Little things to make me smile

Old farts railway adventure Portchester

When we got off the train at Portchester station, it was hotter than either of us had envisaged. We’d set out on our Old Farts Railway Adventure knowing it would be warm. It was 25 June, after all. We hadn’t expected the sky to be quite so cloudless or the sun so hot, though. From my previous trip with CJ in 2015, I knew it was about a mile from the railway station to the castle. A mile is no distance, and at least I knew the way. Even so, when we passed an old-time bus going to and from the station, I was miffed we hadn’t known about it earlier. It would have saved us a hot walk and brought back memories of hopping on and off the dodgy platform at the back as kids.

Highgate Cemetery – so much to see so little time

When I planned my Highgate Cemetery visit, I’d imagined a quiet, contemplative stroll, stopping now and then to read an inscription on a grave. At the gate of the East Cemetery, it was clear this would be an unfulfilled dream. Thanks to the train delays, I had too much ground to cover and no time. Despite the information sheet and a map of the famous graves, the chance of finding more than one or two seemed slim. All I could do was wander in the general direction of the most famous grave, that of Karl Marx, and enjoy whatever I stumbled upon along the way.

Where is my bench?

Friday 13 January may not have been the most auspicious of dates for my inaugural 2023 walk, but it was the first non-stormy day that I felt well enough to risk venturing further than the local shops. It was still cold and windy, so I planned a route that gave me plenty of chances to cut things short if the weather turned nasty or my post-Covid tiredness got the better of me. I began with a slow stroll along the cut way beside the old St Mary’s College playing fields. I wanted to see if building work had started on the site since the College closed.

Parkrun tourism and a wedding

Our parkrun tourism on Saturday 4 June was a little out of the ordinary. It was the Queen’s Platinum Jubilee, and Commando wasn’t running because of a minor injury, but that wasn’t what made it strange. It was actually the wedding day of two of our friends, Helen and Andy, and they were beginning their nuptials at the twenty-fifth Bartley parkrun. Bartley parkrun is in Totton, so at least we didn’t have too early a start, although it took us a while to find the venue. It’s also a very new parkrun. Race number one was on 18th December 2021, and Helen and Andy have been part of the core volunteer team from the outset.

London, the old, the new and the curious

The glorious ruined church, St Dunstan in the East, might have been the highlight of our whistle-stop tour of London back in May, but our visit didn’t end there. We found a path to the River Thames beside the church of St Magnus the Martyr. This church, founded in the early twelfth century, was one of the first buildings destroyed by the Fire of London. Christopher Wren rebuilt the current incarnation. With a little more time on our hands, we might have looked inside. As it was, like Nancy in Oliver Twist, we passed it by. Being in the middle of final edits on Seventh Daughter, the connection with the Dickens’ classic my Nancy had read with Sam seemed fitting.

Reflecting on life and death

Saturday 13 August, and my walk through the Old Cemetery was more reflective than usual. Last Saturday, a good friend, and one of the kindest men I know, ran his last parkrun. The whole running community was reeling in shock. Big Dave Hawkins was a familiar face at local events. He organised the pacers for all the big races, the Southampton Marathon, Winchester Half and the Great South Run. He always had a smile and a cheery word of motivation. It was hard to think that I would never experience either again. Out on the flats, Run Director Kate Budd was giving her pre-race briefing. I could hear her voice through the megaphone, and I knew she would be talking about Big Dave. Hearing her words was more than I could bear, so I scurried off to this place of peace and reflection.

A surprise palace

When Commando said he fancied taking a different route home from a visit to his sister’s house on 8 March, my first thought was that I was glad I’d charged my phone. His shortcuts and alternative routes often end up with me frantically looking at Google Maps and trying to give him directions. When he asked me if I knew where we were, I had no idea, but I could tell by the look on his face that he had something up his sleeve. It was clear we were on one of his magical mystery tours, but knowing this didn’t make me any the wiser. When I saw the ancient ruins, I was still clueless.
‘You must know where we are now,’ he said as we stood looking at a crumbling tower and moat.’ It’s Bishop’s Waltham Palace.’

Monks Brook Meadows revisited

Back in the summer of 2018, when I was having regular torture sessions at The Running School, I often walked across Monks Brook Meadows to Stoneham Lane. It was a place I discovered, back in April 2015, on a nature and history walk organised by a local councillor. Finding this wonderful alternative to walking along Wide Lane felt like a huge bonus, and I took advantage of it regularly. Even in 2018, I knew things were about to change, and I suspected not for the better. On 20 April 2022, Commando had a session at the Running School. It was a beautiful sunny day, so I went along to have a walk while he was being beasted. I hadn’t walked that way since late summer 2019 when Kim and I were training for the Clarendon Marathon, so I was interested to see what had changed.

A fresh start

There’s something to be said for starting the day off with a nice walk. When that day also happens to be the first day of a new year, doubly so. It helped that the first day of 2022 dawned crisp and cold, a truly golden start to the year. After all the madness of the last two years, I hoped this was a good omen for the year ahead. I’m fairly sure I wasn’t alone in being tired of all the panic, rumour, conspiracy theories and restrictions at this stage. Commando and I strolled across the Common, admiring the layers of gold, grey and blue through the bare branches of the trees. The wonderful Gareth had already been round putting out his signs and the set up crew were on the flats putting out the poles and chains of the parkrun finish funnel. The sky was the real star of the show though. It looked like being a beautiful morning, which was just as well, because drizzle would have put a dampener on my plans.

Another pandemic Christmas?

Christmas 2021 was a controversial event. The new Omicron variant of COVID had been tearing through the population but the powers that be were divided on what action to take. On one hand, there were loud calls from some for another stringent lockdown. On the other, there was a lot of evidence that the new variant was relatively benign. The result was a combination of confusion and apathy from the general public. The nations of the UK were divided in their approach, which didn’t help with the confusion. Luckily for me, restrictions in England were ruled out before the New Year. Dire warnings were issued by those who disagreed — hospitals would be overwhelmed — millions would die — it would all be the government’s fault. Hyperbole was flying around like Christmas tinsel. As for me, my Christmas morning was spent at Southampton parkrun.

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