The Shropshire Way Run Part 1: From elation to exhaustion

The run is finished! I'm still in relative bemusement that I have made it through the week with comparatively little by way of injury, toenail loss, digestive issues and mental exhaustion, but incredibly, here I am, on the other side, enjoying a brew and contemplating how quite to tell the story of last week...

I've decided to break down the week into three sections, it feels right as I feel too much detail would be lost by lumping it all together, but then not dragging out each day with the usual 'I had yet another steep hill to climb' drivel... so here we go: Part 1.




0615 felt far too early to drag myself out of bed, and I did momentarily wonder why on earth I was getting up at that time, and then joltingly remembered that today was it - six months of training, planning and cajoling people for help had culminated into a loosely cohesive expedition to run the Shropshire Way.

It even felt odd having to go to a prescribed start line; my previous adventures having always started from the front door of where I was staying. Walking with my mum who wanted to see me off, we bumped into one of my teachers from school - what a surreal moment to be divulging a condensed life story to Mr Brown, just minutes before starting the next chapter.

Excited to get moving!

It felt wonderful to finally stretch my legs and take those first few strides away from the bandstand, my mum and Sarah wishing me luck. I was filled with plenty of energy from a severe taper, and I was chomping at the bit to get some miles under my belt.

And she's off!

As I made way out of Shrewsbury, there was a wonderful feeling of excitement that I had to keep a little in check - not wanting to burn out on the first day, or indeed, overdoing it so I manage to twist an ankle in the first few miles and then sit on my backside for the rest of the week with a face like a fish...but as I hit the first hills, my lungs breathing the fresh air and hair whipping around me in a frenzy in the strong breeze, I felt at home and thrill of what I was doing well and truly hit me,

I made it to Bridges - a small hamlet with an excellent pub. Those first 16 miles had zoomed by; it had been good foresight to recce that first section of the Way after all, if only to settle my nerves on the Monday. From this point until the final day, the entire trail would be virgin territory for me, the majority being routes, hills and towns that I knew about, had talked about with people, could even visualise, but had never been to, and would struggle to place on a map.

Pub time!

All this, I pondered over some pasta and a brew, whilst my dad settled into his role of support crew for the week - aka spending a great deal of time roaming around the country lanes of Shropshire, and exploring all the towns that he'd cycled through on many occasions, but had never spent much more time in.

But it was time to be off: a change of clothes and a quick stretch, I trotted off to the first significant checkpoint of the journey - Stiperstones. This is a local landmark, a truly stunning, other-worldly ridge of rock that carves its way through the landscape, with a fantastic craggy outline that looks like nothing I've ever seen. I've been here before, but I've never walked along the entire ridge, and to reach it from the very bottom of the hill (roads from all directions are very steep to reach this Site of Special Scientific Interest and Nature Reserve) felt like a huge achievement in itself, never mind dodging all the cows and the pats in the fields leading up to it.

It was impossible to run along the ridge itself: the walks are made up of irregular rocks that jut out the ground, so much so that you try and trot a few steps and before long you've caught your foot on one and nearly go flying...so you check yourself, walk for a few steps, get to section that you think is runnable, start to trot, you catch your foot...

To make it to the trig point felt like a real milestone - with the hills stretched out all around me, I knew and felt myself to be on the edge of the true wilds of the county. My dad pointed out a few of the hills that I would be encountering over the next few days; I have to confess I didn't listen all that well: I was too busy enjoying that blustery wind and drinking in the scenery.

I started to head southwest, towards Bishops Castle, making my way via 'The Rock', where I attempted my best (terrible) Shirley Valentine impression - luckily noone was around, although I'm certain a few sheep sniggered at my pitiful efforts.

Crossing over Linley Hill gave me perspective on the sort of landscape I was heading towards - a few small hamlets dotted here and there, plenty of rolling hills and narrow lanes to separate them, with Bishops Castle practically a conurbation by comparison.

The final few miles towards the end of day one, the novelty of starting had not quite worn off, particularly as I was bolstered by a farmer shouting good luck to me - he'd seen my picture in the local newspaper and asked 'if I were the one doing the whole Way'...yet another surreal moment to add to this extraordinary Monday.

I came barreling down the high street in Bishops Castle, plenty of passers by looking on and clearly wondering why this woman covered in mud was hurling herself down the road with a slightly manic gleeful grin on her face. But I'd made it, day one complete! All that was left was a good pub dinner and a decent shower and stretch to round off a glorious day - I'd covered 27 miles, further than I'd ever gone in one day on two feet...

