When Roy and I were children, and before we had discovered alcohol, we would spend our weekends trespassing on farmers’ land. (In fact, on reflection, we did this after we discovered alcohol too, though with less intent). We’d pack our bags with sandwiches and secateurs in case of paedophiles, then head off towards some distant point, to which we’d never normally get. One time we did, though, make it to the line of trees we’d seen on the horizon from the geography room on the first floor the Friday before.
In a similar vein (mature-studenthood is my second second childhood) we set off a few weekends ago, on Pip’s birthday, for the highest point near Keele, over the valley and far away. It wasn’t quite so daring an expedition as before, but no less satisfying. I didn’t take any photos of the high point, so the context provided here is perhaps redundant. Oh.
These photos are from a different, rainier walk, during which we got stuck on a golf course and stuck it to the man by walking around the outside in the rough, and making sure not to mess up the greens.