Parnell Reserves

It's been a while since I’ve put pen to paper, so to speak. Not because that there isn't anything worthy of report or comment. Far from it. There's plenty upon which I could bash out a blog or two. But it's all so dark and miserable and that's not what I want this blog to be. But I can't just give up writing (shame I hear you say!). So here is a more traditional "what we did on our holiday" account. Not that we're on holiday of course but you know what I mean.

With the other half of the household off to get a culture fix, courtesy of Bill Shakespeare and the Pop-Up Globe, I found myself with a free afternoon to while away.

My first reaction was to grab a box of chocolates, plonk myself on the couch and catch up on unwatched movies, box sets or a level or two on my trusty PS4. So even though some wise person noted that time you spend enjoyably wasting isn’t wasted time, or words to that effect, it was far too nice a day to while away indoors. The sun was shining, a gentle warm breeze was blowing and it would’ve been a real shame to miss it by sitting in front of the gogglebox. Besides, it was so bright that the screen was barely visible. Couldn’t see a thing. It was hopeless. So outside it was.

After a liberal application of factor 50+ I was off. But where to go? Town would be rammed, the beaches equally so, and I’ve been to the Domain numerous times already this week. Ahh, what was called for was a stroll through the reserves....or small parks if you prefer a more familiar phrase. So, if I could be so presumptuous to be able to divert your attention from world affairs for a few moments, here is a mini diary of my afternoon stroll.....

Being in Parnell, we are lucky enough have a multitude of options on our door step. Not only are we very close to the city and a short run from the beach, but we also have a few hidden green gems. By carefully plotting a route through quiet suburban streets it’s possible to link the reserves and get from Parnell to the neighbouring suburb of Newmarket. It’s a nice route just to walk but I had another goal in mind. 

Within a few minutes I was in my first of the reserves, Scarborough Reserve. Only the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bang from the port belies the impression that you are in the New Zealand bush. Miles from civilisation and out on your own. Except you’re not. Within a few hundred metres there are residential dwellings. Call it a trick of the light or just good planning. Either way it doesn’t take long for suburbia to loose it’s grip.

Within a few minutes more, the open greenery gives way to natural bush courtesy of Alberon Reserve. Okay, so I’m not sure it it’s natural or not but it could be as it looks just like all of the others I’ve been in. And they were. So in the absence of any other evidence I’m claiming that it to be so. Here, away from the glare of the sun, the palm trees rustle gently in the wind and Tuis (they’re a bird in case your wondering) belt out their song. Or songs. Or, if you prefer, their impression of R2D2. It’s uncanny. Don’t believe me, well pop over here and find out.

Unfortunately the reserves don't go on forever so periods back in the suburbs or needed. Thankfully, given that the sun is at it's strongest this time of year, pōhutukawa trees offer brief respite from the searing sun. The tree flowers from November to January with a peak in mid to late December, with brilliant crimson flowers covering the tree, hence the nickname New Zealand Christmas tree. And they are simply stunning, if a little short lived. Pretty soon, especially if a summer storm comes through, the flood will be stained blood-red with hundreds of thousands of tiny fronds.




Once out of the shade and shelter of the bush, traditional New Zealand Villa’s line the street. A what is a typical New Zealand villa I hear you ask? No, well I'm going to tell you anyway. The Victorian villa began to appear from around 1860’s when Europeans started arriving in large numbers. Built completely with native timber, NZ villas were generally single storey detached buildings, although two-storey villas were common in affluent suburbs and where land was scarce. With decorated verandas, high ceilings, small windows and wide hallways, they have been a part of Kiwi life for generations. It can be said though that the villa was built for appearances, meaning that there was more thought put into how it looked from the outside instead of how it functioned inside for the occupants themselves. In other words....bloody cold in the winter!

The next reserve, Ayr Reserve, is the largest on the route. The path winds down a steep, bush covered slope and runs along a gently babbling brook for most of its length. It's lovely down here - cool and quiet and a good place to make up some distance without worrying about dehydration or sun stroke. Just as I emerge back into the light I hear the familiar summer sound of willow on leather. 

