Kate and Simon provided an excellent Christmas Day lunch in not Timperley, but Bacup. Thanks you two – a lovely day.
Boxing Day saw us in Nantwich as usual. Jessica was feeling a little less snotty today. Non competitive (?) card games were enjoyed by all the adults.
Saturday morning found Sue and me sloshing our way around the icy 5 km Parkrun course at Wythenshawe Park.
It was a lovely sunrise, as we arrived.
143 folk gathered for some fun in the mud.
The 'icy weather' finish at Wythenshawe Parkrun avoids the slippery tarmac, in favour of the slippery grass. Oliver Cromwell oversees the proceedings.
Later (it soon clouded over) Sue and I strolled down to Dunham Massey along the canal towpath in mud and in the remnants of a Boxing Day snowstorm. Forecast sleet didn’t really come to anything.
We went as far as the ‘Swan’, returning via Dunham Massey (wheelhouse pictured below) and Dunham golf course.
As we crossed the golf course, with lots of firm warnings about giving way to golfers, I pondered why we should do that – surely the footpath was there long before the golf course and it’s the golfers who should give way?
Anyway, after passing a pair of flirting bullfinches and evidence of sledging down the banks of the reservoir, we strolled on to Altrincham for essential supplies then a tram home for lunch after this pleasant 11 km outing.
Today, Sunday, was supposed to be one of those cold grey days when it doesn’t go above freezing. It dawned bright and sunny and stayed that way all day. A lovely day, albeit the frost has not moved from anywhere shaded from the sun, whose warmth has resulted in much steaming from surfaces exposed to it.
A bike ride to the canal junction near Taylor’s Bridge saw me pausing for a few photos. As I took this one there was a ‘plop’ into the canal as the camera strap fished out my gate key whose brass visage sunk slowly to the bottom.
Sue (luckily at home to let me in) was most amused, but tables were soon turned when she managed to lock herself inside our porch!
Towards Manchester, in Old Trafford, the canal had iced over, with swans ploughing through like icebreakers, and black headed gulls standing seemingly happily on the thin ice. There were lots of people out walking, running and cycling, so much care was needed to avoid any ‘incidents’, particularly as the low sum is blinding when travelling south along the towpath.
So that was Christmas. There’s no mountain of left over food, and the odour of smoked haddock from a fish pie that we’ll share with Mike will entice me downstairs as soon as I’ve pressed the ‘publish’ button.