William Blakes vision of heaven in England may be hard to visualise as we trudge through the semi industrial landscape of South Manchester. But on occasion we're blessed with the best bits of our suburban environs being illuminated in a way that makes you gasp with the beauty of it all. I say gasp, that'd be the fly I'd just inhaled, or whatever else it is that infests the air of a muggy summers evening. Inhaled, blinded, whatever, the beauty this Yorkshire boy illustrates is viewed through rose tinted spectacles.
What drives this thought, though, is the notion of seeing what it is you're looking at. Green. It seems green is something we may take for granted, while we covet blue oceans and matching skies, our lush and vibrant greens are viewed from afar with equal zeal. And there are occasions when I see it too. Monday night is routinely a steady 4 miles at conversational pace, a loosener from the big efforts of the weekend and a gentle start to the weekly mileage log. It was without doubt an evening to savour.
It seems only moments since we line up in the fog sodden dip outside Chris's and crawl our way up into the darkened night for this most ritualistic of runs we undertake. Yet this week, there was not a cloud or breath of wind. The sun beats it's way through the thick humid air that makes us sweat at the thought. The roadside fields carpeted in daisies and a finish at the Leisure Centre who's open spaces are being used like they should. Without sounding all xenophobic, it couldn't be more English, this Green and Pleasant Land.