Cricket! Thomas Bloodworth Park is the home to Parnell Cricket Club and a game is in full flow. I stop briefly to watch.....nope still can't understand the rules.....so press on up Ayr Street into Newmarket Park. Whilst I get my breath back from that hill, here's what Wikipedia has to say about Newmarket Park.

In the early European history of the area, the gully containing the park and the Slaughter House Creek (now Newmarket Stream) was used as a rubbish dump. In the 1930s, an employment scheme created a flat area on the higher western slope of the gully, approximately half-way up to the railway line. This initially served as an athletics track, and later for midget car racing and as a golf driving range. After being leased by the Auckland Football Association in 1962, it became the site of New Zealand's national football stadium, with many international games played here. However, in 1979 a large landslide occurred, which took away one of the grandstands and part of the playing field. After this, the park fell into disuse, with another large landslip also occurring in 1988.

Now, and especially today, Newmarket Park is a splendid place to take a breath, grab a drink of water and enjoy the last place for peace and quiet. Soon we'll be in Newmarket. Right can't put it off any longer. Final push....

The last few streets are full with the scent of Star Jasmine. This fragrant smelling plant is quite often found in flower beds and growing up and around walls in Auckland. More often than not, you can smell it before you see it as it's scent is so distinctive.

A quick dash through Newmarket Rail Station and we're here. As this is the second last Saturday before Christmas, Broadway, the main street in Newmarket, will be full of shoppers. In this heat it's not for the fainthearted so luckily it's only a short scoot along the street to my final destination, and the only worthwhile destination in Newmarket. The Lumsden Free House! Yey! I just hope they’ve got a nice cold beer waiting for me......

Weathering the Storm

Feels like just yesterday it was Christmas and now summer’s back. Hurray summer’s here and time to break out the BBQ and dust of the jandals? Yeah, nah. It’s going to rain for 10 days.

MetService has reported thunderstorms today, rain tomorrow, and rain until the end of time. Not quite the end of time, maybe some sun tomorrow. A bit of sun and then it’s raining again. Forever. Some weather outlets have gone a little bit optimistic and are suggesting some sun between the storms. I’ll pick that one. If only it was that easy. Maybe if we all think really hard about it we can will some decent weather for the weekend. Is it too much to ask? Haven’t we earned it? Tell them they’re dreaming. 

And for once it’s not just Auckland that’s getting a little damp. Wellingtonians, perhaps feeling a little smug because of the beautiful day they had on Sunday 11 November, can go jump in the same puddle: it’ll be raining in Wellington for 10 days as well. You could fly to Christchurch tomorrow if you’d like to see a clear sky. But I wouldn’t bother because thereafter it’ll be raining here, there and everywhere. For 10 days.

Except it won’t really. Well, it will, but not entirely. Maybe. One so-called-expert noted this to put our collective  minds at ease.

“When you have to do a weather forecast, you can only choose one icon to represent the entire day. We know almost every day there’s going to be a big downpour or period of rain but we don’t know how long it’ll linger for. So even though it looks like it’ll rain nonstop, you might find some of that will fall overnight and then you wake up and the sun’s out and most of the day is dry.”

Sounds like something a politician would say.

“This low is so large that it’s also got large areas of dry, sunny weather in the middle of it.”

But every cloud has a silver lining. 

“The farming community are over the moon about the rain coming in for Auckland because it’s drier than normal at the moment. A lot of gardeners and growers desperately want this rain. We want that because if they’re too dry before we go into summer, that lifts the prices of all the fruit and vegetables we buy locally.”

Complain now about the rain or complain later about the price of strawberries? Why not both? Why be reasonable about a bit of rain when there’s nothing better than complaining about normal weather? I assert my right as a Brit to complain about the weather, even though I know it’s much better than I would normally associate with this time of the year. After all we’re not happy unless we’re complaining about something. This will be every Aucklander on Sunday when they wake up to the pitter patter of pesky rain.