Squeezing into Bishops Castle

Best building in town - zip and jigsaw house?!?!

Slightly sore back of my right knee, so plenty of hot-cold therapy was had! 

Tuesday dawned: summer was still trying to make itself felt, grappling with autumn to have a final few days of fun before retiring for the year. I awoke early, with a sore right knee, but apart from that nothing that required any significant attention.

I struggled to eat however - whilst dad tucked into kippers eggs and toast, I struggled my way through my usual breakfast: the stalwart that is porridge with jam, something that I normally enjoy with such readiness, felt like thick paste in my mouth, and clung to my innards as my body attempted to digest it. Eaten by any other porridge lover, it would have been a dream in a bowl, but for me on that day, every mouthful was a real effort.

Ready for the off

After checking maps and togging up, it was time to get out and running once more. The next eleven miles were a contrast: low-lying sheep-filled fields, the grass thick with dew that soaked my feet in minutes, interspersed with brutally steep inclines and descents through woodlands and farms. Each incline was worth the sweat dripping down my nose and screaming calves - reaching each summit afforded yet another glorious view of the rolling countryside I'd immersed myself in for the day, the sun now high in the sky, bathing each miniature valley with golden light.

It was a stunning descent into Clun (the lunch stop for the day); I ran along a grassy ridge before it gently sloped its way down towards the small town, reaching the River Clun and winding its way through green lanes and more fields until the ruins of Clun castle were in sight.

For all the glorious scenery however, my body was not appreciating the extended activity as it usually would: eating was becoming an issue, and my brain felt tired from the continued efforts of navigating and checking the path for potential obstacles (ask any runner, and they will tell you that trail running is exhausting for the mind as much as the body, as there is the added element of focus required to keep your feet on varied and unexpected terrain - a grassy field, for example, may seem appealing, but it actually a minefield for mini craters made by farm animals, a recipe for disaster in the ankle department!).

I took the executive decision: it was time for a serious nap. I struggled down some food and then bunkered down in the car whilst dad took the opportunity to frequent the local art gallery and museum (incredibly Clun, despite being the smallest town England, has both an art gallery and a museum?!). As I dozed off a storm raged outside, thunder and lightning and heavy drops beating the car.

The rain started to ease, and I knew that this was the moment to get ready and go.

I took it very gently, pottering my way around and over Sunnyhill; Mistyhill may have been a more appropriate name - the trees were shrouded in thick mist, the storm having done very little to abate the muggy, thick air.

Easing into the afternoon

But my spirits began to lift as I flew down the hill and on towards Kempton. It was a fantastic trail to follow - simple tracks that past crumbling cottages and farms with gaggles of geese and swarms of young pheasants. I whooped and felt the pains of the morning lift, hurtling through the woodlands and fields.

Even the final climb up and over Hopesay Hill did not compare to the arduous trudging that my heavy limbs had dealt with in the morning; the climb was brief, the view glorious, and the descent muddy - just how I had envisaged it.

I caught glimpses of Stokesay Castle on the final few ascents on the outskirts of Craven Arms - this is  apparently the best-preserved medieval fortified house in England (makes it sound like a very robust bowl of branflakes...), but it was a beautiful sight to behold as I made my final strides of the day.

Day two, was finished. My legs were feeling tired, my knee still aching a little, but my mind was refreshed and I was hungry - I could not wait to eat!

The 'not-so calm' before the storm...

This past week has been rather varied for me.


Today, the nerves have well and truly hit me, and as much as I want to maintain some perspective, I have gone from feeling so sick I've needed to pull over in the car, to dancing round the kitchen dancing wildly to Earth Wind and Fire (note: the latter is not out-of-character behaviour for me, but it is presently a result of giddy nervousness as opposed to pure joy and/or intoxication).


September has crept up far too quickly for my liking, and I now find myself with just one full day remaining before I begin my merry jaunt around Shropshire on two feet.


I can scarcely believe it has been six months since I dreamt up this rather wonderful plan, and although half of me is wishing I just had one more week to prep, the other half knows full well that I would probably faff and not get one extra job done in that additional time.

Taking a moment...nothing like climbing a tottering wall of straw to rid yourself of nervous energy!

At best, I would currently describe myself as scatterbrained and jittery. I know I have jobs to get done, and kit to find, but I have become that person who cannot quite stick to task, starting a new task before finishing the current one.


