Yorkshire Girl's Midlife Diary

An update on the adventures of the orange rucksack and I, now I’ve made it through the past few weeks in one piece! I’m looking happy on my photo……why am I looking happy…….I’m in the mountains of course, adventuring and not getting lost!

I’ve spent the last few weekends in the British Lake District again, and I have to share some photos of what you know I consider to be the most beautiful place in England. If you ever get the chance to visit, you must go! I haven’t always felt this way about the Lake District. I’ve only really appreciated it as I’ve got older. I remember going when I was younger, when all you want is excitement, and and thinking “Gosh, this is so boring!” It’s only as you get older, and you long to get away from it, that you really start to appreciate it. Mountains, water, clouds, silence, wilderness, lovely people, never ending places to explore and good food. The perfect combination. And of course, I needed to practice my navigation from my recent course because I’m still cross with myself for not completing the orienteering task! I can’t let it go!😂

I don’t normally go for two weekends in succession but there was a reason for it. I was going up anyway, because I was running in the Ullswater 10k on the Sunday, so I thought I’d make it a full weekend and go up on Saturday too.

Then a rather unexpected turn of events occurred. The running club really wanted to enter a ladies team in the British Fell Running Relay Championships 2023, in addition to two men’s teams, the weekend after my Ullswater race. They have not entered a ladies team for a number of years. I said if they were short I would be a substitute, because even though I’m one of the golden oldies of the club, in my mind I’m Eliud Kipchoge!😂 My saying is……………you’ve got to be in it the win it! I volunteered to go as a supporter and be both cheerleader and official team cake baker. So that was the deal until about a week and a half before the championships when I got the message that said, “Please can you run, we are one down?”

My first thought was, “You’ve got to be joking!” surely there is someone else in the club that can take this one on that’s a couple of decades younger than 52 and a bit faster. But I was told “No, you’ll be fine, we haven’t got a hope of winning anything we just want to go for a good fell running day out! No pressure, so you’ll be amazing.” So I excitedly agreed to take part, and just told them to let me know which leg I was running. “Leg 2 with Helen”, was the reply.

Well to cut a long story short “Holy Shit” is what I actually thought. Never in my life have I actually lost so much sleep about an event and woke up dreaming and sweating in the middle of the night thinking about it. It’s run as a relay with four legs. Leg 1 was a fully flagged 4.6km and 470m of ascent, Leg 3 (run as a pair) was a navigational leg of 10km with 705m of ascent, Leg 4 was a part flagged 6.9km and 560m of ascent …………….and guess what……………..Leg 2 (run as a pair) was 12.6km with 1030m of ascent. Not to worry I thought, I’ve absolutely got this….our esteemed leader and race organiser knows what he’s doing and he’s obviously put me on that leg for a reason, I’ll just give it my best shot.

The maps were released a couple of weeks in advance for all but the navigation leg so I had a cunning plan. On the Saturday, before the Ullswater 10k, I would have a steady walk around Leg 2 just to familiarise myself. So the Friday night before was spent with a cup of tea, compass, bar of chocolate and my map………..I know how to rock and roll on a Friday night! The directions for Leg 2 said ‘This is a tough test of all-round fell running ability, runners should have suitable prior experience before setting of on this one!” And lets not forget this is the British Championships………..full of elite runners from age 17. So a bit of a baptism of fire for my first proper fell run at 52 years old, a couple of weeks after I’ve learnt how to hold my compass the right way up!

Saturday came and off I set with my orange rucksack, a friend for moral support, my compass bearings, my picnic and a lot of enthusiasm, which is me all over.

Well what a beautiful 12.6km route. I’m a trail runner and not really a fell runner. Is there a difference you say? Yes, a big one! When you trail run you don’t go up as high. You tend to run on hills not mountains and you almost always run on trails and paths. With fell you don’t run on paths or trails all of the time you take a compass bearing and run whichever way is quickest and easiest to get you between two points and you will do much more ascent and descent, it’s much, much harder and I’m sort of out of my comfort zone here, but I like that. I’m fine walking in this terrain, I love it, but running is completely different. We don’t have too many official ‘mountains’ in the UK, defined as big hills over 610 metres above sea level, but the majority are in the Lake District and this Leg 2 route took in some beautiful ones.

I set off from the beautiful little village of Braithwaite, 108m above sea level, on a glorious autumn morning with the sun peeping through a moody sky. First big hill, Outerside, at 568m it narrowly misses out on being a mountain. The Lake District is one area in the UK which is well known for having all the seasons in one day and this was one of those days. The heavens opened at that point with a beautiful rainbow and an hour of heavy rain. The views were just superb and I was really enjoying it.

Well, I was enjoying it until I got to Eel Crag. At 839 meters this is most definitely a mountain. I checked my compass bearings for the Leg 2 route and something did not seem right. According to my bearings it looked as though rather than taking the path, the race route was taking us on a vertical scramble all the way up the face of the crag. I could have cried as I don’t like heights. But I’m absolutely not one to be defeated so off I went up the face on all fours while chuntering under my breath all sorts of expletives about the course not being runnable and questioning the route choice. My able assistant said, “Just stand on that ledge and turn around and look at the view!”…………… I might have ‘lost it’ at that point. I’m hovering 200 meters above the ground on a small piece of slippery rock being asked to look at the view. I was convinced the view would look exactly the same from the top so I declined and carried on.

But the view did not look as good from the top because it started hail stoning, with snow in the air, and the cloud came in………yes, frozen balls of ice, being blown into my face in gusting wind. By this point I’m starting to lose my enthusiasm a little, but fortunately the storm passed over as quickly as my tantrum and I located the trig point. I clung onto it for a while to prevent myself being blown over while I commenced the search in my rucksack for my hat. Yes, that’s another thing………my hair! Goodness, it’s got a complete mind of it’s own. I’m seriously thinking of having all my curls cut off because when I’m adventuring my hair is on a completely different adventure all of it’s own, and it’s not normally to the same place as me.

Eel Crag was conquered, its descent was followed by another ascent onto the next mountain, Sail, at 773m, most definitely another mountain. It’s a beautiful ridge walk across to Sail and a lot more runnable than Eel Crag. It was an uneventful climb up, and then all the way down the other side. When you look back the descent off Sail looks beautiful, like a snake slithering down the side of the mountain.

Sail was descended and it was then up another, Causey Pike, at 637m it is another mountain. By now I’m getting a bit tired, my quads are screaming at me and I’m thinking this is all well and good walking it, but I’ve got to run it next weekend, not saunter around like Dora for a few hours with a picnic. Up Causey Pike, down again and then up and down the final big hill of Barrow at 455 m. So in total that’s up and down 3 mountains and 2 big hills. 12.6km and 1030m of ups and 1030m of downs. I got to the end looking exhausted and a bit wild, like I’ve been caught in a storm…………of wait a minute………I have!!!! . The race briefing says the winners will be in in 1 hour and 15 minutes…………………. I check my watch………….it’s just taken me 6.5 hours to walk it!! 😂

Then I suddenly remember I’ve got a 10k competitive race to run in the morning and I can hardly walk now. Anyway to cut a long story short I found a lovely Italian, filled up with pasta, had a nice hot soak in the bath (obviously feeling sorry for myself as I only get a bath when I’m feeling in pain or poorly)……and got up the next morning as fresh as a daisy and raring to go!!

I love this race, the Ullswater 10k. It’s nice and undulating and you get a boat ride from the bottom of the lake to the start at the top, which first thing on a Sunday makes you glad to be alive. It’s gorgeous. It took me a couple of kilometres to get into this one but I amazed myself. I was starting getting a bit dejected with my marathon training these last few weeks because I’m not a road runner, I really don’t like it. I like to be stomping through the fields, woods, mountains, streams and mud. Anyway, my belief that I will be running down the Champs Elysees like Paula Radcliffe, must be paying off as I was quite pleased to be 7.5 minutes quicker than last year and 2nd placed V50 lady. So all in all it was a weekend well spent in a beautiful location.

It was then just seven days to go to the British Championships and I was getting really nervous, well and truly out of my comfort zone and in full realisation that I’m really going to struggle. At this point I’m keeping quiet from my lovely Leg 2 partner Helen that I’ve walked the Leg and it’s the route from hell and will involve us climbing up a near vertical face for fifteen minutes, it’s pointless two of us worrying. I’m normally a really good sleeper but for three nights I woke around 4am dreaming about the impending race. Then the e-mail came though from our club organiser about a survival bag being necessary……….”Have you got one?” he asked. I joyfully replied “No, but I’m bringing a coffee and walnut cake!” And I wasn’t being flippant or joking……………..I’m sorry…………….but if I’m going to die I’d rather die cold than hungry!! This is me we are talking about, on the list of essential kit the cake comes well above the survival bag! Looking on the positive side of things there’s a chance I’ll survive without the bag but if I pull this one off there’s not a hope in hell’s chance I’ll survive without cake!

The fateful weekend arrives, and so does storm Babet, with half the UK under water! They’ll call it off or instigate the bad weather route I thought hopefully. But, no, this is the British Fell Running Championships….fell runners are supposed to be tough and up for anything! I packed my running pack with the essential kit I had to carry: full waterproofs (top and bottom with taped seams), survival bag, compass, map, hat, gloves, whistle and emergency food…………….yes, I’ve got to carry all that as well as get myself around. But I took extra special care not to forget the cake.

I slept quite well because I think I’d exhausted myself worrying about it. The following morning was a little dull, the cloud was down and it was very claggy and damp but there was no wind and rain. I was buzzing and raring to go. The race headquarters were in a field on a farm at the bottom of the mountain. The team tent was already erected when I arrived, complete with cake tin much to everyone’s delight. Racing got underway for Leg 1 and Helen and I made our way to the holding pen ready for the arrival of Valentina back from Leg 1 to tag us so we could set off. Then it was ready, steady, go, and off we went. Whilst theoretically, on the road, we are well matched runners, Helen has so much more experience than me on the fell, and the benefit of being 10 years younger, and I was clung onto the the back of her all the way around. It didn’t start too well, which did not worry me because I always get stronger and it takes me a good few miles to get into my stride. By mountain number one I was in the emergency food, but it worked, and after a sudden intake of sugar I felt much better. Conditions were good until we got to the scramble. Navigationally we only made one mistake. Cloud was down and thick on the top of Eel Crag but it was the only compass bearing we had to take, the rest of the route was clear.

We chipped away at it one mountain at a time. We chatted about all sorts (when we could breathe) to take away the pain, everything from running to hormone patches were covered, and yes, we completed it and finished relatively unscathed in 2 hours and 52 minutes. A major improvement on my 6.5 hours the week before but well behind the leading men’s team who finished in 1.25 hours! But hey, this was to find the fastest and best fell runners in Britain, the 52 year old who prioritises cake over a survival bag was never going to be on the podium! So, we came 234th out of 247 teams.🤣But we did it!! This was an extremely tough course to find the champions of the country. Only 8 other V40 female teams teams entered. All six of our team made it around and we had a fantastic Saturday, full of running and cake, and there may have been a little beer after the running too! I am so lucky to be part of such a lovely team and so proud of our efforts on Saturday.

I think they are all wanting a re-run next year. But being 10 years older than most of them I think I am going to volunteer my services as team cake maker for next year and let someone younger take my place! It’s not just the running it’s the recovery, two days after and my quads are absolutely trashed from those downhills I’m sliding down the banister at home and I have had to take the elevator in the shopping centre because I can’t get down the steps.

So here’s to team mates, mountains, cake, good times and believing you can achieve the impossible! So after being told by my mother, complete with wagging finger, that I need to start acting my age and stop running around like a teenager (gosh I love her), I’m off to Portugal now for a lovely little rest to reflect on a day I don’t think I’ll ever forget, and what I think will be the high of my running journey as I contemplate my running semi-retirement.😂 But not just yet.