But from experience I know it’s only the weather forecast and not the weather. Yes, it may be a little damp, but it will be warm and when those pesky clouds do break you’d better watch out. The rain will have washed off the sun block and those rays are just looking for a friendly face to grill. Or they could just be wrong. Maybe that rain isn’t going to arrive and it’s all balderdash? On recent evidence that certainly seems to be the case. More sunny with cloudy intervals than rain with occasional sunshine. Whatever it is, I’m going to make the most of it. As a t-shirt I saw in a shop in Keswick wisely noted, I’d rather spend a wet day outside than a nice day in the office. I’ll drink to that. Cheers!

We Are Not Amused

If there’s one thing that’s guaranteed to hog the headlines more than rugby, it a visit by members of the Royal Family. In fact, since The Royal Couple (TRC) touched down a few days ago, there hasn’t been a single mention of The ABs. At least I don’t think so. Err, well I assume not because since TRC arrived in New Zealand I’ve been giving the paper and its media offshoot a wide berth.

Actually that’s not entirely true. I did, whilst munching on my lunch on Monday, accidentally spot an article that picqued my curiosity;

“Where to go to avoid the royal hoopla!“, shouted the headline, it’s bold lettering almost jumping off the page. Not this was interesting, if not a little ironic considering that New Zealand is (generally) a great place to avoid any such royal shenanigans. Was it suggesting anywhere convenient? Alas no. Only places where the royal circus wasn’t going to be visiting. I went back to my lunch and munched on a carrot.

For the past few days, TRC have been in our fair city of Auckland and boy has it been wet! Not typical British-stiff-upper-lip wet but proper monsoon-soaked-down-to-your-undies-if-you-dare-step-out-for-even-a-second wet. Despite that, it didn’t seem to phase TRC and as they got about getting about their business. Fair play. 

To make sure their visit went without any incidents, one half of the city centre was closed off to traffic which, given Aucklands dire traffic problems, was probably a wise move. Especially when you consider just how rubbish the drivers are - I may have mentioned this previously - and the cities sudden infatuation with green electric scooters. How bad would it look on news channels across the globe if a member of the Royal Family was filmed going arse-over-tit as a lime green scooter whizzes past? Indeed.

But if the weather misbehaving wasn’t enough, New Zealand had another trick up its sleeve. To round off their New Zealand experience Mother Nature served up a good old slice of drama in the form of an earthquake. This, a magnitude-6.2 shake wasn’t huge by New Zealand standards, but it was enough to give Parliament enough pause to....well....pause and everyone else a good rattle. 

The press, maybe short of a new angle for TRC, were happy to report that they weren’t harmed by the quake and that they battled on and kept to their schedule. Good for them! It is perhaps less impressive when geographic location had more to do with it than the aforementioned British stiff upper lip. But good effort anyway.

This evening, they’re visiting the museum in the park behind our house. It’s not that I’m paying any attention to their itinerary, or that I’m invited them round for tea and biscuits later, but it’s hard not to know with all these helicopters buzzing around. I can hardly hear myself type.

Despite my protestations above, it’s generally a good thing for New Zealand to have such high profile visitors - it certainly puts the country on the map - and if nothing else it deflects the country’s obsession with everything rugby. For a short while anyway.

In a few days everything will be back to normal. The world’s press will look for another circus - there are plenty of those at the moment - and we can go back to being the country at the edge of the world that does things in its own quiet, yet magnificent way.

Happy Returns

I’ve had some really memorable birthdays over the years, some marking milestones and others just for the sheer audacity of making it through another year unscathed.

The trip to Switzerland in 2000 to celebrate my 30th birthday was one such milestone. How could I forget staring out of the window of a train whilst it climbed slowly up and through a Swiss mountain to Jungfraujoch. Shame it was so foggy and cold at the top. But hey, it was October. Then, upon our arrival back into the UK, we swapped the majestic alps for the tranquil Yorkshire Dales and a birthday celebration with my family.

