some slow starts simply develop into slow
sessions. The snow, when it arrived, was a joy to run through and my heart soared as
I tramped through the woods with the snow flakes cascading down falling between the
branches above. It was an easterly and the snow was that kind of a crunchy affair.
I tumbled across a dear tentatively lunching on a bush. It darted down the bank
and into the iced undergrowth. I didn’t have my camera with me anyway. Later I heard a woodpecker. Somehow a little comforting to bump into
wildlife. That made the expiry of the mouse we caught in a humane trap in the
garage that bit sadder. It was cold by the time I got to it. I found another one dead in the back garden. It looked
like a cat had caught it. Tough times for mice.
I am plodding through Archer’s ‘Kane and Abel’ which according to the inside cover has been re-published more times than I’ve put the kettle on. With the charity shops closed, I have had to revert to amazon to source my reading material. I’ve had a good run so far this year with O’Hagan’s ‘Mayflies’, an introspection of a coming of age and, later, the death of a friend; Francine Toons gothic tale ‘Pine’ and Hanif Kureishi’s ‘Intimacy’. I enjoyed Patricia Highsmith’s ‘the Talented Mr Ripley’. I’m sure there’s been another that I have forgotten but the bookcase beside my bed has been cleared in preparation for some decorating. A likely story. Alberto Tyszka’s ‘Sickness’ arrived today and I’m expecting David Nivens autobiography later this week. There's still Stephen King and some Heinlein to get through Got to keep it varied.
I have checked the NHS website today and it’s the 60 year olds plus that can step up for their dose of the future. Some of the running buddies have had it already and they’ve had no adverse reaction, so that’s reassuring. There is some talk of the Parkrun being restored early in June. That’s still at least 12 weeks way. We’re in danger of our lives drifting away with this lockdown business. I might become a solitary bee. I have singularly failed to re-invent myself over the last 12 months. I really should have grasped the downtime more firmly to learn something new. That said, I haven’t been furloughed and, until last week, was pretty busy, so I can cut myself some slack. The glimmer of light was a 19:48 minute 5k, 3 weeks ago on my todd. However, that form wasn’t reproduced as I clocked in a 43 minute 10k a fortnight later for the club virtual handicap thingy. Still, God loves a trier. There’s more chance of some cycling time trials arriving before running events, so I’d better dig out the bike again. I put in an enquiry to Dundee Thistle and I might pay my twenty quid and buy one of their striped orange creations if theres any that fit.
Marg had a trip yesterday when she was out running and is off work today with a hurty shoulder. The daughters' are all treading water in terms of their athletics. Difficult to get yourself motivated. Aunt Aggies in the kitchen and torturing me with smells of fresh leek and potato. and that’s just her smalls.. With no bread this morning in the bread bin, I dug out some flour and yeast and I’m now in charge of something forming slowly in the front room. It’s morphing into a creature from a John Carpenter film, rising with modest threat over the radiator in the front room. Not sure if I’ll bake it or use it to re-tile the bathroom. I’ll let you know the outcome.
