A bit of a break.

Photograph Quiz:

Photo no. 20:-I started running as a 17 year old school boy. Joining a club on a Thursday night, I was informed that there was an inter club run on the Saturday over the country. It was a pack run so I would be able to keep up with the slow pack. I turned up very nervous. I got changed next to the athlete on the left of the photo. I was amazed that a world record holder and Olympic medallist would spent time chatting to someone who had just started in the sport. Our paths have crossed many times since. Who is he?

Surprisingly, we are still in communication, dear Blog. In January I expected our friendship to have run its course by now ... trudged on its way, plodded out?? However, contributions are still dribbling in for TINY TIMS CHILDREN’S CENTRE and NEWLIFE, so we must do all we can to maintain the flow a little longer! Spent the last four days trudging in Yorkshire; by Saturday, the moors above Cullingworth (where I lived for a time as a child) were well alight, the white smothering smoke billowing in the strong wind which fanned the flames. I certainly didn’t attempt to trudge in that direction although I had planned to do a long loop round taking in Cullingworth, dropping down to Beckfoot, along the Leeds Liverpool canal, up through Shipley Glen over to Ilkley Moor, coming down from Keighley Gate across to Marley where the old running track used to be, back to Ingrow ... a good 3 hours in my present state. The first part was therefore aborted because of the moorland fire. By the time I had finished another fire was raging near the wind farm on Ovendon Moor, at 450 metres, there being nothing to hinder the strong easterly blow. The Sunday plod around Haworth Moor afforded clear views of the still smouldering damage done around Cullingworth, but with the Moor around the wind farm still raging afresh. The wind was still very strong, not helping attempts at damping down; the heather was parched, brittle and dry having had negligible rain in the last month, the soft peat was crumbly and the normally wet bogs were as dry as could be; the reservoirs I passed were seriously low and short of water, quite a depressing sight in the glorious sunshine. I did pass over a meadow full of daisies. Co-incidentally the day before I left to travel north, I was reading about a local student who had been awarded his PhD for work he had done on plant studies. One conclusion he had drawn from his observations was that daisies in mown meadows were significantly smaller than in wild growth areas. This brought to mind a memory of project time at school. My sixth formers were doing such studies and drawing the same conclusions thirty years ago, so science in university has come on leaps and bounds? I don’t know what the mean I.Q. of the average daisy is, but it doesn’t take an Einstein of the petalled world to quickly learn that, if a bloke tries to decapitate with a mower every week, you keep your bloody head well and truly down!! It also reminded me of the time I used to work at the track I mentioned. I learned to used a scythe and the knack of reaping the low stuff took a little time to grasp. My daisies had no problem flourishing!! What are you doing post London Blog?? Legs OK? Eaten your free bag of wiggly jelly worms yet??

Colin