I’ve not had a lot of time to write recently. There have been lots of navigational adventures of Dora the Explorer (me) and the orange rucksack, two drop offs at University to undertake, a call up for the running club ladies team for next Saturday’s 2023 British Fell Running Relay Championships (wish me luck because I’ll need it and I’m getting very nervous), and a PB and 2nd place V50 female this last weekend in the Lake District at the Ullswater 10k (which turned out to be 11.5k!). Oh, and not to forget my full time job Monday to Friday. I’ve just had an hour chilling with my latest book – ‘Red Comet – The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath’ – its quite a sad book and I don’t often read biographies but I was intrigued as to why Sylvia Plath was buried in a very simple grave in a Yorkshire churchyard near me. I’m also currently sat staring at a roll of 20 metres of fabric which I’m supposed to be transforming into two full length pairs of curtains after having the decorator in last week (I love making soft furnishings), but I have not the faintest clue when I’m going to find time to make them. I’ve now got to pack my little carry on case ready for immediately after the British fell running championships when I’m disappearing off to Lisbon and Porto to indulge in port, sardines and pastel de nata as I need a little break. And then I promise I’ll do a review of Lisbon/Porto and tell you all about the adventures of the last few weeks.

So this is a quick post on something I saw the other weekend which really literally made me laugh out loud. It concerns two of my favourite things…….the annual village agricultural show, which I need to share with you as it’s fantastic, and my beloved Yorkshire!

You might not find it that funny at all, in fact some of you might be highly offended by it. Now, a disclaimer, I would like to say that any comments made are not the opinions of the myself. I’m a bit of an anything goes, not that easily offended sort of person, who’s happy for everyone to be who they want to be if makes them happy. But this really did make me laugh so much.

Saturday came, and it was the day of the local agricultural show. This is a huge day for the village. It’s in its 150th year and is the biggest local event in the calendar. Invariably it rains, but this year the sun was out and it was glorious so I thought I’d pop along. Two main things feature in the show……..animals and food so it’s a resounding ‘yes’ from me.

Because it’s such an agricultural, rural area where I live the aim of the show is to celebrate local farmers, growers, traditions and culture. Farmers travel from around the country to compete in hundreds of categories. The animals at the show include all sorts of breeds of cattle, sheep, goats, pigs and poultry. In addition to animals, there are sheep dog handling competitions, craft tents showcasing local handywork like knitting, needlework, beekeeping and baking. There are local games and sports, and in addition to the animals, perhaps the biggest draw for many are the vegetable and cut flower growing championships. There are hundreds of prizes to be won and thousands of people descend on the village to attend.

It’s easily a full day out and I like it because you can walk around all the tents and talk and pet all the animals. I like to watch the cattle judging ……….they take it very seriously! There’s show jumping, sheep sheering……you name it, it’s there.

In addition to being able to pet all the animals, there’s lots of local food to eat too (after disinfecting my hands of course!). Where else can I pet the animals, have a ride on a real tractor, eat ice cream, drink cider, eat delicious local lamb and have a milkshake made with local milk! I did feel a bit sick after all that but I’m blaming that on the tractor. Oh and don’t forget the brass band tent (another Yorkshire thing)……….see if you can guess the tune!

All in all a lovely day. It all got too much for Wendy the pig who fell to sleep in her pen (thankfully after judging) and by the end of it I was pretty exhausted too.

But the thing that made me laugh, well………..here goes, I’ll tell you what it was. Down South they think of us Northerners as being a bit odd. Perhaps a little bit provincial and stuck in a world gone by. On a UK map I viewed recently, which had been re-labelled as a joke, Yorkshire had been relabelled ‘depressing shithole full of people who own ferrets’. Now hang on a minute………..I beg to differ! I think it’s just a misunderstanding…………and it’s funny that Yorkshire is full of Southerners on holiday in the summer! Hopefully, from my previous posts, you will see that Yorkshire is not a ‘shithole’, it’s actually quite beautiful. I don’t own a ferret, and I think I’m quite ‘with it’, not stuck in a world gone by. However, I have a confession to make………….I did spend 5 years in my 20’s living on the ‘dark side’ just outside London as an adopted Southerner. I have never been allowed to forget this fact, and I don’t think I will ever fully be accepted back into the fold and totally forgiven by my Yorkshire kin for my temporary defection.

Anyway, my observation at the show does go a little way to supporting that Southern view that Northerners are stuck in their ways and are a little bit provincial. We’ve not quite moved into the area of equality of the sexes in Yorkshire. I’ve mentioned before that I’m not fully there myself. I am a bit of a traditionalist…….give me a gentleman any day that tells you you look nice, opens a door for you and pulls your chair out when he takes you to dinner. By the way, don’t come to Yorkshire if you are looking for one of those though, they are not the typical traits of the Yorkshireman. And I’m more than happy to do the domestic ‘looking after’. I am very much a looker afterer and a feeder of all that walk through my door. However, what I spied at the show did well and truly convince me that we’ve not moved on that much from the 19th century in Yorkshire when it comes to equality and gender. You can see why the Southerners think we are stuck in a bygone age. The grand Victoria Sandwich cake ‘bake off’ competition at the show was quite clearly labelled ‘Women Only’. Yes, we are still segregating by gender in Yorkshire and at first glance I thought we were only allowing women to enter the baking competition! 😂

So I’m sorry all you gents out there who think you can bake a mean Victoria Sandwich…….you are not allowed to enter this competition because only women bake Victoria Sandwich cakes in Yorkshire. I looked……..and I looked again…….surely it can’t say that I thought, as I literally laughed out loud. But it did! It didn’t sit quite right with me. So what are we saying ladies……. men can’t bake, they bake differently, or they bake better and we don’t want the competition. Then, someone pointed out to me that there was a separate Victoria Sandwich competition around the other side of the table for the men!

So I went and had a little look and there it was, clearly labelled ‘Men Only’. Now being part Southerner I know that really women and men should not be segregated in competition unless one will have clear advantage over the other in terms of physical strength, stamina and physique. But I’m not sure where that comes in in the baking of a Victoria Sandwich. Is the advantage in the beating of the butter with the sugar, the adding of the eggs or what ?!?

Anyway, after undertaking my own bit of judging, I’m not sure what you think from the photos but I have to say that for me the men won hands down. The entries from the ladies were not well done enough for me and looked a bit thin. The men’s looked much more robust, golden brown with a lovely dusting of icing sugar on the top. So well done Yorkshire men of Penistone, I think the ladies are just scared of the competition. Now for anyone that does not identify as man or women I have absolutely no idea which competition you enter. It may be a few years before we catch up with the rest of the world in terms of gender equality so you may have to settle for an entry in the ‘Create a Vegetable Character’ or ‘Mr Potato Head’ competition as that’s a free for all and not segregated by gender. Still, after looking at the entries for that I’m not sure that one is fair either, I think the ‘Gruffalo’ was robbed of first place.

So there you have it, your guide to the local agricultural show and gender equality in Yorkshire. An excellent day out. I’m generally usually proud to be a Yorkshire girl but sometimes I do have to have a little laugh and a cringe with embarrassment and disbelief at Yorkshireness and this was one of those moments!

Yes, that’s what I’m affectionately known as at home but this week I am exceptionally proud of myself and I’m going to tell you why………..I have all the gear and I now know what to do with it!! Henry the Navigator has absolutely nothing on me! 😊That might be a slight over exaggeration but I’ve come a long way in two days.

But first, a little quote for you, well, I’ll give you a few throughout this post, from an inspirational man who spoke some very poignant lines. You know, one of those people whose work you read and you just think, “You are so right!” The human being in question is Walter Bonatti and if you don’t know him he was an Italian mountaineer, alpinist, explorer and writer.

He said, “The human being lives in the city, eats without hunger and drinks without thirst, gets tired without the body struggling, chasing its own time without ever reaching it. He is an imprisoned being, a prison without borders from which it is almost impossible to escape. But some human beings sometimes need to recover their lives, to find a high road again. Not everyone tries, few succeed.”

How true is that! Now don’t misunderstand me……..I love a city and a city break, and I like my job most of the time (possibly not on a Monday morning)……..but this quote explains exactly why I need to escape into nature and particularly mountains on a very frequent basis. I’m trying to escape from everything that binds me, work, home…., find a high road, recover myself and my life, and feel free again.

However, the slight problem being, I’m ‘all the gear and no idea’ I wander around like ‘dizzy daydream’ because I’m a bit of a daydreamer, head in the clouds, living in my own dream world. I get lost in IKEA, never mind on a mountain. I am constrained by my lack of navigational ability and my absolute fear of being lost in low lying cloud, so I am a bit limited as to where I can go and at what time of year if I’m walking alone, as I am not safe. I’m not allowed to enter any fell running races that require compulsory navigational experience and I have all sorts of little plans about some more remote long distance mountainous walking next summer so I thought it was about time I face this fear and sort myself out and get practicing.

So, I’ve been away for a whole weekend, on my own, to the mountainous Lake District on an accredited navigational course! No longer is my shiny Silva compass a pretty accessory with which to adorn my new orange rucksack. No longer is my fold out waterproof map of the Lake District an accessory on which to sit on on wet grass to eat my picnic. I know what to do with both!!! And I am so proud of myself as this was not easy and I’m not going to lie and tell you it was the best weekend ever as believe me it had it lows which I shall explain in a moment.

I applied for the course and was completely truthful in describing my previous experience i.e. I have no idea what any parts of the compass are or which way to hold it, and my Ordinance Survey map reading experience is limited to knowing a few of the symbols, those being the cross for a church, blue telephone box for a telephone and blue tankard for the pub……….well what else do you need!?!😂 I did an Ordinance Survey online quiz and scored an abysmal 5 out of 20.

The course looked perfect. In the beautiful Elterwater valley at the Youth Hostel, aimed navigators of all levels, with lots of time practicing on the mountains and fells, and more importantly at 21:30pm each evening it actually said on the course itinerary, ‘Pub’. “This is the course for me”, I thought!

I drove there straight from work on Friday to arrive for the evening start. There were 29 of us, but lots of instructors. So as promised on the application form I was placed into my very small group, with fellow beginners Martha and Jack, and our lovely instructor Kevin. Now Kevin had the patience of a saint, and boy did he need it! Kevin spent an hour and a half explaining the basics of the compass and the map. I think he had got the measure of me by the time we convened at the pub and I was wondering why my red needle did not change direction when I turned my compass. He explained very patiently that the red needle is the needle that points north and no matter how many time I twizzled myself the map and the compass around that needle was always going to point the same way……..north! Funnily enough, I had no problem whatsoever finding the pub.

Anyway, everyone was really lovely including my fellow dormitory room mates Hannah, Anna, Kirsty, Kim and Christine. Together we made a room of six and we all had a lot in common, including running, and we got on great. There was a even split of men and women on the course and funnily enough a number of the women were all women of a certain age, kids getting older and suddenly realising we have a life to live and a world to explore, if only we could read a map and use a compass!

All fully acquainted with one another we made an early start on Saturday, a beautiful sunny day, with a pre-breakfast run at 7am. After breakfast we split off into our small groups, picked up our hostel packed lunch and headed off into the mountains with our instructor.

We learnt all sorts: how to set the map; how to pace our steps and use Naismith’s rule to work out how long it would take us to cover a certain distance on the map; how to take a compass bearing; how to identify features on a map; how to use certain features as attack points to safely lead us to the place we are heading for; how to plan a route in small steps in poor visibility; how to look at the contours of a map and visualise the lay of the land in 3 dimensions.

