I remember walking to primary school on winter mornings . . . in short trousers. How did my knees not lock up in the cold?
I think of all the times I waited for a bus, tube or train on a cold, dark, miserable evening when commuting home from various jobs in London.
Oh, to get in the dry and warmth of school, work or home.
And yet now I like nothing better than to go for a walk in a storm, face blasted by icy wind and rain.
Perhaps it is because it reminds me that I am alive.
When so much time is spent at a keyboard, looking at a computer monitor or phone and reading about or watching others’ experiences, it is important to remember to go out and experience life for ourselves, first hand.
In recent years, a number of elderly people I’ve known who were very active in their younger days have passed away. One of them, Pete and his dog Chalky, could no longer climb a hill, even though he had, I believe, sailed to the Continent when younger.
Lately, the storms have made me realise that I must enjoy them while I can, must climb hills while I can, must do these because they are what I want to do and that at some point my body may not be so willing or able to do what I want it to do.
I’m glad that I don’t have to wear short trousers in winter or to stand waiting for bus, tube or train, but I am glad to be able get out there in the real world, whenever I can, whatever the weather.