Happy New Year

The Wharfe in spate

    The weather is still up to its old tricks. For the past couple of weeks, at least, Britain has been a drab and dreary place. And still we have dire warnings of gale force winds, torrential rain, hail, sleet and snow continuing well into the New Year. Trees and overhead power lines have been brought down, disrupting public transport, while many homes are without electricity. Water is pouring off the hills, fields are saturated, the River Wharfe is a whirling brown maelstrom. While travelling on the Ilkley bus we'd to hurriedly lift our feet when water came rushing inside as we negotiated a flooded section of road near Linton.

     A final run of the old year had me slithering all over the place during a five mile effort through quagmire fields to Grassington Bridge and back. The effort required, just to stay upright, was so exhausting that for the first time ever I'd to walk the final hill back into the village.  Glad I'm not running in the Yorkshire X-Country Championships this coming Saturday! 

Running out the old year

     New Year's Eve celebrations were somewhat subdued. A running friend who'd invited us to share 'nibbles' and drinks was struck down with a stomach bug a few hours before the chimes so, after our traditional Hogmanay supper of haggis, tatties and neeps - not to mention a wee dram - we quietly saw in the New Year alone.  How different from days gone by when we'd stream out of Gerry's hostel at Achnashellach and into the warmth of Katie Ann's cottage for untold hours of music, song and jollity at a good old Scottish ceilidh. Later, we'd finish up dancing in the road, everywhere sparkling with frost, stripping the willow in a starlit ballroom. Those were the days. I think!

     The first day of the New Year, being a Sunday, coincided with the annual Covenant Service at our Methodist Chapel, for which I was on duty both as steward and reader. It began at 9am, so it was just as well I hadn't been dancing the night away. A part of the sermon that caught my attention concerned the three wise men traversing countless miles across trackless desert, without the aid of maps or satnav, to the town of Bethlehem.  "In those dim distant days travellers had to navigate by the stars" our Minister said. On my way out I suggested if we'd had to rely on stars this Christmas we wouldn't have got very far out of the village!

The Wharfe at Linton Falls

     After the sloshing through fields fiasco of yesteryear I resolved to henceforth keep to roads and tracks until such time as the landscape has dried out. So, sensing a short weather window after Chapel, I set off on what should have been a pleasant six mile jog to Appletreewick, then back along the mainly gravelly path by the swollen River Wharfe. All was going well until, just before the suspension bridge, I was greeted by a loose dog which, by way of saying Hello, ripped a hole in my best Gore running tights at the top of my thigh. Had it's teeth struck a few inches to the right, things could have been far worse! He was a beautiful looking dog. Shame he had such an irresponsible owner. Perhaps by way of consolation, she assured me she'd have harsh words with her very naughty doggy. I departed quickly, counting up to ten, before letting out a loud stress relieving Aaaarrrggh!

     So, a bit of a curate's egg really, some good bits, some bad, which I suppose is what the rest of the year will be like. A Very Happy New Year to all my Blogger friends and visitors.