There And Back Again

Eight or nine years ago I had a job with Skype which required me to make myself present at their head office in London from Monday to Friday each week. Their offices were on a back street in an exhilaratingly bohemian part of Soho and my home at the time was a shared flat in a (mostly) ex-council block near Waterloo station, about one mile away. 

My asparagus survived the winter, then

I used to relish the commute. Partly because the twenty-minute walk took me through and past some of the more iconic set-pieces of the capital which to me at least never seemed to lose their appeal –  London Eye, IMAX cinema, Millenium Bridge over the broad Thames, Trafalgar Square, Leicester Square, Chinatown, Shaftesbury Avenue, and Soho itself. Partly, I'm ashamed to say, a sense of smugness at walking amongst crowds of other commuters who had just travelled a sweaty hour on a packed train to get to Waterloo.  And partly because the walk was long enough to give me a chance to wake up properly in the morning but short enough that I didn't need to get up too early. When Skype moved offices to Tottenham Court Road they didn't appear to consider the extra ten minutes it would add to my daily hike.

Fast forward to the present day. I have another one-mile commute to work each day which I either cycle or walk. The scenery is another feast for the eyes. And again I find myself looking forward to it each morning (unless it's pouring down, which isn't as often as you might think). 

Cwm Cewydd

In every other respect of course it's the diametric opposite of that earlier oft-trudged journey. My current home is perched halfway up a stunningly beautiful cwm (valley), into which the sun is at this time of year just beginning to flood with light as I set off around 8:30. A single lane, just wide enough for one vehicle, drops swiftly from the house then levels off for a time. Trees are everywhere. There's a sharp drop on the left beyond the hedge down to sheep pastures and the small river. An equally steep slope up on the right, possibly 45 degrees or more, is first pasture then further on dense conifer woodland semi-hiding an abandoned wood cabin that is now almost completely destroyed, a tree having fallen right on it, its contents just about visible through the splintered walls. 

Lambs play in pairs amongst the gnarled tree roots next to the lane, and as I approach they nimbly skip down and away to safety and their mother's bleats. Pinks, yellows, purples, blues are appearing in the hedgerow as the warmth brings out a range of wild flowers whose names always escape me (if I even knew them to start with.) A whirr of wings as a pheasant is startled, hurtling itself upwards then gliding down close to the water. Over there, I might be lucky enough to catch sight of a heron lazily flapping above the trees. Birdsong fills the air. 

The lane then drops suddenly and twists sharply right then right again (bike brakes on hard if I'm cycling) before meeting the burbling young brook, crossing it and following it for a short while. 

It's rare to meet another person on this short trip though occasionally a neighbour is walking their dog, or pottering outside their house, and we call out a good morning to each other. The lane at the bottom forks, I turn left and pass three traditionally-built Welsh stone houses and a tiny disused stone chapel before reaching the A-road. It is not a busy A-road. Normally I can just cycle straight onto it and fifty metres later cross over to my track entrance without seeing a car. 

Doing the reverse, up-hill, after a tiring day labouring in the garden is admittedly less immediately appealing but with the lighter evenings I am at least not tramping up in the dark any more. And at no point do I have to avoid anyone attempting to thrust a free Metro newspaper into my hands.

My first attempt to collect birch sap. It hasn't worked.
Possibly too late, or I didn't drill far enough in. 

P.S. My planning officer has been off sick so I haven't been able to speak to her yet.