I was met with distinctive Constable skies as I strolled out and made my way around the 10 km Estuary Wilds walk on Friday morning. I often find it hard to define Big Essex Skies. It’s sometimes just best to look above and marvel at the emptiness of the landscape, and then how the clouds clutter up the brilliant blueness from the estuary and beyond.
Shit. I’m turning into a bloody hippie.
The ground underfoot was slightly soft in terms of race conditions. We’ve had a couple of downpours but everything else is absolutely bone dry. If I ever get myself match fit again then the only bonus from the recent heat waves is that my summer estuary running route may be extended well into the autumn muddy months.
I wasn’t alone in strolling out towards Alresford. I must have passed half a dozen or so other mid-life crisis single all males doing the exact same thing. We’re all living the best years of our lives; we’ve all given up on work. Back of the fucking net.
I made slow progress but not as slow as the old boy I saw rowing single-handedly heading out into the greater reaches of the estuary beyond Fat Bloke’s Bench. I was a little fearful as to how he would fare once he entered the more choppier waters past the Creek.
Looking slightly lost was a swan in an adjacent field who seemed to have taken over on where the cows normally go about munching their way through what remains of the grass. I approached with caution. This didn’t stop the swan having a hissy fit at me.
Ford Lane and the road towards Alresford was reached. A couple of geezers were out trimming the overgrown hedge. The homegrown peppers on the balcony overlooking the Creek look ripe for picking.
Another day, another plod.
Plod to live, live to plod.