By the afternoon Kevin was setting us little individual challenges by pointing to a knoll on the map or a feature and asking us to individually lead the group to it. I loved it and I was feeling very smug with how much I had understood and could put into practice in such a short space of time.

My enthusiasm was only slightly dampened when at 3pm Kevin announced we make our way to the start point for the ‘solo’ navigation exercise! Aaaarrrrghhh………..I didn’t know there was going to be a test! Thank goodness I brought the bright orange rucksack, I knew the colour choice would come in handy in a search and rescue operation! So we set off at timed intervals. We were handed a map with ten checkpoints marked on it. The checkpoints were things like a sheepfold, knoll or sometimes just a boulder in a very precise location, the bearings and navigation had to be spot on to find them and then we had to find our own way back to the hostel. I finished the course, finding all 10 checkpoints, so had a lovely wander back, even finding time to snap some pictures of the lovely views and a selfie with my new favourite toy/rucksack accessory……….my compass!

Dinner finished, I was just thinking about having a post curry and apple crumble snooze when it was announced that we needed to get all togged up again in out gear for a night navigation excercise…….in the dark! The only saving grace was that we were in pairs. So off I trotted with the lovely Martha into the very, very dark fells to hunt for another 5 checkpoints. This was hard and the bearings and map reading had to be spot on as there is no light pollution out there at all so you could only see as far as your headtorch shone. My second pair of trainers that day had their baptism of bog water and sheep shit as you just could not see where you were walking. We all managed just one drink in the pub and then we were off to bed…….we were exhausted…..12 full hours on the fells.

Now Sunday was when it all fell apart, well it did for me! Sunday was the very big 10km solo navigation exercise. There were 10 check points to find in some really obscure locations and you were set off alone with a good gap between you and the next person and the route went quite a good few miles out over the remote Silver How fell at 395m. The very slight problem for me was that the weather had turned and was bad. It was raining quite heavily and the cloud base was down below 300m. So that meant visibility up there was very poor with some heavy rain and windy gusts. I’m not afraid to say I was absolutely terrified as I do have a huge fear of being lost in cloud.

Why am I telling you this. Well for a start, people think I’m brave and I want to tell you that absolutely everyone has something that they are scared of. If they say they haven’t then they are lying. I’m absolutely not brave when it comes to the things I am scared of! I’m just as scared witless as everyone else. This is where the great Walter Bonatti comes in again. His quote kept going round and round in my head as I fell apart and completely unravelled sat on a rock. In this case he’s talking about climbing, but it can just as easily be applied to walking in the mountains in poor visibility: “Climbing is not a battle with the elements, nor against the law of gravity. It’s a battle against oneself. The mountains taught me not to cheat, to be honest with myself and with what I was doing. It is to conquer fear that one becomes a climber. The climber experiences life to its extreme. A climber is not crazy. He is not out to get himself killed. He knows what life is worth. He is in love with living.“

Off I set into the fog and was feeling ok when I reached checkpoint one. It had gone quite smoothly, my bearings were accurate and I didn’t spend too much time rustling in the undergrowth when I found it. Checkpoint 2 was quite a way away so I decided on a two step approach with visibility being poor. I spotted a large marshy area on the map 300 meters away and thought I would head for that and when I hit it take another bearing to the checkpoint which should be on the south west side of a prominent knoll. I took the bearing and set off confidently and then the path just disappeared. From that point on my confidence just slowly eroded. Sure of my bearing I seemed to be wading through bracken up a very steep ascent for ages. I reached the ridgeline and was confident it was left as that’s what my bearing said. I came across Jack who shot off to the right as he thought it was that way. I stuck to my decision and went left to stumble across the marsh and took another bearing to the knoll. I eventually got to the knoll and found the flag hidden in the undergrowth but by that time I had completely unravelled. I was shaking like a leaf and I was so scared because I just felt so lost as visibility was so poor. I knew where I was on the map because I was by the checkpoint but I had just frozen, and to go out further onto the fell into the mist was just terrifying. Before we had set off the instructors had told us to make sure we had our whistles and had gone through the six short blast at one minute interval lecture for summoning help, which in itself scared me to death.

I took a bearing to checkpoint 3 and set off but the visibility just got poorer and poorer and I froze. So what did I do………well just to prove I’m human and not at all brave I’ll be completely honest with you and tell you I panicked, could not breathe properly, froze, sat down on a rock and just cried in the mist. So in addition the rain pouring down my face there were also tears and snot. I thought why on earth am I doing this on a Sunday morning when I could be curled up at home with a good book and a bar of Cadbury Fruit and Nut chocolate. I kept thinking of Walter and his quotes and that was when it all made sense. It was not a battle with the elements at all it was a battle with myself and my fear. I’m in love with living and I need to conquer that fear to be free to experience what I want to experience. I was so angry with myself. I took some deep breaths had a good cry, told myself that sitting on a rock crying was going to get me nowhere, and kept going over the quote. I was not lost, I knew exactly where I was, the fear was rational but I had the skills to find my way off the mountain safely even if I did not find the check points. I knew the village was south and I now knew which way was south by using my compass. I took a little video and a photo to prove to myself I’d been up there and it’s made me laugh already when I’ve looked at it again. Even though I’m trying to smile for the camera the colour has all drained from my face, I look dreadful, and you can hear me hyperventilating and trying to get my breathing under control.

So what did I do, I gave myself a good telling off, pulled my big girl pants up and pressed on. However, I’m not going to lie and tell you I found all 10 checkpoints. I didn’t! There were all different levels of expertise on the course from experienced and wanting to get better to the likes of myself who arrived not knowing which way up to hold my compass. I decided that I could not make it around with 100% certainty that I would not need help. From such a low starting point it was just too much too soon. I found 5 checkpoints and then safely navigated myself back to the hostel.

I’m going to be honest and tell you that I have really beaten myself up so much about not being brave enough to go and find all ten. However I was praised for making the decision to return when I did. Apparently, according to some, making the decision to quit at the right time is braver than pressing on when it might not be the right thing for you to do, even though I’m still finding it hard to accept.

Despite Sunday not going quite as well as planned I am so glad I went. I’m taking the positives from it. Bravery was being there on the course on my own in the first place. I heave learnt so much in such a short space of time and it has opened up so many new possibilities for me in terms of exploring. I’m going to be spending lots of time over the coming winter weekends drawing random crosses on maps and then seeing if I can find the locations as it’s one of those things that you need to practice over and over again to build confidence so that I am comfortable enough to wander off in poor visibility and know that my new found skills can lead me to safety. So watch this space for more adventures of the orange rucksack, the compass, and me!!!

Anyway one final Bonatti quote for you: ‘The reality is five percent of life. Man must dream to save himself.‘ So I’m going to be just fine, I’ve always been 95% dreamer!

So, what’s the message? The message is: never stop exploring, face those fears and more important than all, never stop dreaming!

So, where did I go to for my last week of summer adventure?…….The French Alps!! And they were amazing………….I love mountains!

The French Alps cover a big area. The majority of people go to the Northern Alps around Chamonix and Mont Blanc but I went somewhere a little different. I went to the Brianconnais – the ‘haute alpes’ or ‘upper alps’ near the town of Briancon in the Southern Alps and there are a few reasons for this choice: They have a better climate for walking in summer; they see much lower visitor numbers than the more glitzy Northern Alps, and they are much more isolated so you can walk all day and see no-one. They are in one of the least affluent areas of France and off the tourist trail, so they are relatively cheap to visit, authentically French, full of culture, but they lack none of the beauty of their wealthier Northern Alp neighbours. They are, however, quite a bit harder to get to as they are a distance from any major road network.

So off I went with my trusty Cicerone guidebook and my new rucksack to an area completely new to me!

Yes, new rucksack! I only possess a large rucksack and the problem is, if you give me a rucksack, it does not matter what size it is, I will fill it. But then of course, I have to carry it. I only have one big one for my long walks so I decided to treat myself to a nice new bright orange day sack! The colour choice was deliberate. I have absolutely no sense of direction and can be a liability. I always carry a compass, but I will be the first to admit that I probably would not have a clue what to do with it, or the map, in an emergency situation, it just makes me feel better. There are plans afoot to remedy this situation but I’ll tell you more about that another time. Therefore, I have to check the weather carefully before I set off and keep an eye on it, and always know my escape route. I take plenty of water, snacks and a lightweight emergency shelter. In addition to me liking bright colours, my thinking was that when on my own, I’m easier to spot with a bright orange rucksack should anyone have to come looking for me if injured. If I was lost in bad weather, I’d probably be too embarrassed to call for help, so I would probably just console myself by eating all my snacks in my shelter until the poor weather passed.

I feel it is about time I also introduce you to the Cicerone guide books too. I have quite a little collection. If I’m struggling for adventure holiday inspiration, I have an outdoor shop near home that has the full range of Cicerone guides. I have been known to choose a holiday by choosing a Cicerone guidebook first. My motto is: “If Cicerone have written a guide book on a place, it will be good.” And guess what! They have a whole guidebook on the Brianconnais Alps – including 40 high altitude walks, and it was good! I only got chance to do 4 of them this time, so that just means I will have to return to tackle the remaining 36!

So here goes, I’ll tell you all about this fantastic area, where I stayed, what I did, good bits, not so good bits and whether I’d recommend it.

I flew into Nice, which was a 3.5 hour drive away in the hire car, although it was a very nice drive. Turin, Lyon, Marseille and Milan are all slightly closer, but as the flight was booked at short notice, price was a consideration, with Nice being the only reasonable option. I flew with my favourite airline (I’m being sarcastic and they shall remain nameless), but you could say I got what I paid for, including the silver duct tape I spotted on the exterior of the plane. No, I’m not joking, I only wish I had a photo but I’m not the greatest flier so taking a photo was the last thing on my mind at that point, I was messaging my eldest, who has a number of flying hours experience to his name, to ask him to estimate my chances of survival. Anyway, I got there!

I stayed in the beautiful little town of Guillestre, because the guidebook said it was a good central location from which to explore. I chose Guillestre as it is a lot smaller that Briancon, and is not very touristy at all. The guidebook said it was ‘a picturesque little town, set in a deep valley at the mouth of a gorge’. It has a pretty fountain in the central square, two churches, a medieval tower and is very much a lived in town rather than a tourist destination. It has a supermarket, an amazing boulangerie, which I’ll tell you about in a minute, and some fantastic bars and cafes. There is nothing glitzy about it, a good proportion of the houses and buildings in the old town look as if they are falling down, but it all sort of adds to the character and charm.

This was a low-cost getaway. I like to travel and explore lots. I have two children at University who cost me a fortune, so I don’t have unlimited funds, but I like to get away every school holiday. I do everything from tent and camping to five star, I just love to wander. I’m more bothered about where I go than where I sleep. I actually prefer the cheap stays in some ways as they are more authentic, and you get a better feel for a place, and I hate pretentiousness. I’ve had my five-star break for this year in Greece, and it was lovely, but it wasn’t very ‘Greek’, it was a in a very modern hotel with lots of non-greek people. This was the opposite. It was very authentic, and it was lovely. I’m trying to think of the word, but I can’t find one that fits it exactly, maybe unique, eccentric, odd (but in a nice way). I stayed in a studio/chalet type apartment, which was part of a building in the old town, overlooking one of the oldest streets. It was very cheap but it had absolutely everything I needed. The building itself was extremely old and rickety. It ticked the boxes of being very clean and having a coffee machine – two essentials for me. It had a couple of little quirks; the bed, which was just really a mattress on a shelf which I had to mount a cupboard to get onto (trust me, not so easy when you’ve been on the wine); a bike hung on the wall; a skull in a plant pot (no idea why); and a guitar, just in case I wanted to burst into song. But I sort of fell in love with it in a strange way. It felt cosy and comfy.