The taper has gone surprisingly well, though I have felt a little like a caged animal at times. I got to stretch my legs a little on a short trip in France - the weather was sublime and I couldn't resist a couple of short runs in the mountains: my mum wanted to celebrate turning 50 this year by cycling up Alp d'Huez, so the family (minus Josh who was gigging) and friends joined her in this feat.

Beautiful Bourg D'Oisans

I was gutted to not be on two wheels, and spent  alot of time there feeling inordinately jealous of everyone pedaling around and up mountains, but I still got my sporting fix by running up the mountain during mum's successful cycling attempt. It was great to spend time in a place where cyclists are so well respected on the roads - I will almost certainly be making a return trip on two wheels so I can enjoy a glorious free-wheel on some hair-raising hairpin bends.

Since I've been back, it has been all systems go with prep for next week - I've bought a ridiculous quantity of food, and I had my last sports massage from Stevan Martinez at Crossfit SY1: conversations about Robot Wars and ice cream could alas not quite distract me from the knuckles pummeling my calves and quads, but hey, it's worth it, my legs are in as decent shape as I could have hoped for.


So I'm pretty much there! The customary local news piece has appeared, and work on the documentary (yes, I know, this was a surprise to me when The Nomad Productions got in touch and genuinely wanted to make a mini film about the run - I'm already feeling a little bit giddy at the thought of being let loose with a gopro-esque camera for a week!) has begun.


I can also say that the t-shirts that the fantastic Sally Warner (Red Hair and Dangerous) has designed for the event have arrived!! A huge thank you to her efforts and patience for putting up with my vagueness when it comes to designs!

So now, all I need to do, is get myself to the start line...and the madness can truly begin!!!

If you would like to sponsor this effort (running 140 miles around Shropshire in six days) then please visit my Virgin Fundraiser Page. Thank you!!

Can I have a jam sandwich please Mrs Patterson??!

I know I know; it’s been far too long since my last post – I said last time I was busy: I clearly did not use the term appropriately last time!

So this is a bit of a life and training update, with a race report following swiftly…I’ll try to keep it interesting, and keep it light.

I’ve decided to spend a bit more time off Facebook and the like for a wee while – what with the recent political upheavals, I’ve found myself increasingly angry and upset with the understandable conflict between friends and even family. Aside from my own political views, I’m finding it hard to see the wood for the trees, so thought I’d take a step back from it all (not so much burying my head in the sand, as I’m still keeping abreast with what’s going on) but I know that I still have plenty to be getting on with in my own life right now, and I know it will be a much better use of my own resources, instead of spending time worrying about the bigger pond right now….so I hope this will provide a bit of light reading in comparison!

Okay, so the training has been going surprisingly quite well (she says, trying desperately to find a piece of wood!). I’m slowly building the mileage, and enjoying new found endurance that is allowing me to push beyond the old boundaries of my running repertoire, and explore new routes.

Nothing like a spaniel to keep you 'motivated'...it's a backward resistance training session where you are trying to stop the dog from running so fast that you fall over/get dragged into the canal

I’ve also added a slightly more interesting selection of running accessories – I’ve suffered the ignominy of having to purchase a running vest (aka fancy running bag with a camelbak) for starters: I’m not one to avoid buying new kit generally, but I’m suffering from a painful emotional dilemma of feeling both pride and utter humiliation at having to run with such a piece of kit on my home turf…I know I need it, and it has come in real use for carrying food and water, but quite simply, sometimes I feel like a right knob.

Having said this, I’ve had to expand my trail running kit even further, which the bag does help to facilitate.  I have now acquired (courtesy of my parents) a pair of secateurs and a gardening glove (just the one, of course, don’t want to overdo it on the extra weight to carry!) in case of stiles and passages being exceedingly overgrown…although I’ve found them not to be as useful as a trusty stick when it comes to clearing all-encompassing nettles and cow parsley.

The weighing of the secateurs - don't want to be carrying extra weight if a lighter set is available!

And as for nutrition – this has been a whole new kettle of fish: as a cyclist/triathlete, I’m well used to munching on the odd energy bar or gel on two wheels, but the thought of having to do so whilst running was never particularly appealing, and so avoided it…but now I’m running distances which make it a necessity to do so.

