So, it's been a year. I'm a bit late commenting on that fact, but it was the year mark when I went for this walk. But anyhow, I'm not going to dwell on this, and we'll save the political chat and all of that for Facebook and such, shall we? This is not that kind of blog. It's a nice blog where we only look at nice things.
It's also a blog about being outside, which is where I went on Tuesday the 23rd of March, back to the beginning, where Matthew and I started this whole crazy journey (you should read that in the voice of a Pop Idol contestant, or whatever singing show is on these days – I don't know, I don't watch normal telly). Down to the riverrrrrrr (you should read that in the voice of Kristen Wiig because it's a Bridesmaids reference, the reason being that every time I tell Matthew I'm going to the river I sing it in this way).
You'll recall that the river is just past the end of my street, and to get there, we have to go past this tiny patch of grass, which is now displaying a riot of yellow. Because it's spring! It really is. It's genuinely here!
And then we're on the cycle track for just a tiny bit until we find this lovely avenue that leads down to the river. It's lovely at all times of the day and in all seasons, this avenue. Even in the dead of winter after dark – it's spooky then, but still lovely to look at in a photo from the safety of my own home, with my blankets up to my chin and a nice hot cuppa.
See the green, just starting to come back, up in the higher branches? Exciting!
Look at this one! So much green! Do tell me, Auntie Trish, what's this one? I've no idea at all. I've perhaps not been fair here as there's no clear leaf shape in the shot. But she might know, we'll see!
You'll recall that there's an ugly blue train bridge to the west (I'm guessing directions again), goes by the name of Carlisle Bridge because the railway goes to Carlisle. I've just found out that the bridge was opened in 1847. I'm shocked, I tell you. I had no idea it was that old. I suppose it's obvious to anyone who's a student of architecture, which I am not. It's also a lot longer than it looks here, crossing the road to the left and rounding a bit of a corner behind the flats on the right. Good, solid Victorian bridge. They knew how to build bridges did those Victorians. I'm totally waffling again. I have no idea if the Victorians were particularly known for their excellent bridges. Industrial Revolution and all that, I just assumed they might be good at bridges.
And here we are, where my famous lockdown walks began. Down by the riverrrrrrr, looking over admiringly at the Scandinavian houses on the oppposite bank. Ahhh, in those days, I used to harbour a hope that I might be able to buy one of them. I remember the day I looked on Right Move and saw the prices, and that was the end of that little dream.
It's probably fine to let Freya off down here as it's not near the road, but I didn't quite dare, though I'm not sure why. But we had the long lead, so she was able to mess about in the mud while I stayed dry. I think I'll just let her off next time – as long as I bring ham or pepperoni or some other high-reward treat with me, she should come back when I ask her to.
She's not a completely crazy dog though, I must say. She's very calm already. Sometimes she'll just stop nosing around and sit for a bit, without being asked to. She looks like she's doing some deep thinking. Perfectly normal dog thing to do, of course. I was just expecting her to be a bit older before she did this kind of grown up stuff.
This tree wasn't here last time. Although, now that I've said that, I'm questioning myself. Was it here, but I have such a terrible memory that I don't recall? Or did I actually not notice it because I'm that oblivious to the world outside my own head? Water is mighty powerful, of course, so it's entirely possible the tree was newly deposited at a recent high tide. Whatever the story of this tree, it makes a great bench and I hope it stays a while.
That was really it for our anniversary walk. It's not an anniversary you want to celebrate really, but it was an anniversary nonetheless. When we started our walks, I didn't know how long I'd keep them up for, with my strong tendency to start things and never finish them ... or even really start them properly. Sometimes I only think about starting things and it goes no further. I really am terribly lazy. So I feel like I've achieved something a little bit good by keeping it up for this long. It's good for a person whose instinct is to lie on the sofa every day – and I do mean lie, not sit.
We went home via Salt Ayre and the football pitch that I think was the last place I managed to get all three of the boys outside at the same time, a year ago. That is my only regret about the walks, that I wasn't strict with my sons and I didn't make all of them come out with me. But listening to three teens bicker because they don't want to be where they are probably wouldn't have been all the pleasant for any of us.
Until tomorrow, you crazy herd of antelope.
WQ
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