emily at beSottied.com

If there’s one thing that stops me planning holidays at home in the UK, it’s the weather. The thought of spending a week off work holed up in a hotel room while rain buckets down outside is usually what sends me trotting off to the travel agent to book a flight to somewhere hot.

It’s a shame, really, because there are some absolutely stunning places all over the country: a lot of them are more or less on my doorstep.

Yesterday, Neil and I jammed on up to Northumberland in my green bean for a bit of adventure. We ate crab-filled stotties at the Ship Inn in Low Newton before walking south along the curving beach to the ruins of Dunstanburgh Castle. Luckily for us, the weather was good: sunny, but not blazing hot, and just a bit hazy.

We climbed the hill to the ruins and followed the fenceline to the back of the castle, which sits atop rocky cliffs overlooking the North Sea. We plonked ourselves down on the cliff top (I stayed a few feet back: all those years of Mutti screeching “Stay away from the edge!” must’ve had an affect on me) and stayed there for… well, I lost track of time but it must’ve been at least an hour. It was warm, with hardly anyone else around. There were seagulls and the sounds of the waves hitting the rocks pretty far below. I didn’t think about work, or about my Stupid Essay (which still isn’t finished), or about fixing my bike or writing a blog or doing any knitting. I didn’t think about the huge, wobbling pile of ironing sat waiting for me at home. I just thought about where I was, and who I was with, and how I could have happily stayed there for a long, long time.

Hurrah! I’ve just been out for my first run in… oh, weeks and weeks! I was starting to get a bit panicky about not having done any training since March, and was worried about how I’d do tonight. I picked a very gentle run from early on in the 5 kilometre training plan - run for 2 minutes, walk for 2 minutes, 5 times. I was a bit hot after the first 2 minute run, but after that they seemed to fly by, which is very encouraging. I think I’ll choose a slightly harder run for tomorrow, then carry on with my runs on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Fridays. Baby steps!

Knitting is having to take a back seat at the moment because it’s dreaded Essay Time at uni. That doesn’t mean to say I’m doing absolutely stacks of work, of course (not in the mood, but I’m going to have to force myself shortly), but I don’t feel that I should be sat knitting when I should be reading and scribbling. Quite why I feel that cleaning the car, going for bike rides and buying puncture repair kits is any better than knitting, I don’t know. But there you have it.

Muriel will be three years old on Tuesday (weep!) and will be going for her first MOT test on Monday morning. I’ve spent quite a bit of today perking her up - getting a bulb in her headlight replaced, checking her tyres, and giving the poor girl a bit of a polish. Fingers crossed she’ll pass OK, or I really will be crying!

I hope everyone who’s had a long weekend has enjoyed their Easter break. I’ve been out and about quite a bit: nights out with Laura, a trip to Whitby with Neil, a quick jaunt to see Jill riding in a ShowCross competition and to see some scary ostriches, llamas, alpacas and camels at Mainsgill Farm.

Easter Sunday bucked the usual trend of the British Bank Holiday by being pretty warm and sunny, instead of tipping it down with rain. I’d spent the day reading a trashy novel while consuming approximately 5 million calories, so as the day turned into a nice bright evening, I thought I’d head out for a pootle with Mrs Bike. I merrily pedalled off, lookin’ cooool in my helmet and yellow fleece. (Believe me, when you’re as accident-prone as I am, you need all the help you can get.)

All was well as I rolled and jiggled over the fields behind my house towards the lane I like to ride along. I easily hoiked my very light Mrs Bike over the gate (no bikes or horses allowed! Hah!) into the lane and decided that, instead of turning left and cycling to the next village as I usually do, I’d turn right and head towards a country park about three miles in the opposite direction.

I’d just whizzed down a pretty steep hill when I heard a car roaring along behind me. It didn’t sound as though it was making any attempt at slowing down, so to be safe (remember my accident-proneness) I scooched over on to the muddy verge and rattled along in some old tractor trails until the car passed.

It was then that I heard a strangely quiet yet perfectly audible “pft!”.

“Hmm.” said I.

“Hissssssss.” said Mrs Bike. Or, more accurately, said her rear wheel.

“Errrrrrr….” I grumbled.

“HISSSSSSSSSS!!!” insisted the wheel.

Balls, I thought, as my eyes scanned the tyre for an uninvited hole. #*$! I said, as I found it. Out in the middle of nowhere without a puncture repair kit (as if I would even know what to do with one) I turned backwards on my saddle and artfully plonked my finger over the hole to stop the air escaping. What to do?

Perhaps I could turn around quickly, and pedal as far as I could towards home before my tyre was totally flat? Cunning! I removed my finger from the puncture, and precious air instantly gushed out.

It would seem that bike tyres can get pretty flat pretty fast. Groaning, I dismounted rather inelegantly (I was sat back-to-front, remember?) and prepared to wheel naughty Mrs Bike all the way home.

