It’s one of the many towered hills along the Pennine chain and in a blast of pre-Christmas exuberance I decide to climb up it and view the world before descending into Christmas shopping mayhem. I can’t say I was fortified by a sterling breakfast but a banana and a satsuma can go a long way on a frosty morning.
It has been one of those crisp, frosty days that Dicken’s specialised in describing and I did, in a moment of inspiration, re-read that passage in ‘The Pickwick Papers’ that describe the Christmas eve wedding and that glorious skating scene on Christmas day.
It has been a few years since we had a prolonged season of freezing weather in December, it is usually a damp, murky month where you have to keep the house lights on all day and everybody has a continual cold with intermittent bouts of flu.
There has been a lot of shock and horror at the prolonged cold. People appear to be mesmerised by the global warming debate and are under the impression that we are now entering an age of tropical weather as opposed to the reality that we are, and always will be, a little country situated on the north-west reaches of Europe. Still, as I stated before, it’s early in the season for this type of weather.
It does produce a beauty of its own, though. The trees have a frosting that enhances their bare winter shape and the moorland grasses, that are normally a dull reminder of the hills in the summer, are miniature ice-sculptures that bear looking at in close detail. In the sheltered spots the ice in smooth and rounded on the long-dead flower heads. In the exposed areas, on higher ground, the ice has formed into blades on each stem, sharpened by the wind.
The whole hillside had a ‘Joseph Farquahrson’-esque feel to it. Although, two sheep do not a herd make. There were very few people out to enjoy this morning, normally by 9 o’clock the hill is awash with dog-walkers and cyclists. It’s a pity because there is a lot to appreciate on the bare hill tops in the winter, there is often a strange kind of loneliness up there even when there are people about.
I tried to record some of my thoughts when I got to the top of the hill and sheltered behind the tower but when I listened back to the recordings all I could hear was the howling wind. I sounded as though I was walking across an Antarctic glacier. It did occur to me as I was walking back that if I fell over forward with all that digital recording equipment in my pockets I could do some financial damage. I did ponder the idea of wearing a rucksack but then I may fall over backwards and being a past master at falling over both forwards and backwards whilst tackling those muddy paths I may have to reconsider photo walks.
On the way down I passed a jogger wearing one of those bluetooth ear-pieces and as hard as I try I can’t but fail to be reminded of the Borg everytime I see somebody wearing one. It’s scary. I do realise that by mentioning the word bluetooth I’ll probably get a lot of hits by people who are going to be very disappointed when they arrive here.
