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2018 || 3

A long (long) day where the ratio of miles to giggles (and beer and stories) is heavily in favour of the latter. A light borrowed so I can get home.

A morning on the bus with sunshine unexpectedly streaming through the top deck windows. I watch the bikes below and the hills above with a sense of frustration and remorse that I’ve chosen the wrong transport. Feelings compounded on the evening return when headphones and a book can’t block out the chatter of the busy bus. I long for the quiet of the hills I see silhouetted against the twilight outside.

Stealing a couple of hours from the working day I sneak out of the city behind back gardens. Inbetween places and along the edges. Mud, roots, gravel, chalk, up into the hills. Colours seem diluted under a washed out sky, the sun low and weak.

The idea of a swim fades as the day lightens, replaced by thoughts of the hills. I think lines across maps in my head… “if i go up there then i can drop into there and along there”. In the suburban interlude between sea and Downs a car reverses into a wheelie bin.

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