Juneathon Day 29: of desserts and deserts

The first mystery of today was who or what had gnawed a lump off our camping cake. Whatever it was had shunned everything else on the shelves and chomped its way through the sacrificial end slice (kept to keep the face of the loaf from going stale) and this much of the rest. We’re trying not to dwell on the possibilities.

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Yesterday was spent out towards Dover and Folkestone, initially enjoying a gorgeous day, but then eating our sandwiches on top of the White Cliffs while watching lightning spear down from ominous dark clouds over the channel. We also had a potter round some of the Folkestone Triennial exhibits, particularly the Folkestone Mermaid and the sea monster at the library. Tomorrow we’re going back to follow the Triennial seagull trail some more and possibly investigate this bloody great hill that lurks at the end of the Folkestone Half.

Today though, I have run in a desert. I’m reliably informed that the shingle landscape of Dungeness is technically a desert environment. It’s a strange and beautiful place.
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I did 3 miles out from the new lighthouse, down the road past Derek Jarman’s garden…

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out to the lifeboat station, back up the road, round the old lighthouse…

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and then a bit of twiddling about to round up to 3.

Ginge is fishing, but as yet hasn’t caught us anything for tea.
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Juneathon Day 28: Against the clock

Yesterday I half charged my phone via a kind relative’s laptop. Yesterday I forgot to turn it off at night. Yesterday we went on the little train from Dymchurch to Dungeness. Yesterday we met up with Cathy (JogBlog) and Shaun (I like to count) for beers and the most enormous portion of food I have ever encountered.

Today I have run 2 miles round the farm. I have 4% battery left. It has already ticked down from 6%. I better count my cornets quickly.

Juneathon Day 27: In which I am a bit daring

This morning I woke in the slightly unpleasant environment of a hot and clammy tent. Unpleasant this may be, but it is also a very positive sign of good weather ahead. Sure enough, at 7 o’clock it was already hotting up outside so I thought I better get my run out of the way. Given the temperature, the sunshine and, most importantly, the fact that no one knows me round here, I decided that this should be the maiden voyage for my running shorts.

It was quite pleasant feeling the breeze on the extra inches of exposed thigh, but the swishing of the fabric and the net knickers arrangement may take some getting used to. Reports of several sheep being blinded by the whites of my legs have yet to be confirmed.

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Juneathon Day 25: Of rain and sheep

Last night the rain came. Nothing torrential, just enough to keep you awake for a bit before wrapping yourself a little more snugly in your sleeping bag and drifting off again. Rain always sounds louder in a tent. Sheep also sound louder in a tent. We are surrounded by sheep, some are woolly, some have been sheared, all look slightly bemused at the sight of people in running kit. Having said that, so do most people on the campsite.

This morning was a 2 mile loop round the farm.

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Juneathon Day 23: Let the chilling commence

I was reassured to wake up to the sound of donkey o’clock (when one of our neighbours gets his breakfast and eeyores in gratitude) and eventually hauled myself out for a country lane 3 miles.

Even though I’ve brought my Shuffle, it will remain largely unused as most of the lanes round here are single tracks with no pavements. There is just a painted white line keeping me from certain death by tractor.

The first half mile was a bit heavy legged, but the rest was fine and I returned to the tent where I was handed a glass of Vimto by a well-trained Ginge.

In true camping tradition, our first breakfast was bacon butties and a mug of tea.

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