I awoke bright and early on day 1 to make the best discovery of all………..I was opposite the boulangerie!!! Result! This boulangerie was amazing. There was already a queue inside, so I thought, “This must be worth queueing for.” It was! Now, what do I like like about France, Spain and Italy……………….they eat CAKE for breakfast! What a sensible idea. Why do we not do that in England? I hovered over the pain au chocolate for a while, and then wondered whether to have an almond croissant instead. Then I spotted the ‘proper’ cake counter. Well, that was me decided, will-power disappeared in an instant, eyes bigger than my belly, I thought I might as well go straight in for the raspberry tart, I’m on holiday! Oh gosh, it was delicious.

Armed with a sandwich from the bakers for lunch, and my new orange rucksack, off I set to go on my first walk to the Lac de l’Orceyrette. This was a short walk to break me in gently to some high altitude walking. Just 9km long and an estimated 3 hours with 355m of ascent. However, at 2,183 metres high, I found it quite hard work to get up those hills. The guidebook said it was a “stunning little walk, visiting a serene part of the valley, through a pretty and peaceful alpine meadow, descending to one of the prettiest lakes in the region.” Perfect, I thought. And they weren’t wrong, just look at this view.

It was the ‘alpine meadow’ and the pictures in the book that made me choose this route, I’ll tell you a little secret why. I’m a child of the 1970’s, an only child, and am a bit of a daydreamer and like all things peaceful, soft and fluffy! I’ve always been ok in my own company and liked wandering on my own. My boys think it absolutely hilarious that when I was little I had an imaginary friend. They think I’m some sort of ‘weirdo’. I can even remember her name – Cynthia – heaven only knows where I got that name from. I did doubt my own sanity when I revealed this fact and they burst out laughing, but major psychologists reveal that ‘children who have imaginary friends are less likely to be shy or struggle with loneliness. They also tend to be more creative and confident than those who don’t have make-believe friends.’ So there you go, I wasn’t weird after all, it’s normal, around two thirds of children have an imaginary friend.

I also had a very vivid imagination (I still do), and on UK TV in the 1970’s was a well loved children’s series called ‘Heidi’. Heidi was a little girl (the same age as me at the time), and she was sent away to live in a remote Swiss Alpine chalet in the middle of an alpine meadow with her grandad. The series was all about Heidi’s life in the Swiss alpine meadow with her grandad. Basically, she went around milking goats, talking to animals, playing in the streams and water, and was as free as a bird! There was no mention in the series of going to school or anything like that, and I wanted to be Heidi! Heidi had everything I thought I wanted in life and being an only child and living in the countryside (yes, ok, Yorkshire and not the Alps) I spent many happy weekend afternoon and evening after school being Heidi. I had to make do with sheep instead of goats, daisy’s and dandelions instead of alpine flowers and the heaped stack of the coal mine waste rock instead of mountains, but I did say my imagination was vivid didn’t I. Anyway, this walk gave me the opportunity to be a real-life Heidi for the day! It was nothing short of amazing.

I did get slightly nervous looking at the ‘ things you might see’ signs in the meadow as I waltzed along and I came to the ‘wolf’ sign. Nowhere in the book did it mention wolves! How ironic I thought it would be, to get eaten by a wolf on my first day and have nowhere to hide because I’m wearing my new bright orange rucksack on my back. Anyway, no wolves were encountered, but I was most relieved to stumble across a little chalet in the middle on nowhere, with a couple of Coca Cola deckchairs, upside down cable reels for tables, and a lovely lady selling refreshments! Even better that it had a wine list! What a fitting place for a glass of wine!

A perfect walk for the first day. A stop off in the car in Briancon on the way back for pizza was required and then back to Guillestre for a beer because I had deserved it. I’ve got a new beer to add to my list of very nice beers. I will say one thing about monks…………..they make absolutely wonderful beer. My favourite beers are those from the trappist Belgian monasteries Westvletern, Chimay, Westmalle etc. This one I had in France was called Wendelinus, an Abbey beer from Alsace. It’s made it onto my list …….. very nice. Try it if you get chance.

Anyway, full of pizza and beer I managed to mount the cupboard to climb onto my bed shelf and was ready to tackle day 2 after a good night of sleep.

Day 2 got off to a slow start because I got up to market day in Guillestre, so I had to have a look around. It was amazing! So much fresh fruit and produce in one place. Every farmer from miles around was there. Charcuterie, bread, cheese, honey, olives, every kind of vegetable imaginable and one stall that was completely dedicated to the humble tomato! I never knew there were so many varieties and colours of tomatoes. Having recently had a bit of a tomato shortage in the UK in early summer when I went two weeks without being able to buy a tomato I really appreciated this market stall.

Today’s walk was proceeded by a drive over the top of Col d’Izoard. At 2360m this is a very high pass, negotiable by car in summer, and is often used as one of the Tour de France climbs, where it is categorised as a ‘Hors Categorie’ climb, which basically means it is beyond categorisation as it is so difficult, long and steep. However, I managed it quite easily in a Citreon C5 car. Here, I discovered possibly the best placed sunbed ever, from which to devour my market sandwich for lunch, and did my very best marmot impression to send home to my boys. I have to send one picture a day home just to let them know I am still ok as believe me, anything is possible where I’m concerned.

Onwards, to undertake another short walk from Cervieres to the pretty hamlet of L’Alpe Du Pied, as it promised ‘fine views over the Cerveyrette valley’. There were certainly fine views, and I found possibly the prettiest place to be crucified.

After all that exitement, it was back to Guillestre for a little evening glass of sunshine.

After another night’s sleep on my shelf, I woke to a bit of a cooler, but still sunshiny, day (well 28C instead of 35C). The little glass of sunshine resulted in the need for a middle of the night toilet visit, and at this point I discovered that shelf sleeping was not the greatest idea, as dismounting the shelf onto the cupboard and down onto the floor in the dark of night without a light switch nearby is not half as easy as getting up there. Being a bit cooler, I decided to tackle a longer walk. 14.25km and 740m of ascent up to Col des Thures at 2220m. If the Cicerone guide labels a walk as ‘hard’, it usually is……..and it was. However, it was another beautiful one. There were butterflies everywhere, a little church, some amazing fairy chimney rock formations. These are formed by the irregular erosion of a particular type of rock known as puddingstone, which leaves a narrowly-tapered column topped with a large rock delicately balanced on top. Anyway, a hard but very beautiful walk with some more amazing views.

The only mistake today was the choice of white socks. You know you’ve had a good walk when you come back looking like this!

Only one thing for it, a quick bath in the beautiful Lac Embrun on the way back to get rid of most of the dirt before getting in the very clean apartment shower. A lake swim is so refreshing on a hot day after a long walk.

Tea tonight was a treat. Too tired to self cater again, and thinking I can’t come to France and have pizza again, I went to a lovely little French restaurant for delicious local lamb followed by more raspberry tart.

Day 4 and 5 I decided to up the adventure a little bit. So day 4 first. The drive up Col d’Izoard had got me wondering “Could I get up there on a bike?”. I think we all know the answer! “NO!” But there is only me who could think it possible that at 52 I might be able to achieve something that Chris Froome makes look torturous on one of his good days.

I did, of course, want to experience riding up there and very sensibly listened to the recommendation from the bike shop to perhaps have a go on an electric bike and set it on ‘Turbo’. Oh, what a good day I had. It was lovely. Fuelled with an almond croissant from the bakery, I set off from the bottom to cycle the 15km to the top and then the 15km back down. Now, what you don’t see on the Tour de France coverage is that there are little villages all the way up the mountain, and each one has a boulangerie. I’ve never seen the great Tour riders dismounting and popping in, but I was determined to call in every one, either on the way up or down, and I think I did achieve my goal. I do like to set myself a bit of a challenge though and was most smug when I handed my bike back in with 4 of its 5 charging bars still illuminated and informed the ‘Doubting Thomas’ in the bike shop that I had been all the way up and down in ‘Eco’ and ‘Tour’ and the ‘ETMB’ and ‘Turbo’ settings had just not been necessary.

Day 5, only one full day remaining after this, so let’s make the most of it as I’m still in one piece. What do you do if you are scared of heights, don’t like putting your head under water, and don’t want to make a mess of your nicely painted nails. Why, book yourself on a canyoning trip of course, on the day after a torrential downpour in the night.

So Rob, the lovely canyon guide from the Netherlands, very expertly took myself and another 8 individuals down Canyon Fournel in the Durance Valley, and took photographs at the same time! It was amazing. I’ve been canyoning twice before in other countries, and this one was equally as good. There were slides, jumps, abseils, via ferratas, all in the setting of the most beautiful canyon and gorge. I can’t say I enjoyed every moment as there were times when I was scared, and at one point I did opt for a lower jump than a higher one as I just mentally could not get my head around the rock that was protruding and sticking out below the higher jump. I’d 100% do it again though, and it’s good to confront your fears.

So all too soon I’d reached my final day and there was only one thing missing………………a marmot sighting. This is the only time the Cicerone guide has let me down! A walk to Lac du Plan Vallon from the tiny hamlet of Melezin. All the way up to 2315m of altitude just because the book said, ‘the marmots here are particularly friendly.’ We all know how I like to talk to animals. And the stuffed marmots in the gift shop looked so cute. I had this vision of myself, all Heidi like, sat in an alpine meadow at the top of a mountain, surrounded by friendly marmots eating out of my hand. I even googled, ‘What do marmots eat?’, to discover they like peanuts and carrots. And yes, there is only me stupid enough to carry 1kg of carrots bought especially for the occasion all the way up to 2315m to find how many marmots?? ……… NONE! Not a single marmot in sight on the way up. So I ate my sandwich, sulking, and made my way back down, only to discover, 100 meters from the top, having a drink in the stream………. a marmot!! What did it do as I held my carrot out for it? Well, it ran off, of course, hotly pursued by me, who was determined it was having some carrot. It then spent 30 seconds screaming at me from its hole before disappearing down it. Determined not to be weighed down by carrot any longer, I deposited a carrot at the entrance to every marmot hole within a 10 metre radius. So, do not believe walk 16 in the Cicerone guide………there are no friendly marmots here! However, there were beautiful views and cows with jingly bells round their necks, so I did get my Heidi moment.

Day 7 was unfortunately the grand depart. Just time for a quick drive the scenic route back to the airport over one of France’s highest drivable mountain passes. The road around the Cime de la Bonette reaches 2802m and according to Wikipedia is the highest asphalted road in France, and the highest through road in Europe. It’s not the prettiest peak. It’s really barren, very windy, very cold and there is no vegetation but definitely worth a look.

So that’s your Yorkshire Girl’s guide to the Brianconnais Alps. Would I recommend it……if you love walking, adventure, mountains, beautiful scenery, nature, gorgeous food, friendly people, but aren’t desperate to feed a marmot, then absolutely YES! I will definitely return, it’s like an adult’s adventure playground, and I still have 36 walks to do and a colony of friendly marmots to find. If you are looking for luxury and don’t want to exert yourself, and like more of a resort type holiday then no, it’s not that sort of place really, the locals definitely outnumber the tourists and there’s nothing glitzy about it. It’s a place where you relax in a more casual way and connect with nature, no need to pack your cocktail dress if you know what I mean. It’s quite a relaxing and homely place with a really welcoming vibe, I loved it and came back feeling really refreshed after a week of fresh alpine air.

I’ve been missing! But I’m back! Well, for a few days at least.

So what have I been up to? Well it’s summer for me and I’m fortunate enough not to work for most of the summer so I like to adventure, explore and relax and that’s why I don’t write much during this time.