My 40th was spent with friends in a large farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. I still marvel at the success of that weekend and in particular wonder how-on-earth the delivery driver of our rather large curry order managed to find the house in the pitch black. Especially as, he was quick to point out, he had a phobia about sheep! Killer sheep I presumed at the time but it didn’t seem appropriate to ask.

Then, of course, there was my first birthday in the Spring. How what a difference half a world makes. Basking in the sun certainly made a change from sheltering in the rain, even if I did miss out on our traditional trip to Bellingham.

Then there are other. Others whose details are somewhat lost to the mists of time.....

I have recently unearthed a box of jumbled photos. Well, when I say unearthed, it was actually tucked away at the bottom of a drawer in the study and has been there ever since we left the UK and arrived in New Zealand. Anyway, much to my pleasure, and no doubt my friends horror, I’ve had a truly enjoyable time sifting through this treasure trove of memories and sharing the results on the internet. Although, if I’m being honest, the true enjoyment has been putting some order into the jumbled chaos. I do like a good sort.

So with all of the memorable birthdays mentioned above, quite why I ended up standing in a muddy, ploughed field just outside our hometown of Hartlepool in 1987 on my 17 birthday is a bit of a mystery. I think it had something to do with a treasure hunt or an orienteering challenge, but I’m not really sure. What I do remember, very vividly, is getting Lloyd Cole and the Commotions’ rather fantastic second album Easy Pieces on CD from my parents. It was a good choice for a gift. Not only was it an album that I wanted, but it was the very same one that I had already bought for my Dad’s birthday just a few days later. After all, why buy an album for yourself when you can just buy it a gift and then copy it? I suppose there are worse places to spend your birthday than in a muddy field with friends....which sort of reminds me of all those camping trips we squeezed in before the weather really turned nasty. It’s almost as if by going camping in October we were denying that autumn, and by association, winter was on its way.

As for today? Well the sun is just poking its head over the horizon and today has all the hallmarks of a typical Auckland spring day. A little cool at first then warming to a very pleasant 18 degrees with the chance of some rain later. Of course. Whatever the weather throws at me, I’m sure there’ll be some running involved and perhaps a beer or two with friends. And who knows perhaps I can find a muddy field, just beyond the gaze of the city, to go and stand in and wonder why on this day, some 31 years ago, it seemed such an attractive proposition. 

Cheers!

The View from Over Here

Wow! Being back in blighty after a few years’ absence is a weird feeling, part excitement and part apprehension in equal measure. I wasn’t sure quite what I’d think of the place but was keen to find out. It has, after all, been a tumultuous period for the UK. So, although not strictly a blog from New Zealand, here are my observations (in no particular order) on being back in the UK;

Scenery

It has been said, on more than one occasion, that New Zealand is one of the most beautiful countries on the planet. And it is stunning; from sub-tropical beaches to snow-capped mountains. But I had forgotten just how wonderful the British countryside is. My short walk along Hadrian’s Wall brought this back into focus; rolling green fields, stone walls, gentle babbling brooks, copse covered hills and jutting escarpments. Sublime.

And whilst we’re on the topic of the great outdoors, a nod has to go to the weather. I thought the British weather was usually a washout, especially this close to Autumn. At least that’s how I remember it. But so far it’s been on its best behaviour. High five!

Football.... real Football!

Ahh, association football! Where have you been? Yes I know that we’ve just had the World Cup and with that an opportunity to see some live games, but there is something to be said for being able to casually watch some coverage without having to get up in the middle of the night. It’s a whole lot better to watch a match fully awake and with a beer at your side. Unless of course you happen to be watching Middlesbrough. In which case the beer helps but being awake probably doesn’t. Of course I’m only joking......

The Long Mile

Stop being bloody awkward and adopt the kilometre will you! Or at least be consistent. It’s not big or clever having some signs in miles and others in kilometres. Besides, you went metric decades ago so why the unhealthy obsession with miles? 

It’s no fun when you’re a runner being told on a signpost that there’s only ‘1’ left to go to your destination only to remember that it will mean miles and not kilometres. You actually feel like you’re making progress when you’re counting down kilometres. Yes, I understand that there are more of them to count down but it just feels better. Come on, you know it makes sense. And that reminds me.....

