Blog on Loughrigg

Can it really have been ten years? I count the steps. I am climbing Loughrigg, near Grasmere, an easy enough task - I think - to check out my muscles and lungs, to get back onto the hill, to re-ignite the flame of a lost love. I can’t remember the last time I walked...

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Urban Dawn

They’re on patrol again this morning: my squadron of spitfire-birds. Circling, diving, turning against a deep blue, cotton-wool flecked sky. Fluffy, white clouds somnolently drift; wind-blown across the morning-blue backdrop. Raucous ravens caw in the treetops. Tits...

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Stranger in the Park

It is autumn, cold and crisp. A playful wind rides the swings. A young girl stands in the park, her hands deep in her pockets. She is watching, listening, waiting. Rusty chains creak, holding onto swinging seats.  A brisk, westerly wind drags dark, heavy-laden clouds...

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Rustling Leaves and Flying Arrows

How does a short story materialise? It’s Autumn, and I thought it would be good to walk in the woods and listen to the sounds with a view to writing them down. At lunchtime, I strolled through the woods near my house, notebook in hand. I listened to the movement of...

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Climbing Honister

On stage 2 of the 'Tour of Britain' riders battled gale force winds, torrential rain, and hailstones. The conditions brought down many of the Tour’s top riders, on the 116 mile race from Carlisle to Kendal. Sir Bradley Wiggins was lucky to emerge unscathed after being...

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Caught in the Headlights

It was a morning just like all his previous mornings: wake up, wash, dress, eat, go to work, and again the ever present feeling  that there was something missing in his life. Jeff was no stranger to this feeling, he didn’t know why it was happening, and it had been...

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Flying Pigs on the Summit

“It’s impossible, can’t ever be done!” “Why not!” Simon replied. “I mean … you couldn’t move this mountain, could you? You’re gullible if you believe all the stuff it says in that book. You’ll be saying next that pigs can fly!” I laughed, and looked up at the sky. I...

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Crinkle Crags

It’s 6am; I rise to a new day. Outside my window, a curtain of darkness hides the land. Lake Windermere is asleep under a ghostly blanket of ethereal mist, faintly illuminated by waxen light from a clear moon in a star-studded sky. I watch as the sun's auroral rays...

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