But I just wanted to tell you about the importance of ‘retreating’ or going on a ‘retreat’ and also share with you the beautiful island of Mallorca,which is such a misunderstood island.

I’m not 100% adventure, everyone needs to crash at least once a year, and I go on an annual ‘retreat’ where there is no routine or structure. I have done this for a few years now. I’ve had my little summer trek earlier in summer but that’s not a retreat as you are not alone, you meet lots of people and you are not resting, it’s hard work, especially when you overpack your rucksack! But I’ve come to realise that the reason I like my caminos, my treks and my active holidays are that I’m in my comfort zone. My body and mind are active. Yes, I’m in nature, but my day is still ruled by structure. Get up, breakfast, walk, lunch, washing, plan and prepare for next day, dinner, bed. If I’m honest with myself, I can’t really cope with the absence of structure and having nothing to do because I don’t know how to be still, I start to become restless quite quickly. My whole working day is spent sorting out problems and reacting to various situations quickly and efficiently, bringing up children you do the same, so it becomes habit and if you are not careful you end up being in a constant state of alertness and almost anticipatory anxiousness ready to take on the next challenge. That is why it is so important to ‘retreat’. Spend some time in a place where there is no structure, no plan, you can be still, just a week of nothingness, to think, be with yourself in the present moment, and chill. I make myself do it. I feel so restless on day one, but I soon adjust.

It’s a well know fact that I don’t like being in the UK, even though I’m British born and bred. I spend very little of my summer or any holiday there. I love my Yorkshire, but other than that I dislike the culture, values and I can’t wait to get out of there. I’ve already spent four weeks out of the county since June. I’m now one day back from Mallorca and I just can’t bear it. Not being due back at work until the end of August, I’m already fully intending to jet off again in around a week for another little week of walking or adventure. I’ll go anywhere I can find a cheapish flight to, but I do gravitate towards Italy or Spain as that’s where I’m happiest and where I feel comfortable and at ‘home’ even though it’s not home.

So the ‘retreat’. What is it, where is it, and what do I do? Well, the dictionary definition of to retreat is, ‘to withdraw from enemy forces’. I suppose it is in a way but I am also acutely aware that the ‘enemy’ is myself, and the pressure I place on me! A better description might be ‘an act of moving back or withdrawing to a period or place of seclusion for the purposes of prayer, meditation, rest and relaxation.’ Yes, that is almost it, apart from the fact that there is no praying on my retreat, but there is definitely thinking, rest and relaxation.

Where do I go? Well, I disappear into the countryside and mountains of Mallorca and I plan nothing. I rest, relax, exercise, eat, read and immerse myself in the local culture. That’s about it. I get up early, don’t go to bed awfully late, and do whatever I fancy each day I get up. I don’t go on my phone except for that once a day check in on my parents, and I don’t watch TV or listen to the news.

So, who else goes on this retreat…………….well no-one really! It’s not one of those organised retreats for women or anything like that it’s just a lovely villa out in the mountains, near the old town of Pollenca which I have rented for a number of years now from a lovely Mallorcan family, Guillermo and his daughter Maria. There are no neighbours, just the jingle of goat bells, sheep bells, crickets, frogs in the pond and the backdrop of the mountains. It is gorgeous and every year I arrive, I feel like I’ve come home, and every year I leave, it just confirms the fact that I won’t retire in the UK! I can’t tell you exactly where it is or it will get booked up and I won’t be able to get a reservation next time!😂 I don’t want to over publicise it!

The retreat was slightly hampered this year by the very late addition of a son to the booking. However, he’s had a bit of a tough year at Uni, was in need of his own little retreat and we do get along well. The ground rules were laid i.e. pretend I’m not there and look after yourself unless you want to do what I’m doing! So off we went, and that is the purpose of this post; to advise everyone to have an annual retreat. It can be anywhere, at any time, but just ensure you completely withdraw from your everyday life and just have an unstructured rest and relax.

Why do I go to Mallorca? I believe Mallorca is one of the most underrated and misunderstood destinations ever. You might be thinking “Why on earth does she ‘retreat’ to Mallorca?” as images of Magaluf spring to mind. Yes, the good old British have given Mallorca and Magaluf its reputation as the Mediterranean’s lively, brash, party capital. Statistics say that in the summer 50% of Magaluf will be aged 18 to 25 years of age. And having driven through as fast as allowable, I can confirm most will be semi-naked, drunk and British. No, I don’t go there. I avoid the south coast completely. Mallorca has a mountain range that runs from the south west port of Andratx, right up to the top of the north coast at Formentor. That mountain range, and the towns and villages within it, are gorgeous. There is a path, the GR221 which takes 8 days to walk which goes the full length of the mountain range. I walked it in May 2022 and it is beautiful. If the idea of Mallorca appeals but the notion of a ‘retreat’ doesn’t, I recommend doing the walk as you will see all the best parts of Mallorca.

I base myself just outside Pollenca (not to mistaken with livelier Port de Pollenca). Pollenca is in the north east corner of the mountains. It is a beautiful little old town surrounded by farms and mountains. So what did I do and why do I love it here?

First of all I love the villa because I feel at home, safe in the middle of nowhere, and the family are lovely. I wake early here, to the sound of sheep bells and crickets. At around 6:30am to 7am I usually go for a run. Guillermo, who must now be in his 80’s is always outside. He lives in town but comes every morning really early to clean the pool and tend his orchards before it gets too hot. We have a little conversation in my very poor Spanish and off I trot, sometimes with running partner, sometimes on my own, depending on whether he’d surfaced in time. I know it sounds ironic but I actually relax and meditate while I’m running. I never listen to music while I run, which I know a lot of people do. I like to listen and look around me and take everything in, I find music a distraction. I stop and talk to animals which some people find a bit strange but try it, it’s fun and they are so perceptive and communicative. I had a much more meaningful conversation with a pig one morning than I did with my son. He had his little ears pricked up listening to me and every time I finished my sentence he replied with his grunts. I’ve no idea what he said but he was so cute.

So I did hill reps up the steps in town, jogs around the lanes in the mountains and one very steep run to the top of Puig de Maria, all 866 feet of it with my entrance to the summit and very near collapse, unknowingly at the time, expertly captured 35 seconds into the video.

After my little run I like to sit in the garden and have my morning coffee and breakfast by the pool. Often Guillermo has left me a little gift for my breakfast……..usually figs in August.

I love gardens and this one is just beautiful. So may pretty flowers that we don’t get at home due to the climate. There are butterfly/moth type creatures and a garden pond full of frogs which I can watch for hours. There are eagles and kites and so many other bird species. So I spend an awful lot of time either reading or taking in the sights, sounds and smells of the garden.

Then there is the pool! It’s beautiful. I love to swim but I have mentioned before that I have a bit of a phobia about putting my head under water. I have a son who is like a fish and his one task this week was to teach me how to dive. Now, I think we were a bit ambitious. But I did manage to swim a length with my face in the water (my delight at the end is evident), and I achieved probably the most un-straight pencil jump into the deep end ever seen. But it’s progress!

So mornings and early afternoons are spent reading, relaxing and floating about on a lilo.

What else do I like about Pollenca and Mallorca ………. oh yes ……………food!! Particularly the two ‘E’s – Ensaimada and Empanada both of which you will find in the Panderia or Pastisseria, which it does not take me long to find.

An Empanada is like a little savoury pie with golden crispy pastry, delicious! An Ensaimada I like to have outside my favourite café in the square on my way back from my run. That’s like a twirl of sweet pastry/bread type dough covered in icing sugar. Perfect with a café con leche! And I also found a chocolate Ensaimada this year….oh yes!

My other two favourite foods in Mallorca are seafood, shellfish in particular and I had the most delicious Spaghetti con Frutti de Mare. It had scallops, clams, razor clams, lobster, crab claws, squid and mussels in it.

The other dish that Mallorca is well known for is shoulder or lamb. And I love this too!!

And of course we all know I love ice cream and the best discovery this year was that the Heladeria now has Ensaimada flavour ice cream!!! But it also does one of my all time favourite flavours Pistachio so there was only one thing to do to solve the problem……………..DOUBLE SCOOP!

Now I know it’s meant to be a ‘retreat’ but in the evenings I do like a little party! And the good thing about Mediterranean countries are that they have the most spectacular festivals. We just don’t have them like this in the UK and further west. Political correctness and health and safety has just taken the fun out of everything. In the UK we are now dismantling statues, re-naming buildings, and attempting to erase the history of anyone who upset anyone. I find it so sad because history is history, it’s in the past and if we don’t continue to educate the next generations about the wrongs in history as well as the rights how do we ensure the wrongs don’t happen again? They are lessons to be learnt.

Anyway, rant over. My visit this year coincided with the Patrona festival. Possibly the most politically incorrect festival I have ever seen!! This would never even get through the planning stage in the UK. So what is it. It’s a big battle re-enacted in the town square of a battle which took place long ago, in 1550, between the Christians and the Moors (or Muslims). Can you just imagine the uproar at home if that was suggested! All the town takes part. You can decide whether you are a Christian or a Moor but if you are a Moor you have to black your face. Being from the UK it felt really strange to see as the whole thing would be deemed as racist but it was so refreshing to see that the world has not gone completely mad. Pollenca today has a Muslim population as well as a Catholic population and it was lovely to see them all coming together to party, with Muslims dressed as Christians, Christians dressed as Muslims, and everyone taking part in the spirit in which it is meant and not getting upset about it.

So what happens? Now this is the bit where health and safety has completely ‘gone out of the window’. Basically you get a big stick (the bigger the better, it seemed to be he who has the biggest stick wins), or a heavy wooden sword will do. The Moors come from one side of town, the Christians come from the other. Someone pretends to be Captain Joan Mas who led the Christians in 1550 and shouts ‘the Moors are here’ and basically what follows is a couple of hours of what can only be described as each side absolutely beating the ‘shit’ out of each other with big sticks. There are guns (very loud with blanks) and all sorts. It all concludes with a huge firework display at 11pm and then hundreds of drunk soldiers staggering around the town until the following morning, when sides taken are forgotten, and everyone is friends again. It was fantastic and I’m so glad I got to see it.

The festival was on the night of the supermoon, so the night concluded with my other favourite end of night pastime. Lying on my sunbed around the pool watching the stars and the moon. It is so quiet you can hear a pin drop.

The north of Mallorca also has some beautiful coves and beaches and my favourite is Cala Molins a short drive away. So if I do feel like re-entering civilisation I drive to this beach for a swim as it’s always quite busy and the sea is beautifully turquoise and clear.

So the week was over far too quickly. I always book a late afternoon flight home because on my last day I like to go the scenic way back to the airport, extending my ‘retreat’ as long as possible, and drive all through the mountains, past the lakes and reservoirs and stop at the small villages on the way for coffee. It truly is the most beautiful island if you know where to visit and I can’t imagine not having my annual Mallorca ‘retreat’.

I’ve really got Mallorca blues this week after only 24 hours of being back but feel so much better for shutting off from the world and everything in it for a while. I’ll just have to ease my blues by looking to see where I might go for my final week of summer adventures next week or the week after. Where will it be??

What a weekend! I needed all day on Sunday to recover but gosh was it worth it.

Friday night straight after work was a quick dash to Hillsborough Park, Sheffield to see the Arctic Monkeys perform their first home town gig for five years. It was an outdoor concert in a park so in June it could have gone either way, rain or sunshine. Fortunately we are in a bit of a Yorkshire heatwave at the moment (well 29 degrees, but in Yorkshire that’s a heatwave!) so it was glorious. Just under eighty thousand people, all packed into a park to see what is definitely the best concert I have ever, ever been to; and being a bit of a music fanatic I’ve seen lots of bands, and my tastes are very varied, I’ve seen everything from Andrea Bocelli, to Whitesnake, to Paul Weller to Aida at the Verona opera house. I just love music.