So the great food tasting experiment has officially begun! My most recent acquisition in my trail-running carte-du-jour, has been the delightfully simple jam sandwich, on good old cheapo white sliced bread, which now joins avocado and cream cheese wraps, flapjacks, scotch pancakes, and that stalwart of every sportsperson’s nutritional arsenal – the humble banana. Any suggestions on other good food to munch whilst you trudge is much appreciated!

Pondering which is the more middle-class moment - the making of homemade granola and storage in kilner jars, or spending ten minutes trying to photograph said granola...

Cross training has been going very well too – the gang at Crossfit SY1 have been putting me through my paces, and I’m pleased to say positive results are being slowly reaped…I’m getting ever closer to completing that elusive pull up!!

And great news! - There is an open day taking place down at the gym on SUNDAY 24^th JULY which include a load of fun people talking about crossfit, a bbq and beer session from 4pm, and sample classes throughout the day giving you a glimpse of the sort of things we get up to on a daily basis. It’ll be a really chilled event, where you can meet the trainers, and current members, and you get to hear a wee chat from me about my ChariTea Run in September…please come and listen!

Final note/plug – my 140 mile run is taking place 12-17^th September, starting and finishing in Shrewsbury. I’m incredibly grateful to the team at Tweet Up Shrewsbury for allowing me to speak at their most recent gathering, and the very kind offers of raffle prizes from many of the local independent business owners. If you fancy joining me for part of this run, then I would love to hear from you! Similarly, if anyone has an idea for a raffle prize, or indeed, has something they would be willing to donate, please do get in touch! The run is raising money for Shrewsbury Ark, a great local charity that aids the homeless and vulnerable in our community, so anything that you can donate, even if it’s just a few pennies, is much appreciated!!

Right. That’s a fair update on my general comings and goings I think – TTFN chums!

The trails are a-calling! Time to get out a-running! :)

One year on: the reminiscing cyclist

So today is the anniversary of my second day of cycling across Canada…not so significant as the first many folk may think, but for me, day two was the real beginning of the cycling. Day one was all about settling the nerves, finding my way out of the Vancouver, calming the excitement from months of build-up and preparation.

In Canada, everyone who does the cross-country tour knows that day two can make or break you. Get through day two, and you can make it the rest of the way. Because when you’re travelling West to East, you have to tackle the unrelenting Rockies very early on. And for me personally, this was going to be the first time that I was really out in the wilds by myself – May is still technically off-season, and for all the talk I gave to everyone about feeling fine and that I’d done loads of research, I was still essentially bricking it at the prospect of meeting a bear.

Wall of mountains

When I set off from Hope that frosty morning, I remember being genuinely concerned at the gradient of the road from the offset. I’m pretty sure I averaged 5mph all morning. It was a real slog, and the ache from the previous day was setting into my legs, which were still very unused to transporting me and all my gear uphill.

And when I think back to the moment of disbelief upon seeing that summit sign – my first mountain pass conquered - where patches of snow still lingered and the temperature dropped, I still remember catching my breath, laughing with both pride and shock – day two had been completed, I had passed the test.

Further on, there were plenty more challenges to overcome – mental fatigue, running out of water and food, more mountains, flat plains of endlessly long roads, mechanical breakdowns...but even now, I still think back to that day when I used my more than cringe-worthy mantras to get me round the next bend in the road, to take the focus away from the sensation of burning muscles...

My weekends of late have all been about getting the longer running miles under my belt, and this weekend just gone was no exception. I dragged my dad (willing volunteer/victim) out to Church Stretton to run some long miles up and around the Long Mynd.

Heading into the Shropshire Wilds...

And while the hills aren’t as long and there’s no threat of bears, I was very much taken back to that day in Canada by the similar ache in my legs and the soft hail that fell like snow while we jogged over the soft plateau (not to mention the many ‘wild beasts’ that roam on the top of the Mynd…nobody wants to startle the sheep that cling to the steep sides of the valleys…) all followed by the exhilarating thrill of a final descent back towards civilisation.

Although my next challenge is on a much smaller scale in some respects, physically and mentally it presents very similar shaped obstacles to overcome. And it’ll all eventually boil down to whether my brain will push my body out of its comfort zone again. For me, it’s never been about being the fastest, it’s about the sense of accomplishment upon completion.

Where there is accomplishment....

...ice cream there shall be!

My next BIG ADVENTURE!!!

