Doing the best that I can, at writing, running and living
Am I a writer who runs or a runner who writes? Such is the question that has been worming its way around my head for the past hour while I should have been sleeping. It’s now four o’clock in the morning and I have given up the battle of trying to sleep and crept into… Continue reading Insomniac Indecisions
Ancient Greek myths seem to abound at the moment. On top of the raft of books re-imagining stories such as Pat Barker’s The Voyage Home, and Madeline Miller’s The Song of Achilles, there is, of course, Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey, which I haven’t seen yet. Outside by London Bridge Foyer - this is a really comfortable theatre The… Continue reading The Oresteia – The Bridge Theatre, London
‘Snowdon Walk this Sunday…Would you like to join us?’ said a line in Claudia’s Facebook post on our running club page. My first thought was: that would be great, I’ve never been up Snowdon before, followed swiftly by: no I really can’t, I’ve put a long run down for that day. This was on the Friday, and… Continue reading Hiking Up Snowdon – And Week 1
Happy New Year ‘Come, Aunty Rita.’ The twelve-year-old puts her hand out to the fifty-two-year-old in order to gently guide her to the deep end. She’s actually my granddaughter but when I first began assimilating myself into Anne’s family, her parents thought ‘Nannie’ was too old a moniker for a forty-something, and now the ‘Aunty’… Continue reading How Did Those Resolutions Go?
I’m sitting down with a nice glass of our Biddenden wine, that we'd bought in Kent, and watching last night’s Celebrity Traitors. My calves are a bit sore because I’ve exercised today for the first proper time since Friday last. Before today I was seriously contemplating getting the woodbines that it sounded like I’d been… Continue reading Coughing My Guts Out, and Awards
Coming back home a week after the new year began has slightly discombobulated me. Of course, as the Gregorian calendar has been adopted by/forced upon the whole world, the new year happened at the same time in Mumbai, give or take a few hours. But I couldn’t just begin a new regime in the middle… Continue reading A Late New Year
All the neighbourhood Parkruns are cancelled. Anne and I are hunkered down in our living room and I’m watching the rowan tree outside wave its arms around like Kate Bush in Wuthering Heights. There’s no moorland here but it is certainly wild, and I can hear the gusts groaning inside the chimney as Storm Darragh… Continue reading HRV and Club Christmas Dos
I am having swimming lessons. I had my first one on Halloween. I was hoping that I’d be clear of the house before the hordes of ghouls and imps came knocking but they’d come and cleaned us out of our thirty-six mini packs of Skittles before I’d even got my cossie in the bag. I… Continue reading Swimming
It was a day that didn’t quite all go to plan. We hadn’t been to Stratford-upon-Avon in a while with one thing or another. So, we were looking forward to rocking up to our usual stay at the Premier Inn in town for a new performance of Othello at the RSC theatre. The hotel had… Continue reading Stratford-Upon-Avon: Othello
I immediately wondered if I was ingesting a gazillion microbes alongside the ancient waters pouring out of the lion’s mouth at St Ann’s Well because it was peculiarly warm. But it tasted pleasant, and I stored some in my water bottle for later hoping the reported healing properties might do a little something for my… Continue reading Buxton: Dr Louise Newson