I was there at their last concert five years ago because I’m a bit of a diehard fan, and that was great, but this just had everything. What must be the coolest, sharpest dresser in the whole planet singing the greatest set list in that amazing voice, which is just like melting milk chocolate it’s so smooth. A man so clearly at ease in his own skin, without being arrogant, he was clearly over the moon to be back home in Yorkshire.

I was a little disappointed with the setlist the last time I saw them as some of the old classics like ‘Brianstorm’, ‘Fluorescent Adolescent’ and ‘Mardy Bum’ were missing, but they were all there this time, including my absolute favourite from the new album, ‘Body Paint’. And they were all delivered with perfection, by a lead singer with so much stage presence and charisma. He’s one of those front men who does not say much, he doesn’t need to, but when he does it’s quite profound. He doesn’t bounce around the stage, there’s no fancy stage outfit, no swearing. He has his trademark sharp suit and shirt on, his Ray Bans and just delivers one song after another, with one foot up on the monitor speaker. He’s a lover of English Literature and a devout Ernest Hemingway fan and it shows. I just adore some of his lyrics, like “I wanna be your setting lotion, hold your hair in sweet devotion” from ‘I Wanna be Yours’, makes me smile every time, and the lyrics to ‘Body Paint’ for me are probably some of the greatest he’s written. He finished the concert with “Sheffield you’ve been absolutely amazing” but Alex Turner, so were you!

Anyway, the music was one thing but my goodness me………….there was an ice cream van inside the park! So not only did I hear some excellent music I got my Mr Whippy with chocolate flake fix all at the same time! I must have looked as excited as a small child as I got raspberry sauce and sprinkles too! It’s the way forward I’ve decided, all rock concerts should have an ice cream van.

I was meant to be very well behaved and not be led astray by my eldest this time, as I had my Barnsley Boundary Team Relay race on Saturday morning, Leg 3 at 8:30am, and then the Joe Percy 10k a couple of days after, and I needed to be in tip top condition.

Last time I went to see the Arctic Monkeys with him I was in anything but tip top condition the morning after. He had led me to the front row telling me I’d be ok in the mosh pit, subsequently lost me in there and my poor little feet took weeks to get over it.

Now I don’t think I did too badly this time. I safely avoided the mosh pit and the worst thing that happened was getting hit by a flying toilet roll and narrowly missing a flying plastic pint glass of urine (just why do they do that?!).

However I am no slave to my training plan and have absolutely no will power when it comes to sports nutrition. I doubt the pre-race night diet of a finely tuned athlete consists of the aforementioned Mr Whippy, a pint of Amstel lager and a portion of large fries on the way home at midnight because I was so hungry. However, in my defence both the lager and the fries contained pre-race carbs.

So Saturday morning I was up bright and early to meet at the start of Leg 3, my leg of the Barnsley Boundary Relay race. There are 10 legs in this 73 mile race and it is run in a team of 10 with each person running one leg. My running Club had entered 9 teams and I had been placed in the Veteran 40 Ladies Team. Now on my own I’m not that competitive and if I win a trophy (I won my first one the other week) it’s usually by accident and I have no idea I’ve won it, winning just isn’t my goal when I’m running on my own, I’m just happy to be taking part. However, I am a bit of a team player and when I’m in a team I am really competitive as I’m determined not to let the team down.

So fuelled with ice cream, lager and fries in 29 degree heat I turned myself inside out to run my leg and came in second lady, one second behind my club mate who was in the much faster younger ladies team. I made a mistake on the clothing front wearing shorts. The nettles and brambles were huge but I just tried to plough on through them and just blank the pain from my mind. This caught up with me a little bit in the end and a little medical attention and pampering was required when I got to my Mother’s afterwards for my Saturday visit. But she had bought me an appropriately named and specially chosen chocolate bar bless her, you’ve got to love her, I’m still getting spoilt (and told off in equal measure) at 52!

However it was all worthwhile as the Veteran 40 Ladies team were victorious in lifting the trophy in the evening!!!! HERE COME THE GIRLS!!! The second trophy in a month. So very proud of every one of our efforts, we all took one for the team because it was hot out there. So any competitive athletes out there, forget the lettuce, you need a pre race-day late night, beer, fries and ice cream.

After all that excitement, Sunday was a much needed day of rest and calm at home. A day of snoozing, books, birds, streams and pretty summer foxgloves…………

………..Oh, and a dressing up box. Child number one has now moved on to his summer placement just outside London and has sent some of his possessions home for his personal assistant (me) to store until his Uni return. I spied a student dressing up box on clearing his room! Being in his third year (that’s lots of booze fuelled fancy dress parties) he’s now accumulated quite a little collection. Being a bit bored, and in touch with my inner child, I just could not resist a rummage through the box, a few donning of outfits, and a few photographs for him of his one and only mother in disguise, clearing his room. There were hats, a pair of angel wings, a halo (very me), and a fab beard and sunglasses combo! I had a very enjoyable afternoon, until I was reminded by him that I was meant to be just putting his stuff in the loft, not rummaging through it……ooooops!

I love coffee! It’s the one small addiction that I have. I don’t drink lots of it, if I do I can feel my heart racing, I start to feel a bit on-edge and I definitely can’t get to sleep if I have one after teatime.

But I just can’t start the day without it.

I know it’s not that great for you, but neither is anything if you have too much of it so, although I’ve cut down on my intake from what I used to drink, for me it is one of life’s pleasures and I have no intention of giving it up.

Now I have a little secret. I can tell the difference between a good cup and a bad cup. I’m not a complete coffee snob. My morning coffee goes down so quickly it does not touch the sides so I just purchase a big bag of perfectly acceptable supermarket Italian espresso beans – £8 for 1kg. There is however one major coffee chain that I will not drink at, as in my humble opinion you might as well drink dirty dishwater. You can hardly taste the coffee it is so weak and transparent. It has no taste or flavour.

However, I will own up to owning a secret tin (possibly not so secret now I’ve announced it on here). It is an Italian Gianduiotto tin (a type of gorgeous hazelnut chocolate from Piedmont Italy, and another of my weaknesses!). Inside the tin however are no Gianduiotti, they went long ago, so yummy in my tummy. Inside the tin are my ‘top secret’ coffee beans. They are from a speciality coffee roaster called Darkwoods, who are based in Slaithwaite, in mighty fine Yorkshire of course.

I first came across them when I was in my favourite Italian Deli and I ordered a flat white coffee. It was one of those WOW moments. Quite simply the best coffee I have ever tasted, and it still is, and I’ve drunk a lot of coffee.

I thought, “I just have to have a bag of these beans for my machine at home!” You know, for those moments when I sit in the garden or reading my book and I have time to enjoy my coffee properly. So I asked where they were from and if I could buy a bag. They were from Darkwoods. The slight catch is that the amazing taste comes with a price; a price of £29.85 for a 1kg bag, so a massive 273% mark up on the supermarket bag. I did however, treat myself as they were just so good. Hence why , when I buy them, they are in my secret tin disguised as chocolate. My boys only drink the odd cup of coffee, usually only after an heavy night on the beer, and they don’t know a good cup from a bad one so I’m sorry, they are not having my beans! Mess with my beans and you are in trouble. Likewise, get offered a cup of coffee using my beans and you know you are very dear to me.

I have however, always wondered what makes them taste so good and why they cost so much. I’ve never really known much about how the coffee gets from the farm to my coffee machine. So when Darkwoods sent me a mailer about an ‘Evening with Sebastian Ramirez’ they were holding last Monday night, my interest was piqued and I thought I would find it really interesting, as you already know I like to know everything about everything. I’m like a sponge, I soak up knowledge and like to learn new things. So I booked my ticket and off I went. It promised an evening with a producer, talking and sampling all things coffee!

I thought I would learn a little bit about coffee production and what makes some coffees taste so good and command such a high price. I certainly did learn that, along with having a good old nosey around Darkwoods and meeting the very charming Sebastian Ramirez, who was so very obviously obsessed about all things coffee!

Darkwoods are based in an old mill in the former textile producing area of Yorkshire, alongside the river and the canal, and it was a glorious summer evening. They have been established over 10 years now by coffee fanatic who brought over an old dilapidated Probat UG22 coffee roaster from Croatia. The machine was brought back to life and Darkwoods was born. The business took off and they are now operating with much larger and more modern Probat G45 in addition to the old machine. They are the proud owners of over 70 ‘Great Taste’ awards for their coffees.

Their mission is to use only speciality grade coffees, all traceable to skilled farmers and their farms across the world. They buy the ‘green’ coffee beans from the farms and then they roast them in the mill at Slaithwaite. Sebastian Ramirez is one of those farmers who was visiting his clients in the UK and agreed to talk to Darkwoods clients about all things coffee.

Sebastin Ramirez is Columbian. He lives on a farm called Finca El Placer and is the fourth generation of his family to farm there. El Placer is in Calarca, Quindio in the heart of the Columbian coffee belt. He exports 80% of his coffee beans outside Columbia, 10% to a Columbian roaster and the other 10% which he calls his ‘second grade’ beans is roasted and drunk locally. He speaks only in his mother tongue, and I realised my Spanish is really not as good as I thought it was. But fortunately he had a translator who also stumbled from time to time so I can only assume Sebastian was speaking in some local dialect. A bit like I do after a few too many glasses of wine when I get my Spanish and Italian muddled up and speak in a whole new language I’ve developed called Spatalian. But it’s ok as my friend also learns both languages and we can actually understand each other and converse for hours in Spatalian without realising.

Sebastian explained everything about the process from the start, right to when the bean gets to Darkwoods. I learnt that the key to a good tasting coffee is not what happens at Darkwoods, but is all about what happens to the green bean before it gets to the UK. It was fascinating. Before it gets to the UK the bean undergoes various processing at source before it is stabilised and ready to ship.

He is also a sustainability champion and invests so much back into his local community. He has built a large new dry mill for processing the coffee beans which around 5 of the local family run farms use in addition to his own. By using this one processing plant for the green been they can guarantee the same conditions and quality by creating a stable environment with the same temperature and humidity. To ensure the beans do not get too hot or too cold, and to maintain a stable temperature, the facility has a charcoal underfloor which absorbs the heat of the day and then slowly releases it overnight. By setting up this facility he is also creating local employment and trying to encourage young people to stay in the area, rather than move away to the cities. He trains many young people in the whole process from the planting and horticulture side, from the scientific side of the processing, the engineering side of the plant and equipment and the business side of marketing, finding international buyers and exporting. In addition to having a well looked after happy workforce he is extremely committed to sustainability and the environment.

Sebastian is a little bit like a scientist, he is always experimenting with different beans and different processes as his end aim, in his words, is an “outstanding sensory experience for the consumer”. He harvests and processes coffee to order, it is fresh, he refuses to process, store and stabilize it for months before shipping it. He uses varietals of the arabica bean, which is known for its chocolate, caramel and citrus taste. However, he wants his coffee to be different and better than everyone else’s for taste, hence his experiments with his processing. He says he can undertake up to 5 experiments a week and every now and then he hits the jackpot with an amazing sensory taste discovery. He likes to take the basic Arabica varietals like Geisha Red, Pink and Yellow Bourbon and Wush Wush but then do something radical in the processing so that the taste is transformed into something quite extraordinary and different. He says he wants to “add extra value to ordinary varietals”.