So the time has finally come. I've just spent a week ailing between my bed and sofa in the relative isolation of my parent's house trying to rid myself of tonsillitis. And now that I feel like I'm returning to my usual self, I am feeling confident enough to announce my shiny brand new adventure - HURRAY!!!!!


In keeping with the 'discover my own backyard' theme that I have set myself this year, I have decided to try and complete an off road run. A rather long off road run through the wilds of Shropshire, taking me to places I've only heard about from folk down the pub...or rather, seen on a road sign that I haven't chosen to follow.

No, I'm not planning on wandering around Whixall for six days wondering: 'how the hell do I get out of here?' I'm actually planning to run the long distance route of the Shropshire Way. That's a healthy 130-odd miles (if you exclude the out-and-back bit from Wem to Grindley Brook, which I am) to tackle over a period of six days. So it breaks down into roughly just under a marathon each day for the first five days, and then what I'm anticipating will be a shorter limp towards the finish line.

Nothing like a bit of off road muddy fun!

I'm hoping to start on Monday 12th September, and complete it on 17th, starting and finishing in my home town of Shrewsbury.

So yes, this is what I've been plotting for a wee while now...and as this is going to hurt me ALOT, I've decided to try and put my madness to good use, and to raise money for charity. I've gone for local charity Shrewsbury Ark, because I feel they are doing some incredible work for the vulnerable and the homeless in our community, and would I would like to see them continue to do so. I have no intended minimum or maximum in terms of fundraising aspirations, all I'm hoping is to raise as much money as I can for this great charity.

I'm still very much in the early stages of planning, training etc....so I'm hoping to have some fun checking out parts of the route, looking for sponsors (already thrilled to say that the fantastic guys Dan and Steve have been roped in from Crossfit SY1 - they are incredible and crossfit is brill, so get yourself down there if you fancy a brutal but rewarding workout!) and attempt to document the build up and actual week of the event on the blog.

So now it's finally out there, I suppose I should start some running training?!?...maybe after this brew...after all, it would be insulting to the biscuits if there was nothing to wash them down with...

From the end of one adventure to the start of another...

My problem with #StrongnotSkinny

I’ve not written an opinion piece before, but this is a topic that has been on my mind for a while, so I thought I’d attempt at putting my personal perspective into legible scribbles…

The relatively recent appearance of the hashtag ‘#StrongnotSkinny’ has been considered by many as a step forward in encouraging women to embrace their bodies for what they can achieve, as opposed to solely their appearance. This is something I’m constantly trying to advocate: I have never been skinny, but my enthusiasm for all things sport and fitness has forged a positive focus on what my body is capable of.

However, as every sportsperson knows, the mind is overwhelmingly important in pushing the capabilities of your body to the limit.

One of my toughest days of cycling in Canada - plenty of tears and gritted teeth, but I came out with renewed mental strength and confidence in what I could achieve

And this in turn, has brought me to think about the importance of a healthy mind working in partnership with your body’s physical output. From my own personal experience, fluctuations in my mood (for whatever reason) can easily affect my performance, or even lead me to stop exercising completely (which I realise is rather counterintuitive, given that exercise is likely to release endorphins to boost my mood rather more so than sitting on the sofa stuffing my face with chocolate…but good luck trying to convince me of this when I’m suffering the usual bout of PMT).

So why create a hashtag that may praise one group of women whilst simultaneously vindicating another group of women. I understand that it’s meant to empower rather than condemn, but I feel like it’s very much a sidestep in attempts to move away from the continuous body-shaming that is exacerbated by western culture and media.

I have plenty of ‘skinny’ friends, some of whom are just as, or even stronger than I am – yet this hashtag puts them down for having a body type that they may not be able to change – just as am more powerfully built and would not be able to make myself skinny even if I tried – I can be lean if I make the effort, but I enjoy eating too much.

Mmmm...baked goods

I know it’s meant to be taken as a positive message, but I just feel like it negates any positivity it can create by continuing the pattern of advocating and praising one body shape whilst condemning another.

How is this supposed to foster a positive change in the global female psyche that we are worth more than how we look? This is an exclusive hashtag: one that isn’t embracing diversity, whilst continuing to maintain the focus on physical attributes.

It’s your mind, first and foremost, that is pushing you to your limits; praise your brain for being the part of you that forced you out of the door to go for the run that will release the endorphins and boost your mood…from this perspective, the resulting external changes to your body are merely a bi-product.

