Barely have we recovered from the long Christmas holiday and snow days
but it is half-term, already.
Time for the cross-country race.
It's a tradition; and the accretion of years is such
that even the Headmaster can't recall
is the traditional season
to don your shorts
and race around the frozen fields.
Double-click on the pictures
better to see the tiny racing figures
and the flock of sheep.
Do you suppose those sheep
look up from their munching
and wonder, idly,
what the fuss is about?
Might they get the notion
to join in?
And now, we run around the lake
girls in green,
and boys in red.
Unlike the runners,
the bystanders are all bundled up.
Wellies, tweed, a hat and most of all
are de rigieur.
The perfect examplar
of English country style.
The last bit is all up-hill
and it separates
the sprinters from the stragglers.
You do get a boost from the crowd, though.
It's all over now . . .
except for the jelly doughnut, the hot chocolate
the warm bath
and two loads of sports kit in the wash.