I ran up a hill! Well. Sort of a hill.

I’m a key worker so my son - aged 8 - has been in school since lockdown. Much to his fairly vocal disgust and horror.

There is a school bus service that usually collects him in the morning and drops him after school. It is staffed by a collection of externally quite frankly intimidating taciturn drivers of an indeterminate age - anything between 40 and Methuselah- for whom one buys cases of Budweiser for Christmas without raising the usual eyebrow. They are fabulous, the kids adore them, and they equally love their pint sized charges.

But obvs since lockdown, no bus service. So school donning and doffing for the boy has been the (semi ) trusty TfL bus service with Mama.

I’m doing another running challenge this week (I know, right? Shock you?) so to accrue some mileage, I ran to collect the boy tonight. I’ve not run from work to his school before, but I realised I could run along the canal from Angel, which is usually where I stop and turn around if I run my homemade half marathon route.

Although it is a DEAD STRAIGHT LINE from where I work near Euston, to Angel, I cannot tell you how many times I was unsure of exactly where I was going. I could get lost in a damp paper bag.

AND I ran up a hill. Well. If you check the elevation it wasn’t that much of a hill. But when you live on a river and 6m elevation is considered a nosebleed, you take what you can get.

There is also no motivation like being a tiiiiiiiny bit late to collect the boy, and no one is more indignant than a 4 foot something 8 year old, waiting on damp AstroTurf for you to arrive. So quite speedy for me of a wet Wednesday afternoon with a 5:27 min/km pace.

Finally. I have the mind of a 13 year old schoolboy so tee hee Cumming Street. And ventriloquists are always amusing.