His desire to create something different came about due to an economic crash in Columbia which impacted all the coffee farmers who in his words were “stuck in their ways”. He knew he had to do something different to survive, but the coffee still had to be tasty, drinkable and deliver that wow factor. When asked what the locals thought to this shift and his experimentation he laughed and said they just thought he was ‘weird’ and it all tasted like ‘vinegar’ but when they saw the price his beans were commanding they soon came around to his way of thinking.

He went on the explain how he operates as environmentally friendly and sustainably as possible and the impact that climate change is having on his farming. Just like us they are not having marked seasons any more. They are getting more dense rains and less sun and all of this presents a challenge.

So what does he do. He subjects different beans to different processes and techniques to create an extraordinary taste. He does not give too many secrets away. He uses extremely long (by industry standards) carbonic fermentation techniques and adds coffee ‘must’ from fruit such as cherries to aid flavour development through the long fermentation period. After fermentation the beans are then dried on patios and raised tables. Over the years he has worked closely with a local laboratory to help him understand more about the local flora, yeasts and bacteria and effectively uses selected micro-organisms as ingredients, extracted from the leached juices of the cherries.

By this time I’m starting to understand why not all coffee tastes the same, and am also starting to understand the price differential between my two bags of beans. I can’t explain the different processes to you, like the difference between anaerobic or carbonic maceration as I’m not a scientist but it was so interesting. Our first tasting was of El Placer Session IPA. He produces this using a basic Pink Bourbon Arabica bean. But he ferments it for 200 hours, compared to a ‘normal’ fermentation period of around 70 hours, using an anaerobic honey process and the addition of local yeast and hops. It was outstanding.

Next tasting was the El Placer Wush Wush Extended. This uses the Wush Wush variety which has undergone a 280 hour carbonic maceration in cherries. The beans are submerged in the cherry must (juice) during fermentation and the beans are then slowly dried. I liked this lots. You can actually taste the cherries. It’s not sweet, it’s coffee. And it’s not like a cherry flavour coffee. There is just a really subtle aroma and taste of cherries and chocolate, but it still tastes like coffee. I can’t really explain what I mean but it hit the jackpot for me.

The final tasting was El Placer Caturra ‘Submarine’. Called this because it has had a 200 hour carbonic maceration in cherries, but has then been submerged under fresh water for a closed tank fermentation. Another fabulous coffee.

So what is the difference from a supermarket bean. For a start, my bag of supermarket beans will probably be a mix of varietals from different farms and will not have a single origin. It will have been fermented for a short processing time, without the use of other natural ingredients and experimentation to enhance it’s taste. By the time it gets to the roasters it could be over a year old, having been stored and stabilized and will have a woody taste. It could have been harvested and processed by cheap labour, working in not the greatest of conditions, otherwise how would they be able to produce it for £8 a bag, and still no doubt make a hefty profit for the supermarket.

So it was an excellent evening. I now know all about how my coffee gets from farm to cup. All about the extraordinary process it goes through to create such an amazing taste. I understand why it costs £29.85 per kg, and now I know what it goes to support and fund I’m happy to pay it every once in while to fill my ‘secret tin’. And I could not help thinking what a fantastic thing, to live in such a beautiful place and almost do something that is your hobby as your job because this man was clearly devoted to his farm, his family, his people and his coffee and was so proud to be spreading the story of El Placer, his country Columbia, it’s culture and it’s coffee.

So…….School holiday for one week = escape to somewhere other than the UK for some relaxation and sunshine! This week was a trip to pretty Parga, Greece.

Here I am on the beach, with no makeup, no filter, salty sea hair, with my three tyres. I have one more than a bicycle and one less than a car! And do you know what, I no longer have an issue with my tyres, I actually quite like them!

I used to be in the swimsuit brigade, all body conscious, but another thing that happens as you get older is that you just stop worrying about that. I embrace it and let it hang out of my bikini, literally. My tyres tell the story that I have given birth to two great human beings, my proudest achievement. My tummy has all little lines on it like a road map, and each little line tells a story, my story. My tyres are also testament to the fact that I have spent far more money in the bakery than I have on gym subscriptions. They also come in really handy as a table for balancing your cocktail too!

So embrace your curves, and you do you. Because no matter what shape or size you are, your body is the most amazing thing.

So, on to Parga. Only 3 hours from Manchester. Would I go back……..Oh yes!! It was one of those WOW places. So very pretty. A small Greek fishing town with pretty multi-coloured houses all tumbling down the hillside to the bay. So very, very green. No man made high-rise hotels or blots on the landscape, so unpretentious but still so luxurious and elegant.

I like seaside cities like Barcelona, Dubrovnik etc. which have history and culture, but I’m not a fan of ‘resorts’. I went to a resort that shall remain nameless in Mallorca and hated it…..but I love Mallorca. I just know what I like. I like pretty, green, nature, history, culture, traditional buildings not piles of hotels that make a place look like a man made modern city centre plonked on a beach, all out of place. I hate pretentious and rudeness too and don’t want to spend a week with people who are. I want to feel relaxed and happy on my holiday.

I do, however, spend quite a lot of my hard earned money on travelling. I go to work and work hard so I can travel and explore. I’m not a saver or lover of material things. I’m all about life’s experiences. There is no surprise that some who know me refer to me as Judith Chalmers. If you don’t know her, she hosted a holiday TV program in the UK in the 1980s and 1990s and basically spent all her time travelling. I do the same in the school holidays, and now someone has bought me a subscription to National Geographic Traveller for my birthday, I’m at that stage where I cannot possibly live long enough to complete the bucket list so I’m having to prioritise.

Sometimes I like to be looked after on my holiday, and Parga was one of those holidays, as I needed to relax and rest after a busy half term. I stayed at Lichnos Beach and was looked after so well. There is only one hotel there, low rise and pristine white buildings spread out amongst the olive groves on the most beautiful small bay with turquoise blue sea.

The staff were really attentive. Gorgeous food, sunbed service, but nothing pretentious about it. 5 star yes, but it felt so relaxed and did not attract the usual ostentatious, pretentious set that some 5 star resort hotels can attract……those where nothing is good enough and they seem to make a living out of being unkind and rude to staff to make themselves feel better. So if you fancy a relaxed, chilled week in a gorgeous location, being well and truly spoiled without the pretentiousness, I’d recommend it.

So, on to Parga itself. I clicked the ‘book now’ button, thinking I was going to a Greek island, I did history not geography at school! It’s not, it’s on the mainland opposite Corfu, not too far from the Albanian and Macedonian borders. It’s in the Epirus region near Preveza. Due to its proximity to the border, it has a history of being fought over. It’s been part of the Venetian and Ottoman empires and has been part of Turkey, Albania and Western Macedonia before Greece. So there is so much history and no shortage of pretty castles.

So, that’s the history bit. I’m also impartial to a holiday cocktail. If you like beer, the Mythos is good and cheaper than the water (tastes better than water too!). If you like cocktails, I recommend Avocado cocktail bar. Halfway up the hill with the most gorgeous view of the town with its twinkling lights around the harbour. And seven days is just enough time to work your way through the entire cocktail menu……that’s a fact I know because I might just have achieved it! I hardly drink at home but I do like a little tipple on holiday.

Parga town itself is beautiful. It’s a little horseshoe shaped promenade lined with pretty bars and cafes, a small but perfectly formed harbour, a hilltop castle, and just lovely to stroll around in the evening.

It’s also well connected to the islands by ferry or day trip boat. It’s close to Corfu but I decided instead to spend a day at the more remote islands of Paxos and Antipaxos with a stop at the Blue Caves enroute for swimming with the rather aptly named Captain Hook! Not the real one I suspect, as I saw both hands, clutching either a Marlboro or his mobile phone. All joking aside, he was an amazingly good captain, and it was quite possibly the best 35 euros I spent on holiday.

The blue Caves were excellent and he skilfully got the whole boat inside and then let us jump off the boat into the turquoise waters. There were so many pretty fish. I love swimming in the sea when it’s so blue. Then we had a pod of dolphins chasing the boat, such a sight, beautiful.

We stopped off in Gaios, the main town on Paxos for three hours. It was such a lovely sleepy island town. Highlights here were the harbour front, pretty little terracotta church, bougainvillea, and statue of George Anemogiannis. George was born on Paxos and was a hero of the Greek Revolution against the Ottoman empire getting killed in 1821 aged 23 on his ship, in battle.

Oh, and another highlight was the creperie and gelato taverna on the waterfront where I ate a huge crepe, with Peanut Butter gelato under the pretence that the fresh fruit on the plate and inside the crepe constituted at least 3 of my 5 a day!

Feeling a bit guilty (only a bit) about the over indulgence on cocktails and cakes I also took my running gear and yes, I did go, and here is photographic evidence that I nearly had to be carried back to the hotel. Parga has a little church. It’s at the top of a hill, and the hill is very steep. I can confirm it was just short of 6 miles there and back, and the church from the beach is 1300ft above sea level. It was 30 degrees, and my face ended up the same colour as my t-shirt……pink! It was horrible. I felt just like I look. I can, however, confirm that I actually run one minute a mile quicker after seeing a snake. A small baby Mediterranean viper of some sort, I’m told, but I’m not a huge fan of snakes and didn’t hang around too long.

It’s now only one week away from the Barnsley Boundary relay race on 10th June though and knowing I’ve been placed in the V40 ten person female team who are favourites to win that category I’m feeling a bit under pressure!! I’m just trying not to think about the fact that my leg starts at 8am and I’m going to see the Arctic Monkeys on the evening before with a 22 year old son who loves nothing better than to lead me astray! It’s absolutely not going to be a re-run of 2018 though when he abandoned me in the mosh pit, my feet were black and blue the day after, and I might just have had a few too many to drink. I’m older and wiser now and it’s just not happening!

Back to Parga. It might not be for you if you don’t like hills. I found the answer to the question, “Where is……….please?” Was always…….”at the top of the hill.” I swear on my life it has more hills than Rome. The only upshot is that there’s usually a café or bar at the top. I had one last gigantic hill climb on my last day to walk to the pretty watermill museum. A lovely walk through greenness with no end of spring flowers and butterflies. Definitely worth the climb.

Final highlight of the holiday were the fireflies!!!! Beautiful little things, and this time of year is firefly season in Greece. Nothing better than sitting with a glass of wine, watching the stars, and listening to the cicadas and the sea with the twinkling of the fireflies in the undergrowth. Fireflies like a tropical climate, so surprisingly, we don’t have them in Yorkshire! They are fascinating. They are little winged beetles. The colour they flash and the frequency depends on which species they are. They are flashing to attract a mate. How cute is that. There’s no need for dating websites in the land of the firefly, just flash your light on your bum, and hey presto, he’s all yours! Downside though is that after all that flashing and happiness they only live for two weeks in Greece! Fascinating.

Anyway, I’m back home in God’s own county now, planning where on my bucket list to jet off to next May. But if you are thinking of Greece, consider Parga, it gets a big thumbs up from me.

I have a new favourite word……………..’Coddiwomple’. Doesn’t that just sound lovely. Basically it’s a verb which means to ‘travel in a purposeful manner towards a vague destination’.

That’s just me! I’ve no idea where I’m going, but I’m purposefully marching on, laughing and smiling as I go! I’m ‘coddiwompling’ sounds so much more fun than I’m having a midlife crisis though doesn’t it. So this post is about this week’s coddiwompling and trying to achieve a better balance through exercise, sunshine and colour.

Even though in my head I’m still 21, I’ve been feeling exhausted and thought it was just too much running. I also keep waking up with the birds at 5:30am and can’t get back to sleep. But a blood test has revealed a very acute vitamin D deficiency. Quite common when you live in a place where it rains a lot, it’s dark in winter, you work all day in an office, and glorious sunshine is reserved for just 3 summer months…….despite the fact that when I’m not working I’m usually outside.

