(Inspired/adapted/stolen from semi-rad‘s brilliant blog – and h/t Al Humphreys for making me aware of it.) I hated going for a walk this morning, but that’s nothing new. I also hated sitting down to write this, especially these first few minutes. These minutes are why a lot of people don’t write, and I cannot blame them. Starting to write is … Read More
It’s a cold, grey day in East Yorkshire: a grit-your-teeth day, as the cold nips at exposed flesh and the drifting rain ruins hairstyles, drips from eyebrows and makes everyone grumpy. It’s mid-afternoon and the high street is nearly empty, and the gulls have taken over. They festoon the roof of the Methodist church in an interesting way – and … Read More
The path stretches out in front of me, yet again. I’m using the same photo from Day 4 because it’s the same view. Except it isn’t. I’m looking further, imagining what’s over the horizon – because in a week’s time, I’m going to attempt something stupid. But is it stupid enough? For the last few years, I’ve been trying to … Read More
What happens when you give up on your dream of being a writer? It was the start of 2009, and I was about to find out.
Today I met one of the world’s greatest travellers. I found him hunched down behind a bench, just round the corner from my local Tesco. It was a foul night for a walk, with the rain siling down and gusts of wind flinging it in your face, but it didn’t bother him one bit. He’s seen far worse. This isn’t … Read More
I took a long walk along the beach with the dog today, and the sky pushed me over. It roared and shrieked and howled, great gusts of meteorological rage out of a clear blue sky, and eventually I was flung off the sea wall (don’t worry, it’s only 2 feet high) and lay there on my back, on the sand, … Read More
This morning, I nearly dozed off in a muddy puddle. Oh, I was fine. It was cold, but I was wrapped up in lots of layers, warm as toast. (Is there a more British phrase? I doubt it.) I lay there comfortably, one knee blathered in mud, my face shoved in a clump of grass. In a way it’s now difficult … Read More
The path stretches out in front of me, and I pretend I know nothing about it. It’s a difficult lie, this not-knowing thing. I’ve walked up and down this particular path hundreds of times. It connects to the hometown of my childhood to the city I retook my A-levels in as an adult, preparing for a career in Archaeology. My … Read More