Its Christmas; and with it comes all things wintry. Pale shadows darting among the fir trees as I cut my way through the woods across a hardened frosty track. As I run, I see clouds of breath billow to the left and right across my face as I turn north and then south. The recent storm has left the forest ravaged, branches and ivy clad limbs scattered and strewn on the ground. Wind-Chill. I disturb a deer which trots off away from me. Grey squirrels forage for pine seeds. I glance up to the grey translucent sky as I come to an opening. It gives nothing away. Still no sign of snow. As I break from the trees, I feel the wind carrying the frozen whisper of the Norse gods from the east. I am ready for the Snowqueen’s hordes, for the onslaught of the night hag. Those Yule lads haven’t got near me this year. Spoon licker and Window knocker got close. I have dug out my Christmas Jumper, knitted by Missus Mac and feel that annual pull northward.
I have, at last, finished 'Lanark' by Alasdair Gray. If you asked me to summarise it, I would struggle to adequately describe the 581 page book and perhaps only to say that if they made a film of it, It would be one for David Lynch. I imagine Dante would be the scriptwriter, or at least have a hand with Hieronymus Bosch in the set direction. There were long sections of the book that were highly readable with a flowing narrative based in and around Glasgow. However, elsewhere, things were substantially more surreal. I have now throttled back over Christmas to Ken Follett’s slightly less cerebral offering, 'The Man from St Petersburg'.
A few weeks ago I managed to run two thirds of the Cross Country race in
Durham before pulling up. I started late, well after the
slow group had started. I realised that after two laps that this was about as
much as I wanted. With nothing at stake and with light snow flurries, I was
happy to put the day behind me and re-group.
I’ve still not fully recovered from the hip thing I had and have been
treading water for the last 3 weeks or so, knocking out some good training runs
and some not-so-good runs. I have, all
in all, had a really good season though and was in rare form in the late
summer. I have no races booked in, but should manage the cross country at Thornley early in January.
If, however, I don’t, its not such a disaster, darlink.
I have been lucky enough to receive some lovely Christmas
pressies this year including a new pair of Saucony’s and 6 or 7 seven books to
keep me going well into 2022. I also got a dvd set of the films of Pressburger
and Powell. These films are thoroughly
British, and, to be more precise, probably thoroughly English in the same way that I consider Elstree and the works of Morris, Elgar and Williams. I guess you
could also squeeze in Holst’s ‘Venus’ into that pastoral thing. Anyway, The Canterbury
Tale, a 2 hour wander through the heartland of rustic Kent was great last night.
This stuff beats the nonsense and covid obsessed offerings that dominate the
small screen. Yes, I even had Alistair Sims’s 1951 ‘Scrooge’ on. Another black
and white masterpiece. Next it’ll be Will Hay (Aunt Aggies favourite). The cyclo-cross has also been excellent on Eurosport. As I wait for this cold to dry up, I have an
idea of running a few fells over the next week or so. It’s the 3rd cold I’ve
had in 2 months which suggests that I need to be getting more citrus and less patisserie. Citrus and lemsips. Them and zinc, apparently.
The forecast is for unusually warm weather, but a change as good
as a rest. The snow will arrive…eventually…
