Where do the days go? More and more I find it's been a week, or two, or even three since I've popped in here. 

I'm not even going to try to catch. The last three weeks have been a flurry of snow, work, cafes and very nearly moving house. Not quite, not yet, but hopefully very soon. 

There have been some spectacular sunrises, most of which I've seen while out running. I can't always persuade myself out of bed that early, but when I do, I rarely regret it. 

Yesterday my running paid off (kind of) as me and my sister did a trail race. This is the first one in a series of four, and it was lovely to run a shorter race for a change, rather than our epic out-all-day half marathon fiascos. This one took just under an hour - we were cold and muddy with wet feet, but we were finished by half past ten and there was free tea and cake at the finish. 

When we'd wrapped up, I took her for a walk up the footpath and past the new house. 

(Don't worry, there is an actual driveway we can use once we've moved in). I have to confess to having a bit of a wobble. It really is quite far away, and quite rural, and there is a lot of space. I've never been responsible for any grass before, let alone several acres. The house has been empty for about nine months now, and has probably been taken over by spiders and mice. 

What are we doing? 

Well, you can't always be sensible, and we're not going to back out now. It's ever so beautiful out there (and also ever so cold). It'll be an adventure I'm sure (and we can always move back to the city if we hate it). 

I don't think I'm going to mind pegging the washing out with that view. In fact, since being an adult, I don't think I've lived anywhere with a washing line, so hanging the washing out will be possibly the most exciting household task for a while. I used to hate it as a child, and always wondered why my mum liked it so much (although maybe she didn't?) but I might be getting closer to understanding.

Today might bring some news... although I won't hold my breath. There are a couple of small things to sort out, and we are relying on one person in the chain doing what they said they would do over the weekend, but I won't be letting my phone far out of my sight today. 

​Fingers crossed.

This year, I want to get a bit more proficient at identifying wildlife. I'm pretty good with birds, and can identify most of the common British birds by sight (but not by sound, except for the very obvious ones). 

My knowledge of trees is a little more ropey. I can identify the most common ones (oak, sycamore, beech, silver birch, cherry, elder, willow, hawthorne, holly, poplar etc) by either leaves, bark or other key features, but I am shockingly bad at identifying trees in winter. 

The other day I was walking across town - the sky was grey and nondescript and I fell to idly looking at the silhouettes of the trees.

They're surprisingly different (or maybe it's not too surprising...). Some have twigs that point upwards, some droop down. Some have many small twigs clustered together, while others are more sparse. The outlines are different too - some spread wide, others more compact. 

It seemed to me that the shape of the branches was so distinct that there was likely to be an online guide I could consult, so as I walked I took pictures of as many different types as I could see (which also helped to take my mind off my freezing fingers). 

However, it turns out I can't find what I was looking for online at all! The best I can find is an A-Z guide to native UK trees produced by the Woodland Trust. This does have winter pictures of each tree, but they're quite small, and you have to click through to each species in turn and then click through the pictures to find the winter one. 

The Dendrologist (a journal sadly no longer printed) has this handy winter twig identification guide, which doesn't really help with these photographs, but might if I go out collecting twigs instead. There is also perhaps a more useful dichotomous key from Virginia Tech Dendrology department, although it is obviously North American, so I am not sure how much the species differ. 

Of course, it's easier with leaves. Country Life magazine has a simple pictorial guide to the most common species, and the Forestry Commission has a tree name trail - pretty much exactly what I was looking for but using leaves rather than twig shapes. I'll make sure to come back to that in the summer. 

I'm pretty sure the answer is to consult a book. I'm also pretty sure that we have a tree identification book, locked deep in a box in the cellar somewhere. In the meantime, you might see me around town collecting sticks and doing bark rubbings. 

It's been pretty chilly round here lately, and last weekend we were poised for a large flurry of snow, but... nothing. 

Well, not quite nothing, but also not the 'several inches' we were threatened with. 

Still, it was nice to walk (or rather slide) around the local park, and see who else had been out walking. 