On the plus side, at least I got to take my helmet off.

It wasn’t a particularly enjoyable walk home, with cars whizzing past every few minutes. “Don’t worry about me, I’m PERFECTLY all right.” I cursed each driver as they flew by. There was no point ringing home - Helen was heading for a night out in Newcastle, and Mutti, Keith and Dan were all out for the night. I figured I had about 45 minutes until it started to get dark, so decided to just keep on walking. As I trudged along awkwardly wheeling my crippled bike, teetering on the edge of the lane and hoping I wouldn’t get squished by a 19 year old boy in a speeding Citroën Saxo, I mentally drew up a list of Life’s Most Painful Experiences:

• 1. Getting a paper cut.
• 2. Biting your own tongue, or the inside of your mouth.
• 3. Stepping on stray Lego bricks in bare feet (a pain I haven’t felt for years, but remember very clearly).
• 4. Using nail varnish remover if you have a paper cut on your finger.
• 5. Catching your bare legs on jagged bike pedals.

By the time a kind/potentially murderous couple stopped to offer me a lift in their tiny Rover Metro, I wasn’t too far from the cricket club, which meant I wasn’t too far from the fields I had to bump across to get home. I had also caught my bare legs on my jagged bike pedals approximately 40,000 times.

The couple really didn’t seem to be the murdering or kidnapping sort (and I spotted a well-thumbed copy of Horse & Rider magazine in the back seat and felt an instant affinity) but I figured I’d come this far, I may as well tough it out and get myself home. Assuring them I was OK and didn’t need to use their phone, they phutted off and I trudged on. I’d never been so relieved to see the dusty white fence of the cricket club!

Once I hoisted Mrs Bike back over the gate and into the fields, I relaxed a little bit. Less chance of been flattened by a boy racer there! I even managed to do a bit of running, wheeling my bike along as I did so. Thank God there was no-one around to see that! I tried to convince myself the journey was very pretty and Wildlife on One, and that I wasn’t at all grumpy. I spotted a few brown bunnies, a strutting pheasant, and some other unidentified brown bird thing that flew up, squawking, from a hedgerow and scared the life out of me. I was about half a mile away from home when I caught my leg on the pedal once more, almost flipped out in a furious rage, and decided to carry the bike home as thought it was a dopey Labrador.

And so I eventually made it home in one piece, cracked open a bottle of wine and ate a big lump of shortbread that Helen had made earlier. Mrs Bike is currently languishing in the garage, thinking about what she’s done, until I:

1. 1. Buy a puncture repair kit.
2. 2. Learn how to repair a puncture.
3. 3. Realise I’ve done a poor job of repairing my puncture, and get someone else to do it (hello, Neil and Keith)

I myself have got some pretty sexy pedal-bruises and cuts on my legs, which I’m about to go and expose to the unwitting populace in our back garden.

Hah. Exercise. I should’ve stayed home and gorged myself on chocolate eggs!

No, no, I’m not dead! I’ve just been away from the land o’ the blog for a few days. I’ve been chock-full of good intentions, though, and have been taking photos all week with half-baked plans to write a post languishing at the back of my mind.

I started snapping last Saturday, when I cast on for my first bunny egg-cosy. The pattern is from the incredibly talented Julie at Little Cotton Rabbits (blog envy, knit envy, even teacup envy - in the nicest possible way, of course) and was undeniably a bargain at less than £3. The pattern is easy to follow, and clearly and prettily illustrated with photographs throughout. I’m sure that, if I were a more hardcore!!! knitter and didn’t allow myself to be distracted by a certain Lovely Young Man, ponies, my bike, The Apprentice, and toast, I would’ve completed a whole burrow’s-worth of these little cotton lovelies by now. As it is, I’ve only just managed to locate some suitable stuffing (thanks, Hobbycraft) but still hope to have at least four (ideally) but two (realistically) finished by Easter Sunday.

Ahh yes, Easter weekend. Four days with which we can all do whatever we fancy, but will probably spend skulking around indoors due to the raging torrents of rainwater gushing all over the place. Though, in the weather’s defence, it’s been doing pretty well this week. I went up to Jill’s yard for a spot of horsey adventure last night and spotted these hens (on the run from the farm next door) happily clucking next to their nonplussed equine chum. We spent a brilliant hour popping over some simple jumps in the fields - it was so nice to be outside in the sun, instead of lurking in the indoor ring under electric lights.

As for the Great North Run training: hah! Laura is home now and has started her running. I’m going to have to get out there this weekend, I’ve decided, even if I only do 20 minutes. Otherwise, it’s going to be September, with just days to go, and I’ll realise I can’t even fasten my running shoes anymore because of all of the Creme Eggs and doughnuts I’ve been packing away.

Now, what have I done with that stopwatch…?