Today’s run was supposed to be straightforward; I would join Ginge in the gym for a bit and then run home. I got to the gym and it dawned on me that I’ve neglected the gym a bit during Juneathon. I enjoy doing my weights at the gym but can’t get past either the tedium of cardio equipment or the rubbishness of the telly that’s on.

Anyway, at the gym I managed to climb 39 steps (the first of Follystone‘s suggestions that crop up today)…

…and did a bit on the cross trainer before I got restless. Sometimes I keep myself entertained by swearing at the adverts. No matter what channel is on, they’re always a variation of payday loans, Uniform Dating (do you fancy people who have to wear a designated outfit and a name badge?) and the Veet one with the girl who’s inordinately proud that she no longer gives herself third degree burns whilst waxing her legs. Sadly the EDF energy advert wasn’t on, which deprived me both of something orange and the opportunity to mutter darkly at what is essentially a jovial orange poo with backing dancers.

After a while I think I must have been annoying Ginge because he suggested the grand idea of me running round town looking for treasure (yes mum, there was shades of this being ‘a good job for me’).

Off I trotted, optimistically seeking a half eaten Greggs or someone’s dropped treasure, but unfortunately the locals are too frugal to waste pastry or spare change. I made my way up to the park, getting some slightly odd looks as I darted from tree to tree looking for one from my list. I didn’t quite find Jo’s a tree with someone’s name carved in, but this one did have a declaration of love so I think that counts.

I headed up to the lake to see if I could spy some baby swans, only to get into a conversation with a couple who were looking for exactly the same thing. Apparently, the swans have been on the nest constantly for the last week, but today both were off it and yet there was no sign of any cygnets. The nesting island was covered in ducks and gulls, which is a bit odd if there were eggs or babies on there. I am awaiting updates.

Even though there were no baby swans, there was this chap who, with his waterside hangout, certainly looked like a dignified pigeon (and his feet weren’t deformed or nothing). If you want to see the very definition of a dignified pigeon have a look at Deadly Knitshade, yarn bomber extraordinaire and keeper of both Cooey the Pigeon and Plarchie the Giant Squid. Her book (Stitch London) is bloody awesome.

After all the socialising and pigeon paparazzi, I thought I better head back to Ginge whose eagle eyes had spotted a blue fence (another of Follystone‘s) at the railway station.

Gym graced with my presence, three miles run, four treasures spotted, not bad for a Sunday.