I do like wandering about in the snow, but it doesn't do to stay out too long in such weather if you have the choice, and we quickly found ourselves in our favourite cafe.

It's been a bit of a week for staying inside, and yesterday we hosted our usual pre-Christmas festive gathering. More of an open house really, with people coming and going throughout the evening and bringing tasty goodies with them. 

I made these (supposedly) unbelievably easy mince pies. What a faff! The recipe boasts that they're so easy because you don't need to roll out the pastry, but I spent far longer squidging and squishing to get it into the tins and they looked rather 'rustic'. Still, they were quite delicious, so all is forgiven. 

They did look slightly better cooked, but somehow they vanished rather quickly and I didn't get a photograph. Not sure how that happened. 

No house news - our buyers' buyer is presumably now going through the same stress we all did we mortgages and surveys, and we're not really expecting to be ready to exchange until mid January at the earliest. In the meantime, we're decking our stacks of boxes with festive trimmings and settling in for a cosy few weeks here before we head out into the middle of nowhere. 

Oh! I should also tell you I'm planning to join in with Frugalwoods' Uber Frugal Month Challenge in January again. You can read about last year's efforts here (although you'll have to scroll past a bit of DIY first - that brought the memories flooding back!) It would be most cheerful if you joined in the challenge too - sign up (for free, of course) here. 

Will you join me for a celebratory cup of tea? Our house-buying adventure is back on, as our buyers found a new buyer for their house yesterday. Hooray! 

Of course, we won't be going anywhere before Christmas now, but that's no bad thing, as it gives us another few weeks to save (and to pack). And it means when we move it will be closer to spring, which is no bad thing, as it's pretty grey and bleak at our new house right now. 

(Well, of course, it's grey and bleak here in the city too, but somehow everything is more muddy and cold out in the countryside, which I suppose we'll get used to...)

This is me at our new house a couple of weeks ago in my fabulous blood-and-acid-proof wellies and my posh frock (I had to go to a work function straight after). As you can see, the neighbour's cows have been stomping around and I'm not sure I'd advise camping in this particular field right now.

I was striding about the fields photographing the ID numbers on the telegraph poles (there's a rumour from the solicitor that we may be able to get £5 a year from BT for giving them access to maintain them, and I'm not going to turn my nose up at free dosh). 

I was surprised how many telegraph poles there were - I'd been convinced there was only one. 

This one, in fact. However, it seems I was wrong, and turning my head in the opposite direction I spied this one. 

Oh! And what's this? 

Turns out that contraption is on our land too. Exciting! 

Now is probably a good time to confess that, until last week, I hadn't fully realised the extent of the land we were buying.  I mean, we have the plan, and we've looked on google maps, and on the Ordnance Survey map of course. But the first time we viewed the house the estate agent was late, and we had an appointment to view another house, so we just went inside and round the outbuildings and looked across the fields but didn't really go into them. 

I'd been back a couple of times since then to walk along the public footpaths, but had forgotten the plan of the land both times. 

This time, wearing wellies and armed with the title plan, I had a good look round. 

It seems we're buying quite a lot of mud. The neighbour's cows have been doing an excellent job of keeping the grass down, and have been thoughtfully making little (and large) puddles for us to splash through. At one point I thought I was going to lose a welly, and have a lot of explaining to do when I turned up at work covered in mud (I'm sure it won't be the last time).

Apparently this will be our field too, and those our dry stone walls. I love dry stone walls. I always have (except for a brief period as a teenager, when on a school trip to the Lake District we listed what we thought were the Most Boring Jobs in the World - number one was working in a shoe shop, and number two was building dry stone walls).  

I had a go at building a dry stone wall once - it was like doing an extremely heavy and complicated jigsaw. Fortunately I like jigsaws, and am planning to book myself onto a dry stone walling course as soon as we move.

I'm still not entirely sure what we're going to do with all those fields. Our friends and family are, of course, ready with a series of suggestions from the boring-and-sensible-but-wouldn't-be-allowed-in-a-national-park to the preposterous. I make no apology for not turning our particular corner of the Peak District into a festival site, caravan storage or pet cemetery. 