Where’s the Fire?

Why is everyone in such a rush to get where it is they’re going? Is there some existential race that everyone has entered without telling me? On the short journey from the airport I was genuinely surprised by the speed and ferocity with which cars passed. I was half expecting to look in my rear view mirror and see a T-Rex stomping down the A1. 

And it wasn’t just limited to the highway. Even on foot, in supermarkets or in the high street, everyone seems to have a determination to get where they’re going in a short a space of time as possible. Listen, and I say this from a position of deepest respect.....it’s not a race. Slow down, you’ll feel a lot better I promise!

Automatic for the People

What is it with manual gears in cars? After over four years of driving various forms of automatic shifting cars from little compacts to Toyota Hiluxes I can honestly say I’ve embraced this advancement in automotive technology. Yes advancement. Why on earth wouldn’t you? And don’t give me that “it’s not proper driving” line. Of course it is, and besides, maybe if you had one less thing to do whilst driving you’d have more time to devote to more useful operations such as.....of, I don’t know.... the indicators? Just a thought. 

Money, money, money

What on earth has happened to the money? I got some cash from an ATM and it seems to have a life of its own. I have tried folding it, squashing it and pressing it under heavy books only to see my efforts undone within seconds as the bloody stuff springs back open. I foolishly tried to contain the cash it in my wallet only to have it nearly take out an eye when I opened it to pay for some drinks. It’s certainly feisty stuff so thank goodness for the rise in popularity of contactless payment. Not only is it more convenient and reduces the need to carry around tonnes of metal coins, it will also reduce the number of visits to A&E and make the job of bar tending a far less hazardous occupation.

And If You Know Your History

In all fairness, I hadn’t forgotten that the UK has some pretty spectacular historical buildings, but it did take a walk along the aforementioned wall to remind me just how much of it abounds. There’s so much of it’s almost embarrassing. I came across an old stone cattle trough that was being used as .....well a cattle trough. In other countries it would be taken away and preserved in a museum as a national treasure and not used as a means to distribute food to animals.

York, one of the stops  on my itinerary, dates back to 71AD but it is believed that people inhabited this area as far back as 8000BC. Faced with those set of numbers, it’s no surprise that one can become a little blasé about history. It’s just sort of here, there and everywhere.

Suds

If there is one single startling difference between the two counties, it’s probably the preference for the temperature of the popular alcoholic refreshment. In New Zealand there appears to be a competition to see quite how cold the beer can be served. From super-chilled beer to refrigerated glasses, no stone has been left unturned in the quest to get the liquid to as close to freezing as possible. The UK, on the otherhand, seems quite amenable to hardly bothering to cool the drink at all. Why go to the expense and faff of refrigeration when people are perfectly happy quaffing it at room temperature? 

At the risk of being ostracised from my homeland, I much prefer my beer to be served with a slight chill, although not so cold as to risk throatal-frostbite, and a few bubbles didn’t harm anyone. If  you’d asked me four years ago what my preference was, I’d have quickly told you that beer should be at room temperature and definitely not have any fizz. But four years of living in New Zealand has changed that, well slightly anyway. Besides, flat beer served at room temperature just wouldn’t cut it in a Kiwi summer.

And here’s the thing, there’s no right or wrong - it’s just a matter of personal preference. Taste if you like. 

Trains not Planes or Automobiles

Well would you look at that! What a great idea...and it might just catch on. I’d forgotten just how great it is to be able to travel by train. I’m mean proper travel and not just scooting around a city. Actually getting on in one town and then being whisked to the centre of another. New Zealand does, of course, have trains but not what you’d call a train service. Yes you can get on a train in Auckland and travel to the capital Wellington, as long as you’re prepared to devote the whole day to the journey and don’t mind not coming back until Thursday.

I’m sure that there is still plenty to complain about but at least you’ve got something to complain about, if you catch my drift. 

