Today I thought I would stretch my legs south of the motorway, something I haven't done in ages, and having realised how short of breath I was getting striding up the hill where I live, I could do with the exercise.

It's been a dull, claggy morning, just on the point of starting to rain but not quite getting there. It's also that uncomfortable temperature. Too cold for lightweight clothes, to sweaty for something warm. I hate that. Luckily my sweatshirt was the perfect compromise.

To my horror I discovered that a concrete bridge over the motorway, intended as a farm crossing although little used now that the area north has been redeveloped, has been declared a weak bridge. Oh joy. Does that mean I'm going to fall thirty feet to a horrible death? Not sure. It's been a while since I weighed myself but I think I might be less than twenty six tons mean gross weight just yet, so I'll risk it. Nothing like working up a sweat, eh?

I wish I could show dozens of photographs marking my progress around the Wiltshire countryside. Trouble is, I tend to take photo's that aren't that interesting to begin with, and on a day like this, there's little to see anyway.

Pop Goes The Shotgun

I followed a bridleway I've never been down before. For those who don't know, a bridleway is a sort of track or minor road open for public access, but not considered part of the road network, so mostly used by horses, 4x4's, or nutters with rucksacks like me.

As it happened, it went past a local shooting school. We don't have too many of those any more. Shooting as a sport went into decline in recent decades after a series of random shooting sprees. It survives here though, and I heard some customers blasting clay discs out of the air. No, that's not quite right - I heard some some customers blasting hopelessly at thin air while the clay discs spun into a hedge safe and sound. Keeps them happy for a few hours I guess.

The sound was odd though. After years of hearing Hollywood gunfights, where was that expected cannon-like blast? All I could hear was sort feeble firework bang and an odd popping sound. Is that all you get?

Sympathy of the Week

On my way back into town I must of looked like a right shabby individual. Tired, sweaty, grubby military surplus, hair all damp and straggly. That said, there was no excuise for that young man sat in the passenger seat of a passing van to scream very loudly as they passed by.

If you're reading this, young man, yes, you certainly made me jump right out of my skin. Ha ha ha. But, erm... Why did you make such a high pitched scream? Have your testicles not dropped yet? Awww man, real sorry to hear that. Never mind, I'll keep that a secret.