I think it's far more likely that we'll start with the field closest to the house, plant some veg, and then work outwards as we settle in. I don't want to make too many firm plans in case it all goes wrong... 

So it looks like we'll be spending much of the winter in the city, which I don't really mind, because the sun is shining here and there's a lot less mud. I've been tramping around and about the place and mostly taking photographs of trees. 

Our little garden bird table is attracting quite a few visitors, and now the leaves have all fallen off the lilac, we get quite a good view. This little goldfinch arrived yesterday morning as I was having breakfast. 

There's a robin there at the minute, and a couple of weeks ago (when the leaves were still around) a squirrel made several trips up and down, up and down, burying seeds in the ground. 

We've resigned ourselves to spending one last Christmas in our old house. It's not a bad thing really.  New year, new house. If it all goes to plan of course... 

I'll miss this gooseberry bush when we leave. I bought it from Poundland about eight years ago, and it looked like a stick for the first couple of years, but every summer since has grown more gooseberries than I thought possible from one small bush. 

This year they were ready just as our house was going on the market, and I kept seeing them from the window and thinking 'I really must pick those gooseberries', but the freezer was full and in the midst of painting and gluing and fixing and packing and tidying, there was really no room for making jam. 

​So they stayed outside and the birds ate some (but not many) and the rest turned slowly brown. 

Finally, the house was ready, and the viewings were done, and someone agreed to buy our house. One sunny weekend, I found myself with nothing to do (a rare occurrence), and my eye fell to the remainder of the gooseberry crop. 

Sadly, most of them had gone, but I did gather enough for a decent bit of jam 

I love making gooseberry jam. Once you get past the giant thorns, and the endless snipping of stalks, it's an easy process, and I love the way it turns from green to deep pink as it cooks. 

I wasn't planning to make any more jam this year, but one evening last week I found myself yet again with little to do, and took off for a wander round the fields. 

It was a lovely evening, and as I wandered my eye fell on... blackberries. In my head they are ready in September, and I miss them every single year. I gathered as many as I could carry (in, er, small plastic bags leftover from looking after a friend's dog the day before). Not exactly a picturesque Country Living magazine-style shot. 

I wandered into the local park, which runs down the side of a hill, and provides an excellent view. I sat on a bench to watch the sun set, and before long was joined by our dog friend, and his owners. Most jolly. 

So now we have a choice of jam, which is never a bad thing. I'm not sure how long it'll last. I've never made jam that needed to keep for very long, because we are avid jam-eaters in this house and I've never made enough to last longer than a week or two. One day I'll experiment with making enough to last the year. Probably need more than three jars though. 

Looking back at my pictures from the last few weeks, it's quite clear I've spent most of the time I've not been at work wandering the countryside. The weather's been good here, and I can't bear to be stuck in this dusty, half decorated house. After work, and at the weekend, I'm just desperate to go outside. 

This was a brief stop on the way back from a little market town with a friend. I've driven past here countless times, but never stopped and walked down the path a little way. 

A bit of clambering (and a bit of swearing) and we found ourselves quite high up and looking out quite a long way. 

Another day, we went to another market town looking for a new house. When we go somewhere new, we like to wander about and see what's close. 

I'd happily live near here. It was pretty hilly, mind you.  

Next, our trips took a less scenic (but more tasty) turn, with cake and a fair in a park. 

One evening after work, as the light faded, we headed out to the peak district. There was no epic sunset, and there were a party of scouts whose shouts echoed around the valley, but it was still peaceful. 

Yesterday the sun shone, and when a friend suggested a trip out after tea, we jumped at the chance. We hadn't eaten, so we took slices of pizza and a bit of cake, and found a 'beach' (or as close to a beach as we get round here) by a reservoir. 

We skimmed stones and watched as the sun set over the hills. 

Sometimes even just going out for an hour can feel like a rest. After work, it feels like a whole other day. 

Of course, I really should spend some time in the house soon. It's not going to decorate itself after all. We've got a plasterer coming on Tuesday to do a final awkward bit, and I'll do a DIY update after that. 