Brexit

I couldn’t leave a blog about being back in the UK without mentioning the unmentionable. When the result of the vote was announced, the view from New Zealand was one of bemusement. A bit like being the only sober person at a party and watching in disbelief and puzzlement as one if your friends gets riotously drunk and proceeds to tell everyone in the room exactly what they think of them.

Being closer to the action, as it were, hasn’t helped and if anything the situation looks even more chaotic up close with neither Party being able to decide what it was that the population actually voted for. I deeply suspect it wasn’t this. There isn’t long now to sort out whatever it is that needs to be sorted - and the list is getting longer by the day - so it’s going to be interesting watching it unfold, albeit from a safe distance!

It has been a genuine pleasure to be back and I’ve enjoyed every minute of my all-too-brief visit. It’s been great to be reminded of things that I’d forgotten, to see what’s been going on in my absence and check out all the changes. But one thing that hasn’t changed is the welcome I received from family and friends. Within moments of meeting, the four years of absence melted away and we picked up exactly where we left off. And, at the risk of sounding mawkishly sentimental, that is what the UK really means to me. It’s a place where I can go, no matter where I’ve been or for how long, and know that I’ll be met with open arms. 

Right, that’s enough of that! I’ve got a flight to catch and in only twenty eight hours time I’ll be back in NZ. Easy as!

The Long Not-So-Good Night

It you thought it was a long way to Tipperary, then it just takes a journey from New Zealand to the UK to put that into perspective. Tipperary, no matter how far it is proclaimed to be is a walk in the park. And a relatively short walk at that.

Although I apologise for the seemingly whiney tone of this entry, especially in light of just how lucky I am to be able to just decide to hop on a plane and head home for a week or two, it’s something that I have to share. There are some out there who will have experienced this particular itinerary, but for those who haven’t, or are contemplating it, read on.

If a 28 hour journey seems daunting, then good. It should be. Just a relatively short time ago, a trip such as this would’ve taken months and would’ve consumed a families life savings. In other words a one-way trip of necessity. Air travel, on the otherhand, is much more forgiving and less life threatening. But I guess everything is relative. 

I certainly wasn’t feeling over-positive when I boarded my first flight yesterday evening, a simple four hour hop across the ditch to Melbourne. So far so easy. But it wasn’t that journey that was bothering me. Nope it was the next leg of the journey. A butt-numbing 14 hour slog from Melbourne to Dubai then, for deserts, after a short two hour stop in Dubai another seven-and-a-half hour final leg to Newcastle. 

In theory, sitting in a chair watching movies or binging on box sets whilst you are served food and beverages seems like an ideal way to spend some down-time. Ordinarily, particularly after the last twelve months I’ve had, I would’ve snapped your hands off. But no thank you. Not this time. Not in this way. You see it’s not the time, once you get your head around the idea, that’s easy. Nor is it the surroundings because that doesn’t really matter. It’s the darkness. The seemingly endless night. 

That’s one of the major downsides to travelling east to west, the sun never seems to rise.  It was dark when we took off from Melbourne at 8:30pm and remained so for the rest of the fourteen hour journey. God knows what it’s done to my body clock - we’re not only 90 minutes out from Newcastle and the sun is shining. Broad daylight. I think it’s Thursday lunchtime, or at least that’s when were due to land. Or as I prefer to call it, Friday morning, as that’s what time it is in New Zealand. Conventional wisdom says that you should try and convince yourself that it is the time it actiually is in your destination. That’s great advice except my body clock isn’t listening. Doesn’t care. It wants me to sleep evening though its broad daylight and, judging from experience, it will equally expect me to rise from my well-deserved slumber at some god forsaken hour tomorrow. 

Listen to me go on about the perils of long-haul air travel. What a knob and yes, I’d be the first to admit it. Actually I think I just did! 

The Importance of Being Idle

As first days on the dole go, yesterday was pretty good. How I came to be unemployed for the first time in my working life is the subject of a whole separate blog. But let's just say it was time to move on.

