Frost, Fog, Mud

 

Early on, a thick layer of frost was larded onto the roofs of the sheds in the back gardens I look out on to, and this was the scene as I walked to the station this morning. Every so often, a jogger materialised out of the grey fog, or a couple of early morning dog walkers milled about on the pavement, more lost than their dogs. It was a nightmare getting to Hampstead, and the Heath was teeming with bored people, all signing the mud with their footprints. 

Bathers, so cold that their flesh shone orange through the mist, held back from dipping into the pewter-coloured pond water.

We sat on a bench and ate raspberry cake with cream. The birthday candles wouldn't light and the smell of hand sanitiser was in the air, but it was a memorable birthday, that's for sure.

After the cold won, they turned south and I turned north. I am so glad to be their Mum.

It was a seven mile day, and cold seven miles to (muddy) boot!