As threatened, me and my bike went off on an adventure last week. Not to Scotland, as originally planned, but across the Trans Pennine Trail to visit my sister. 

First I had to get onto the trail, which involved three miles downhill before a nice gentle cycle through the woods. The perfect start. 

My first section of the trail was rather up and down through some woods. The sun was shining, and I barely saw anyone else all morning. Most jolly. 

Everything went swimmingly until after lunch, when I reached Dunford Bridge. I knew the next section was 'more challenging' but I hadn't realised quite how much more challenging... 

First was a short steep incline, followed by a long slow uphill drag. 

The views did get substantially better from this point on, and I kept stopping to look back down the hill I'd just cycled up. It doesn't look like much of a hill, but I can assure you it was, and it went on for a long time. 

At the top (for now) the trail crossed the busy A628 and went off road, over the moors. See that plastic bag, blowing in the wind? Yep, that wind was blowing in my face, and would continue to do so for the whole of my two day ride. 

The scenery was spectacular and it was quite epic being out on the moors by myself, but the surface wasn't exactly easy to cycle on, and this bit took me rather a long time...

I had to navigate through a field of rather scary looking giant grey furry cows (no, that's not a technical description, and I'm still trying to find out what they actually were) but fortunately they looked happy enough lying in the sunshine and didn't feel the need to chase me and my bike. I didn't stop for a picture though, just in case. 

Eventually the trail dropped down towards those reservoirs you can see in the distance. 

This bit of the trail was ridiculous. Steep, loose rocks, and steps. I had to get off and push, and it was still slow going. Definitely made for mountain bikers, not jittery ladies on folding bicycles laden down with panniers full of snacks. 

But I made it, and cycling along the reservoirs was quite pleasant in comparison. 

 I confess I ended the day by hopping on a train. I'd done 36 miles, still had 16 to go and wanted to see my friend and her children before they went to bed. 

The next day started rather less scenically, with a bridge over the motorway and a rather unglamourous bit of woodland and river alongside the M60. 

After that, the trail followed the route of an old railway line for about seven miles, which I confess was rather dull after the previous day's far-reaching views. It was also quite a lot colder, and after being sunburned in a t shirt the day before, I spent day two huddled in three layers with my gloves on. 

Eventually things got more interesting, with a canal, the River Mersey, and some industrial heritage. 

I'd happily never see another one of these gates again. 

They're at every entrance, and every point where the trail crosses a road, and they do an excellent job of keeping motorbikes off the trail, but goodness me they're a bit of a nuisance to navigate with a fully laden bike. I had to essentially get off and lean the whole thing sideways. On day two, there seemed to be a gate every ten minutes and then at one point, I hit this ludicrous set of wooden steps. 

That sign at the bottom says 'cyclists dismount' - as if it was possible to do anything other than dismounting... Even pushing down these steps wasn't that easy though, and I hate to think how hard it would have been to push up them. Not what I was expecting on a cycle route! 

But after this, everything got substantially easier, with a well surfaced path all the way along the river to Liverpool (via a cup of tea at a friend's house on the outskirts of the city). 

The wind was in my face the whole time and I was getting rather tired by the time I reached Liverpool. I was grateful for a bit of a rest on the ferry across the Mersey. 

This was the commuter ferry, and it was heartening to see so many other bikes. 

On the other side, I got slower and slower. I'd already done about 40 miles that day, and the wind was against me, and I was cold and tired and sand had blown across the track meaning I kept having to get off. My nephews were getting rather impatient waiting for me, and my sister ended up cycling out to make sure I hadn't got lost (even I couldn't get lost cycling along the seafront). 

I didn't cycle home. I spent a couple of days playing with my nephews, and then got an elaborate series of trains back across the Pennines and spent a night in Buxton in the rain.

And then I got a lift home. Cheating, yes, but I reckon I cycled a good 90 miles in the first two days which is quite enough for one week.

