It’s a disappointing effort by the weather and the forecasted heavy snow doesn't arrive. Even to call it a dusting would be a disservice to dustings. It all makes last night's meeting cancellation look as daft as calling off a local derby football match.
Apparently all last night’s predicted snow landed in Lincolnshire. Which means that the coldest place on earth, Sleaford, has it all and we’re there next weekend.
I run from work. I’m not planning on running all the way home, what with the Liversedge half marathon on Sunday, but that doesn't mean anything. So I get the bus to Stapleford to save me from myself and run home from there. Once home, I push L out of the door to do hers.
Of course with all this ice around, Sunday’s race may not be on. The race website is sounding a bit more positive about the race’s prospects, than they have been all week, but not much. Though they are from Yorkshire, where they don’t do positive so I expect it’ll probably be on.
On to episode five of the Millennium Trilogy, e.g. The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets’ Nest.
(Friday 10th February)
22 hours ago