But every cloud has a silver lining, and in addition to my short-term medication to rectify this, the prescription is more sunshine, oily fish, and dairy. So I’ve interpreted that as book more holidays abroad where it’s sunny and eat unlimited ice cream and fish and chips…….all of which I won’t have a problem with.

So this weekend I’ve spent a lot of time in my garden getting my vitamin D as my garden is definitely one of my happy places when it’s sunny. I love this time of year and it got me thinking about colour and how that too can impact your actual balance. Now, when it comes to inside the house, I’m a bit of a believer in Feng Shui. I have lots of plants in the house (I love orchids), have a muted natural colour scheme, soft lighting, comfy furniture and I hate clutter.

But outside in the garden I just love colour and plants and it’s no surprise that my favourite colour is green, and this time of year the green is just so green when everything is new and fresh and just springing to life. I’ve been planting my pots, sorting my hanging baskets, growing my salad, herbs, potatoes, and doing some weeding (my least favourite bit). Now when it comes to flowers I like hot colours…..pink, orange and yellow and these colours, along with green, make me feel happy and vibrant. I must be naturally drawn to these bright, happy colours, and I do think colour influences how you feel, but I think it’s personal choice and is probably why we all have different favourite colours. For instance, I’m not a huge fan of blue in the house and garden…….it makes me feel cold and a bit sad even though I love the blue sky and sea. So I’m sure there is a right time and place for every colour in your life. Here are my favourite garden happy colours from this week.

Quite possibly my favourite plant in the whole of my garden this week, but it’s such a shame its flowers don’t last too long. The wisteria over my kitchen back door. I love it, and it smells gorgeous and makes hanging out my washing a pleasure.

Then this is possibly the prettiest corner of the garden this week, and I managed to sneak a little ‘on the way home from work’ trip to the garden centre to buy a new plant for my ever expanding collection!

Have you ever stopped to look at a flower in detail though? They are the most amazing things and some of them are just as pretty and amazing on the inside as they are on the outside. Just look at the inside of this Peony.

And then there are my pots and baskets, which all got their summer makeover last weekend. My basket and pots I get into trouble with every year by my Mother. They take quite a bit of watering and looking after. Every year, I do them, and then every year, I then disappear off for a large part of the summer delegating the watering duties to various family members! But at least when I’m here they look lovely!

It’s that time of year when you can start to be a little bit more self-sufficient too. I love to cook, and through the winter, I make do with those dried herb things in a jar as nothing grows in Yorkshire in the winter! But I’ve made use of some old white ceramic sinks and filled them with those herbs I use lots, and they taste so much better! You can grow them in absolutely anything that you can recycle.

I’d like to tell you I use the mint for cooking……..I do…….but it does find it’s way into the odd Mojito or two too!

So that’s what I’ve been busying myself with this week on a mission to increase my vitamin D intake. I’m sure there’s more to it scientifically, but in my simplistic terms, I definitely think that exercise, colour, and sunshine have a big impact on how you feel.

I do, however, still have an element of brain fog at the moment, and I’m doing some really stupid things, much to everyone’s amusement. Generally I am very efficient, organised and ‘with it’……..but not this week. On Tuesday morning I made my packed lunch for work, promptly put it in the kitchen fridge at home instead of my work bag and then spent 15 minutes of my lunch break at work looking for it when it was still at home. Then, on Thursday, I got a lovely message from my friend Kathryn, who was texting to check I was ok, because we’ve known each other since we were tiny and she knows how efficient I am. She said thanks for sending Oliver (her son) a birthday card, but it wasn’t his birthday, and I’d already sent him a card in March when it was. So poor Oliver S. whose birthday it was got no card and a grovelling apology 2 days after his birthday, and Oliver W has had two cards. We’ve had such a giggle about it, and I’m sure she’ll not let me forget, but at least I’m laughing about it.

I’ve even started a Monday night movement class for ladies of a certain age! Yes, seriously! I never thought it would come to this. I could do a whole post on this, and it really is a good laugh. Just picture it…..it’s a fantastic group of fun loving ladies around 50 years old, who do just over an hour of yoga and pilates aimed at women ‘coddiwompling’ along to their ‘second spring’ (as the yoga instructor calls it). I’m still stuck somewhere between autumn and winter at the moment, but nevermind, I’ll take her word for the fact that my second spring is on the way! We are all trying to balance our minds and bodies, avoid ‘bingo wings’ (Yorkshire for those flabby upper arms) and resist the urge to wee our pants when we laugh, so all our movements are tailored to achieving this. We have such a good laugh, and last Monday, I actually tied myself into a knot I could not get out of whilst getting cramp in my toes at the same time! So if you are young and reading this , this is what a night out looks like at 52! No, seriously, this is just Monday nights, there are still many nights that involve the odd tipple and other exciting things that would constitute growing old disgracefully, including a fast approaching Arctic Monkeys gig in two weeks which I’m so excited about but more on that later!

So if like me you are coddiwompling along and looking to boost your wellbeing I recommend rolling around on the floor at least one night a week tying yourself in a knot, gardening, sunshine, whatever colour takes your fancy and makes you feel good, fish and chips and ice cream. A little bit of them all, but not at the same time, and you will feel perfectly balanced.

This weekend was a lovely sunny quiet weekend with lots of time for resting and reading. Both mornings involved a little run in the countryside at home first thing though, as a run just sets me up for the day. It wakes me up, releases all that adrenalin, empties my mind and allows me to be in the moment and really appreciate the important things in life. It also allows me to burn off some calories to partake in one of my other favourite activities, eating! I am sure if I did not run I would be at least twice the size that I am.

However, my runs are normally eventful and something usually happens on every run that stops me in my tracks and makes me think, and this weekend was no different!

Run number one on Saturday morning was around the nearby village of Bradfield and Dale Dyke Dam. A lovely 9 miles of pure beautifulness. Up and off early, no make-up, not a care in the world and I even forgot to brush my hair. Sunshine, lambs, moors, a traffic jam of sheep, streams, pretty villages and daffodils………………a gorgeous hour and a half to set me up for the rest of the day of relaxation!

Bradfield is a lovely little village. Very pretty, a few cafes and the area’s best brewery! I recommend the Farmers Blonde, Brown Cow and Belgian Blue…… I’ve sampled them all, but those 3 are my favourites. There is a lot of history here too, some of it not so happy. It is home to Dale Dyke Dam which when being filled for the first time on 11th March 1864 developed a crack in its embankment and burst. Three million cubic metres of water swept through the village and down the valley, flooding 4,000 homes and killing 240 people in what is known as The Sheffield Flood. Fortunately the dam is stable today and is so peaceful and beautiful you would never guess what went before.

Anyway, what happened today? Well, something that really amused me. I’m interested in people. I love to chat and learn about different peoples’ perspectives on life, interests, and, well, just people in general. So earlier that week, I had been interviewing for a post at work with one of my school Governors. In between candidates, we were having a good old chatter. He was talking to me all about spirituality and manifestation. Which led me to ask, “What’s manifestation?” Because I’m not really into that sort of stuff. Now, I’m a bit of a black and white sort of girl, I don’t do fuzzy grey areas. If there’s no scientific basis that you can show me that proves something, I’m not going to believe you and am very unlikely to buy into an idea. I’m a scientist and mathematician, show me the proof. I’ve never had my cards read or fortune told, I don’t believe in ghosts or anything like that. So he went on to explain manifestation to me. He basically explained it as the process where you visualise your desires and think aspirational thoughts with the purpose of making them real, and they will become real. Then he went on to give me a couple of examples of his own. Now, I was sceptical. My argument was that there was more than spirituality about it. You might have the thought, but surely it’s the action that you take which makes it come true, nothing else. For example, I’m a doer, not a going to do sort of person. If I desire something I find out what I need to do to achieve it and get on and do it, taking lots of small steps if needed. That’s what I’ve done all my life. I’m not manifesting, I’m just ‘doing’, because I’m a motivated and driven sort of person. There’s nothing spiritual about it, it’s down to the action. Surely you can think all you like, but without the action it’s not going to happen is it??

So there I was running along. It was hot, I was thirsty as I hadn’t taken water with it being a relatively short run. At numerous times during the run I had visualisations and thoughts about ice cream……..I often do! I wanted one so much to cool me down. Mr Whippy with chocolate flake, Solero ice lolly, my favourite pistacchio flavour gelato………any really, I just wanted an ice cream and had decided it would be my reward when I got home. I would call in the supermarket on my way back home and get an ice cream. Anyway, a visit to the supermarket was not required and this is why. I manifested an ice cream van!!!!! Yes, I got back to my Mini, and parked right next to it was Monty’s ice cream van. Well, I just could not stop laughing to myself. I’m still not sold on the idea and am putting it entirely down to coincidence but it did make me laugh and will have great pleasure in relaying the story to said Governor next week about how I actually manifested an ice cream van. You make your own mind up, but to me, that’s coincidence, not manifestation!

So that was the high of this weekend’s running. Now, for the low which literally did stop me in my tracks!

I’ve signed up with running club to be in a 10 man team to run the Barnsley Boundary Relay race. The race takes place on the route of the Barnsley Boundary Path, which forms a big circular route around the countryside of the town. It’s a 73-mile long, mainly off-road, trail route, and it is split into 10 legs with it being run like a relay. Duly assigned to leg 3 of just over 7 miles, I thought I better go and do a little recce on Sunday morning as this leg is right at the other side of town to home, and I have never run around there. I could see from the map that there were lots of places where wrong turnings could be made in fields so my plan was and is to run leg 3 a few times before the day of the race and commit it to memory, so that on race day I can just run, without a map, and hopefully not go wrong as my worst nightmare would be letting the team down.

I was very pleasantly surprised and it started well. The start is a bit industrial but you are soon out in the open countryside and it was much prettier than I thought it would be. I only took a few wrong turns which I’ll hopefully remember next time. There were cows, woods, pretty villages, bluebells (I love these) and fields full of rapeseed flowers. The latter was a bit of an issue as the route goes straight through the middle of a field of it and I am so allergic to it in terms of hayfever. I paid for it half an hour later and the rest of the afternoon so antihistamines will be required on the day!

However, shortly after the rapeseed field it all went slightly wrong as I fell down! I am so clumsy! There I was running through a dark wood on a little path. It all happened so quickly, one minute I was upright the next I was laid face down in the mud. I’d tripped up over an old metal fence post that was stuck up about three centimetres, camouflaged on the path. My second most spectacular face plant ever! Not quite as spectacular as my last one which needed a hospital visit and stitches, but impressive nonetheless and would definitely have got me a penalty on a football pitch. I flew through the air for a couple of metres and just lay there in shock for a moment wondering what on earth had happened. It had been raining the day before and was muddy so I had mud all up both legs, all over my skort, all up my arm and hands, in my hair…….everywhere!! So there was blood, sweat……but no tears. I did feel like crying because ouch, it hurt. You don’t bounce as well at 52 as you do at 12, but I put a brave face on and ran the last 3 miles. So now, I’m nursing a lovely black swollen knee. So the recce was worthwhile. Lessons learned: turn left not right at the first set of steps one mile in; take antihistamines before; beware of the fencepost sticking out of the path in the second wood!!

So there you go, the highs and lows of this weekend’s running, manifestation and clumsiness. So, how did I replace my calories this weekend, other than ice cream? No cake treats this weekend you’ll be surprised to know. After two afternoons of rest and relaxation the evening was an out to dinner night to try a new restaurant at Bradfield. Chicken liver parfait followed by seabass with chorizo, blistered cherry tomatoes, sauteed potatoes and lemon caper beurre blanc……………………………oh my, it was delicious! So good that I could not fit dessert in, which is most unusual for me.