After all my preparations (which by a normal cyclist's standards wouldn't really count as 'training'), my 62 mile bike race was thwarted by tonsillitis. Most vexing, not least because I had my tonsils removed when I was seven, and they appear to have grown back for the sole purpose of causing trouble. Is it just me who thinks that's a bit weird? Well, apparently it can happen, and according to this source (reliability unknown) it can happen, sometimes in people who eat too much cake. Hmm. 

Anyway, I was far too poorly to do the race, or even go and watch my sister and her friends, who had a grand old time without me. I was most disappointed (really!)

Still, it hasn't stopped me cycling now I'm feeling better. On Sunday morning it was so gloriously warm and the sun was streaming in through the windows and I just couldn't stand the thought of staying inside for the whole day. One of the things I love about cycling regularly is that the bike is always ready and waiting by the back door, and I don't need to do half an hour of maintenance and faffing before I go out. So off I went, up into the woods again. 

This is my extended cycling to work route, just under ten miles, and takes me just under an hour. It's not exactly flat, although most of the uphill bit is in the woods, so the scenery is nicely distracting. 

Nothing out of the ordinary happened on Sunday - I went out, cycled through the woods, and was home in time for second breakfast. It feels good to be fit enough to just decide to cycle ten miles on the spur of the moment for no reason other than 'it's sunny'. 

And being fit enough to do that means that I'm not daunted by the prospect of cycling ten miles between work venues in a day, as I did today - which saved me a whole lot of time waiting for a bus. 

I'm off work in a couple of weeks, and it looks like my time off will be split by a holiday together, and a few days on my own. I'm thinking me and my bicycle might take off for a country road somewhere, possibly Scotland. I've not done that for a good few years, but I think now might be the time... 

Are you sick of my cycling posts yet? Because I'm nowhere near the end of my enthusiasm so you might have to bear with them for a little while longer I'm afraid. 

This weekend's inspired plan was to drive out to somewhere flat, and get in my last (er, and first) long ride before the 62 mile race, which is now in less than three weeks. The day didn't start well when I got lost on the way to the car park, and it took me nearly two hours to drive 45 miles. I paid for four hours of parking, and set off along the trail, only to be faced with a hill - small, but definitely not flat by my reckoning. 

Fortunately this was the only major incline, and cyclists were advised to dismount (which I did, of course). 

This was an out and back route for me, and I'd one my homework and started at the bottom of the very gentle (but very long) climb, thinking I'd put in the effort on the way out, and coast all the way home. 

Fat chance. 'Flat' takes on a different meaning when you're on a bike, and when wind is involved, flat almost becomes irrelevant. I stopped after about six miles to take stock. 

It had taken me a good 45 minutes to get to this point, and I confess I was tempted to turn round. But this was meant to be a long ride, which meant it had to be a decent proportion of the 62 miles of the race. Thirteen miles just wasn't going to cut it. 

Where to turn round though? After twelve miles there was a signpost advising of a cafe two miles ahead. If I stopped there, that would mean a 28 mile round trip. When I got to the cafe though, there was a picnic spot signed another mile ahead - which would mean a 30 mile round trip. But 30 miles was tantilisingly close to half way through the race, and I decided that psychologically it would feel good to have broken the half way barrier....

At sixteen miles I stopped. Just stopped, in the middle of the path, to the slight bemusement of a family who I'd just overtaken (and would have to overtake again a few moments later). I had a fleeting thought of 'I'll just get to that bridge...' but no, some sense took hold and I turned round to head back to the car, by now wise to the fact that my nice downhill coast home wasn't going to be any such thing. 

You see, it was windy. I laughed when I stopped, as the wind was almost imperceptible when I was still, but on the bike I was having to lean sideways to avoid being blown off. Some of the trail is within deep cuttings which are a bit more sheltered, but the open sections are very exposed, and, as I discovered (contrary to the laws of physics) the wind was blowing in both directions.

By this point I was that odd combination of grouchy and enjoying myself that I often get on a long bike ride or run, and amused myself by making a short video, which I'm not even going to show you because it's so dull, and illustrates nothing except how slowly I was going. 