Waking up on a Monday morning knowing that you were not expected to go to work, not today or the following and not on holiday, was a strangely liberating feeling. Free to do what you want to do and go where you want to go. Admittedly that liberating feeling lasted all of two hours and then was quickly replaced with blind panic. What had I done? Was I stupid? Who on earth quits a job without having something else to replace it? How on earth was I going to fill my day? And what about those that stretched out into eternity before my very eyes? Holy crap!

At least the sun was shining. A whole day to fill with something meaningful. The possibilities were endless, as long as it didn't cost too much money. There was only one thing for it. Running.

A quick run around the park wasn't going to do it - that was far too convenient and would be over too quickly. No, I would have to make a bigger gesture than that, something that I couldn't ordinarily do without taking time off work. There was only one thing for it - catch a ferry somewhere and run back towards the city.

So that is how I found myself at the ferry terminal in the city in the middle of the rush hour, but heading in the opposite direction to everyone else. Whilst dozens streamed off the 08:35am Half Moon Bay service, only three of us boarded; me, a retired bloke and a housewife. Not that I know any of this as fact but why let the truth get in the way of a snap judgement. At least now I knew what retired people do with their days - travelling around on public transport, drinking tea and wandering around doesn't seem like a bad way to spend some time. I could get used to that.....except I couldn't. I'm not very good at being idle. Sure I can play at it for an hour or two but it's just not me. And when I do give it a go, I might look like I'm doing very little but inside my mind is whirring. At bit like a duck - all looks pleasantly calm and serene on the surface but underneath my proverbial legs as going like the clappers.

Speaking of which, that is exactly what would be happening in just over ten minutes. Half Moon Bay wharf was quickly approaching which meant that my run back to the city was almost about to start.

It was only after a few minutes of running that I accepted that I wasn't going to make it all the way back to our house. Earlier in the morning I had been flirting with the idea of completing the whole 30km run, albeit at a relatively slow pace, but the effects of the previous day's run and the training session the day before that were making themselves known. Tired legs. Not something that helps when starting a long run.

But what a wonderful day to be out. Although the sun was still low in the sky, there was sufficient heat to make me regret not wearing a lighter top. Nothing I could do about that now, time to press on. The path alongside the bay was relatively quiet with only a few people out walking dogs, pushing prams and generally taking in the fresh almost-spring air. With the tide being out, and particularly low, some boats gently swayed in the breeze whilst others  lay on the sea bed at a jaunty angle, waiting for the tide to come in and put them on an even keel.

It took a good 5km or so for my legs to ease up but once they did I was in my element. Running without a particular timetable and with stunning coastal scenery to help drive me along. There's no better way, or none that I have found, than running to help organise ones thoughts, put things into perspective and illuminate a way through the fog.

Not that there was much fog. Within an hour the temperatures has hit their usual winter mid-teens and I was beginning to regret not bringing any water on the journey, instead opting to use the drinking fountains that were scattered along the route. Expect they weren't where I remember them being and far too spread out. Blast!

I'd like to think that it was the lack of hydration and not lack of fitness that caused me to cut the run short but I rather think it was the latter. Well that, and the fact that I had just passed a very nice looking cafe which oozed home-baked aromas onto the footpath. What the heck, I'd covered nearly 20km and it was getting towards lunch time.....or at least well into the elevenses hour! Coffee and cake it was then.

What a way to spend your life. If every day was like this; a leisurely breakfast, a long run in the sunshine and refreshments at a local cafe I'd be as fit as a fiddle. Who knows what I could achieve. Maybe finally break the four hours for a marathon time, how about an ultra or having a seroious crack at a triathalon? Providing the cake wasn't too large of course. I was just contemplating this when my phone made the all-too-familiar noise. An email had arrived. Ah well, might as well see who on earth can be contacting me at this time. It certainly can't be work related I mused, unless they'd lasted a whole two hours without having to call me to help them out.

Oh! And there before me, on the sun dappled screen was the antidote to my endless leisure time.....a job offer. Ah well. Thank goodness I hadn't gotten too used to this lackadaisical life. The Olympics would have to wait, there was work to do.