Wednesday, 27 April 2011

And all I ask is a tall ship

... and a star to steer her by

This morning I received an email from my training buddy, George, informing me that he wanted to get some real mileage in this week as we were nearing the GUCR and suggested we ran this evening. To tell you the truth, if it had not been for that email I would have happily remained on the sofa and watched the rest of the Star Trek film showing for the umpteenth time.

So I was off out, all kitted and ready to meet at 8.00pm for a 12-13 mile run, no plans in mind apart from running on the trails for as longs as it was light. The route was best described as ad hoc and had we planned it would have returned to our meeting place and gone our seperate ways. However, we soon realised it was getting very late so we decided to cut through an open park area and then I went into Geek mode as I pointed out to George the best way to find the Pole Star using the Moon and the Big Dipper as a guide, surprisingly simple, but I sometimes sense that George often politely listens to my whitterings and mini-lessons. It was then we realised we were not alone in the park area as about 30 yards away were a couple enjoying the solitude of the park and their own company and must have been flabberghasted when two blokes run through giving the other a lecture on stellar navigation...let's hope they learnt something :-)


I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

By John Masefield (1878-1967).

(English Poet Laureate, 1930-1967.)

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