After 19 miles I arrived back at the cafe, and managed to get my fingers working enough to buy a Double Decker and drink some more of my (tepid) flask of tea. My grouchiness increased when I came across this sign - my car was in Ashbourne... 

​Still, if you've done 19 miles you can do another 13, right? Right. I admit the trail was getting rather repetitive by this point, and as it was getting close to lunchtime I was having to slow down to navigate around an increasing number of amblers, children and excitable dogs. 

And, as I mentioned, I seemed to be going uphill again. 

However, there is a perverse pleasure in discomfort brought on by exercise. Yes, I was getting tired, but look! I'd cycled 20 miles, 21, 22, and I was still going! Think of where I'd have got to if I'd set out from home and gone in a straight line! (Doncaster, probably, which is why I didn't). I started doing odd mental arithmetic, trying to work out how long the race would take me if I kept up my current speed ('all day' was the answer). 

Eventually I did feel a slight downward slant in the trail, although I never got to the stage of freewheeling once in 32 miles, as the surface was too rough and the wind too strong. I passed my initial picnic spot (only six miles to go) then eventually reached the 'steep slope - cyclists dismount' sign again. 

Yay - snacks, just 200 yards ahead! An excellent sign (although I wasn't in the market for an ice cream). My legs weren't too impressed at having to push up the other side of that hill mind you. But I was extremely glad of that kiosk, and inhaled yet another chocolate bar before performing a comedy manoeuvre trying to lift my utterly filthy (and slippery) bike into a car with a broken hydraulic arm which means I have to hold the back door open with my head.

Oddly enough nobody offered to help, and I'm far too stubborn to ask. 

With six minutes left of my four hour parking ticket, I finally made it out of the car park. Thirty two miles, bike caked in grime, and one pair of worryingly muddy hand-knitted socks (whose idea was it to wear those??)

Two days later I'm not feeling it at all, which I'm taking as a good sign. I cycled to work today and neither my backside nor my knees objected once. Maybe all this cycling is actually making me a little fitter? 

Talk to me about that again in three weeks... 

It's been a here-and-there few weeks. Decorating, of course, and an unexpected trip to a permaculture gathering which made me think differently about a lot of things. And I've been cycling, in preparation for a 62 mile bike ride that's sneaking up on me faster than seems fair. 

I've been trying to fit more cycling into my life without taking up too much time at the weekends. Cycling to work and back is good, but the round trip is less than three miles. I've been cycling to other places too, but haven't done more than six miles in a day for months now. I keep intending to take a detour on the way home from work, but it's dark and cold, and I'm usually tired and well in need of my tea (I know, excuses!)

This week I had a brilliant idea - why not take a detour on the way to work? I don't know why it didn't occur to me before. I've been trying to limit the amount of time I spend wading through social media posts in bed in the morning, and a happy outcome of that is that I get up and about earlier - and what better to fill that time with than cycling! 

By happy chance I've stumbled on the perfect route - one I often run when I'm training for a longer race, but usually in the opposite direction. And so bright and early (well, early anyway) on Monday morning, I wrapped up and set off, whizzing down and then up along the road for the first three miles, then turning into this local Site of Special Scientific Interest. 

I love it in here. It's a valley, so the path winds upwards, but I was cycling along an old carriage track so it's relatively flat (it made up for it with mud and cobbles though). There's a steep drop to the side of the track, which looks down on a small stream running over boulders with a steep rocky path alongside it, lovely to walk but for braver cyclists than me. 

I reached the top eventually (as usual, it would have been quicker if I hadn't kept stopping to take pictures) and whizzed the final few miles downhill to work. 

Nearly ten miles done before half 9, and it was glorious to be out in the sunshine and feel I'd done something weekendy before work. It's amazing what a difference it makes when you feel like the day isn't just work and dark. I'd not do it on a day I had an early meeting, but I'm normally pretty flexible about what time I start, and I was at my desk and ready by 9.30 which is no worse than usual. 

This is definitely going to be a regular feature of my week, even when the ludicrous bike race is a distant memory...