A bit of fresh air, a few provisions to replenish and a change of scenery was required so co-ordinates were set for the Big L, and a short time later a mooring was secured by the Waterwitch for the weekend. Dead Man's Hand didn't disappoint and neither did the ale selection....the following day, after checking that the Sharks DID predictably get beat yesterday and feeling a whole lot better it was soon time for the return trip on a perfectly still autumnal Sunday morning.
The towpath comes alive on Sundays and I always enjoy observing the runners who use it. Firstly there are the ones with muscly legs, nikey vests and little tight fanny packs (snigger!), all highly focused and probably connected wirelessly to the planet Strava with a PB to beat. And then there are the others who, shall we say, don't run as often... comedically lurching along with uncontrollable gangly legs, while wheezing and blowing with visible pained expressions of discomfort, probably due to the cheap tight shorts purchased last week from the Aldi...!
Sweating porkers with coordinated pink lippy and matching pumps (mostly the ladies, I have to admit) are all tremendously entertaining to me as I meander slowly along at tick over, supping Mr Atkinson's finest coffee and listening to Cerys playing me laid back Reggie beats and sultry saxophone sounds mixed with harmonica blues from times gone by as I wait for the plump premium pork sausages to sizzle in the oven...kingfishers lead the way as a giveaway cobalt blue flash whizzes out from the trees above bridge 91 heading south...
....I'm glad that I can't run!.....
...Oh well, it will have to be sausage butty and an egg banjo at Bridge 90....
...Come on you 'porkers!'
This post blog title was inspired today by...Kasabian...from the old album 'Empire'.
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