So yes, be strong, be and achieve more than what you thought yourself capable of. But first embrace who you are and realise that you aren’t simply a body with moving parts.

Rambling about Rambling

So this is actually happening! I am pleased to report that I have started this rather fun adventure of exploring my home county.

This first idea for a mini excursion was inspired by a book I read once called The Idle Traveller: The Art of Slow Travel, where the Dan Keiran describes his journey home on foot, rather than by car. And having recently moved out of the family homestead (no doubt to the relief of my parents – Dad has been hoarding so much furniture in his shed that Mum was particularly pleased to finally get rid of some, not to mention getting one of their adult child out from under their feet!) I thought it might be nice to complete a similar journey myself, walking back to my childhood home from my current abode.

I’ve made the journey from Shrewsbury back to my house countless times before, driving or cycling to and from school or work, but I have never taken the time to walk the distance before, along the road or through the countryside.

So it was simply a case of borrowing the right OS map from the extensive collection at home, packing a bag with the trusty teapot (because it wouldn’t be right to go adventuring without the Tardis) and heading out on the chilly but bright Saturday morning – my first ever legitimate Saturday off I should probably add; as someone who has only previously worked in hospitality, this is a novelty that will take time to wear off!

I walked down to the riverside, and began striding alongside dog walkers, cyclists, runners and drifters alike, all out enjoying the dry, clear weather. My thoughts were slowly drifting away from the working week, my mind relaxing and filling with wonderful memories of previous adventures. Soon, I was beyond the weir, striking out along the narrowing path that still hugged the meandering Severn.

Setting off!

A group of horses witnessed my first tumble of the day, their whinnies like laughter as I slipped and slid along the muddy track before I eventually lost my footing, coating my knees and backside in wet mud…a classic start Ballantyne…

I reached Uffington and peeled off the Shropshire Way, making for the low-lying fields that would cut off the dog-leg that passed through Haughmond Hill; that section can be saved for another trip..

I'm on my way....uh huh, uh huh....

It felt fantastic to be out in the country again, in a place devoid of buildings so I could feel the full strength of that northerly wind sting my face, and doing something different for me – before I could stop myself, my head began to swell with more schemes, more adventures I could get my teeth into.

I sauntered into Astley along a narrow country land, and paused for lunch in the graveyard of the toy-sized church. It was also a good moment to pause and empty my boots of mud and grit that had infiltrated after so many miles plodding.

Lunchtime!

With each passing mile I was greeted with ever-closer views of Clive Church and Grinshill, knowing that my destination was getting that little bit closer kept the energy in my legs and my mood uplifted, that progress was being made.

After passing through Hadnall, along the woods by Hardwicke Estate, I felt like I was on the home stretch – I knew exactly where I was, and the hill was looming up ahead.

And yet I was brought to a standstill just before reaching the village: the land here has recently been overhauled for extensive dairy farming, and although the public footpath was still clearly marked, I was forced to rethink my route by the swathes of knee-deep mud I’d unwittingly managed to surround myself with. There was no real option other than to forge along one of the cow paths and then re-join the path as quickly as I could…in hindsight I cannot decide if this was the better or worse option: although this route did not offer knee-deep mud, it offered calf-deep mud that was an unpleasant mix of mud and cow poo, which proceeded to seep into my walking boots…don’t get me wrong, I love mud generally, (there’s nothing more satisfying that running a long way through a lot of mud!) but I’m pretty sure this went a little bit too far...I don’t think I’ve ever wished for gators more!

When I managed to escape the mire mayhem, the short jaunt along Sandy Lane into Grinshill was blissful relief – my feet were becoming achy and sore, but I was unwilling to attempt untying my boots to remove the grit; they were still smothered in thick orange-brown paste, my leggings and socks caked.

I felt the wonderful upwelling of fulfilment with every passing step as home came into eye line at long last. Completing a journey, whatever the distance, will never grow old for me – the sense of achievement at completing something I set out to do will always fill me with a sense of pride.

Beautiful Clive church

There was no great homecoming: after 12 and a half miles of tramping through fields, I was greeted by the usual suspects: Stewie, hopping out the cat flap to see whose arrived, wagging his tail and yapping; Tallis leaping at the door because she can’t quite fit through the cat flap; and Candice-Marie, the actual cat in this trio, snoozing on top of the bread bin.

All that remained was to have a celebratory mug of tea, brewed with the ever-faithful Tardis! And to plan the next adventure of course....until next time gang!