It’s 1976 and the sun is blazing down on the West Yorkshire Pennine moors. At the young age of 9 and 1/2 I was outside being chased by my younger sister and next-door neighbour, both carrying melted tarmac on lollipop stick in a futile attempt to infect me with the chickenpox virus that the two of them has managed to catch during this record summer heat.
The tarmac had been scraped from the road outside our home where the waterboard had just installed the standpipes as the threat of a severe water shortages loomed large country-wide. Perfect for us though, no more running into the kitchen to fill up the fairy-liquid-bottle water guns we were fighting with. I ran away, again.
It was days like these, summer holidays, still young and full of mischief that I remember fondly. It was these days that ulimately opened up my eyes and soul to beautiful outdoors and started me on a lifetime journey of love and awe in nature.
Little did I know back then what life would throw my way and how much this early wonder would become my crutch of life.
So today I returned; back to where this true love started. It is a place I visit so regularly that should a snail move a blade of grass, I actually think I would notice it.
The weather seems to have its own micro climate and, as you can see from the photo, I never leave home without a rain coat, because today, this 16-mile trail run started and ended in a t-shirt but a lion share of it was wearing a waterproof jacket. 🙂