Doing the best that I can, at writing, running and living
The plan had been to knock out a blog a day, but until now I’ve not managed to string much time together to write anything. It is our fourth day in India, and it has been an intense jumble of jetlag (5.5 hours ahead of the UK), crazy car rides and activities. My posts, therefore,… Continue reading India: Day One – Getting There
promo posters from the RSC The Red Shoes Fairy tales in the nineteenth century did not have the Disney gilded happy-ever-afters that we expect today. In the original Hans Christian Anderson story, The Red Shoes contained sorcery, amputations and death with a large side of moral instruction. The protagonist’s happiness comes quite literally in the ever after,… Continue reading Two Plays from the RSC: The Red Shoes / Twelfth Night
The clue was in the name: Sunny Hill Parkrun. To be fair, whatever speed I did here was a bonus, considering that wine o’clock had started around lunch time the previous day. Just to roll up for the start was a win. It was yet another murky day, and cold enough to keep my London Marathon consolation… Continue reading Sunny Hill Parkrun
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
I’m looking at the five tiny bumps in an almost neat line still just about visible across my forehead. They, and the fifteen other small bumps on my person, are the remnants of midge bites from our trip, almost all of them picked up during the marathon. The rest of the group had to deal… Continue reading Dingle Peninsula – Part Two
[I wrote this on Tuesday but the wifi was pants] On a shelf, in the house we’re staying at in Ireland, is a book called ‘I Never Knew That About The Irish’ by Christopher Winn. Millan, my nephew who flew over with his mum for a long weekend, dug it out from beneath the assorted Lee Childs… Continue reading Dingle Peninsula – Part One
It was a race of two halves. I’ve often been told that a marathon’s second half begins at twenty miles, and the second half yesterday was noticeably different from the first. I didn’t expect my hottest marathon to be in Ireland, in September. It felt even warmer than when I ran in Greece for the… Continue reading Dingle Marathon
As we jogged along the road in Cloghane, the American came out of his house with the re-cycling. He cheered us as we hailed him and continued on. It was a small village. Padraig (pronounced ‘Pohrag’) had introduced himself the night before, by the fire in O’Conner’s. His was the only table free in the… Continue reading The Night Before
I finally saw the kite on Sunday – I have decided it’s the same one that has been popping up in the sky for Angela and Anne to gawp at each day, as we always see it around five miles out from Hay. Its silhouetted shape considerately soared above the car’s right side this time… Continue reading Hay Festival – Part Three
theleadlesspencil 