For me, 2017 was definitely not a year of running. I did a half marathon in January and then... nothing. A small flurry in May, when I thought I might be doing a local trail race, but that tailed off when things got serious on the house moving front. 

Recently though I've started again. I've watched a friend (EssexHebridean) do the couch to 5k and after eight short weeks of regular, consistent running (something I've never managed to do since I started in 2003), she is now running faster than I ever have, even at my fittest. 

I'm extremely impressed with her, and extremely unimpressed with myself. I know I get quicker if I run regularly - yet in thirteen years I think I've only ever done three runs in a single week a handful of times. Even when I was training for the marathon, I was more likely to do one run every fortnight than anything more regular (which explains my shoddy marathon times...). 

I like running, but I've never really pushed myself very hard. I go out for a run, and barely get above walking pace. There's nothing wrong with this of course, but I know I'm capable of more. 

Anyway, inspired by Robyn and other friends who have taken up running regularly, and by looking back at old race photographs and the fun I've had running with my sister, I decided to get back out there. And of course, I motivate myself best with a race... so we've entered a series of short trail races over near the new house (which we still aren't living in... yawn). The first one is the first weekend of February - just over two weeks away - and needless to say I am not remotely prepared. 

But I have been out. Before work, in the semi darkness, running round the park, trying not to slip on the ice. And early morning, in the gym, before anyone else is there, trying not to feel self conscious when the next person comes in. 

Not much, not fast, but regular. 

For now. We'll see how long it lasts... 

Last week, in the not-quite-real time between the start of the new year and the return to work, I met a friend at Idle Valley nature reserve. 

We've met there before, as it's roughly half way between my house and his. There are lakes, and a lot of birds, and (most importantly) a cafe. 

On this day it was rather soggy, and we waited for a while in the cafe for the rain to ease off. They have several pairs of binoculars and a telescope that you can try out, and we had a jolly time watching the flocks of birds rise from the lake then drop back down, then rise and circle each other in an elaborate dance. 

Eventually the rain eased enough for us to brave a walk around the lake. 

Wandering round the reserve, I was reminded of my intention to visit all the nature reserves run by my local Sheffield and Rotherham Wildlife Trust. I'd finally made it to number eight back in October, but there were still four to go. I'd very much like to visit them all before we move miles away into the countryside with other exciting places to explore. 

So when the sun shone last weekend, I took myself off to Greno Woods - reserve number nine on my list. 

It was rather nippy, and also gave me a nice excuse to wear my wellies, which don't get nearly as much use as I'd like. 

The sun shone through the trees and picked out the vivid green of the holly. It was quite magical. 

I wasn't really following a footpath, just wandering about wherever my fancy took me, and eventually I found myself out of the woods.

I sat for a while on a bench looking at the view, and would have sat for longer, but it was so cold I feared I might seize up if I stayed still for too long, so back into the woods I went. 

After a couple of hours of wandering, I was rather peckish and in need of lunch. Sadly, having paid no attention to which direction I was going in, I was thoroughly lost, and it took rather a lot more wandering to find myself again, by which time I was quite chilly and a teensy bit grumpy. 

I did make it home eventually though, to a well deserved bowl of soup. 

Just three reserves left to go now (I think). I might just make it before we go after all... 

On Thursday between Christmas and new year, the sun was shining and I took myself off for a nice long wander through the woods. 

This path snakes ever so slightly uphill for a few miles, and as the trees thinned out, it got colder and the ground was covered with an increasing amount of snow. 

Eventually I reached the top of the hill, and stopped to drink my flask of hot chocolate. I was warm from climbing the hill, but the air was freezing, and as I turned the corner and left the trees behind me, the wind blew across the exposed road. 

I'll miss this route when we move. It's my ten mile running route (or at least it was, back when I was capable of running for ten miles...). On this occasion though the aim was scenery, and, after seven miles of walking I decided I didn't need to trek the last three miles through the suburban streets so I hopped on a bus.

The very next day I found myself doing the first part of the same walk with a friend, and this time all of it was in the snow. 

It's funny how much difference the snow can make to how the landscape feels. 

On this occasion we just walked for a couple of miles, then stopped for lunch at a cafe (along with half of the rest of the city population, it seemed). 

It's felt good to be out and about in the winter weather. Not the grey, rainy, gloomy weather (not all the time anyway), but give me a bright sky or a bit of snow and I'm itching to be outside. I can see a lot more being outside in my future... 

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... 

A couple of weeks ago I went on an organised bike ride with a load of other women one Sunday morning. We gathered in the town centre and cycled out along the river to a nature reserve. 

In fact, we passed through two other nature reserves before we got to our final destination, which I was rather excited about as I remembered I had a plan (a long time ago) to visit all the Sheffield Wildlife Trust nature reserves, and I only ever made it to six - the last being in 2015. I'm pretty sure there were only eleven when I started, and it seems there are now thirteen. 

This is cheating slightly, as we only really skirted the edge of Blackburn Meadows, but I'm still claiming it. We also cycled through Salmon Pastures, the smallest of the Sheffield Wildlife Trust reserves (I've cycled through there before). 

Our final destination was the Centenary Riverside reserve, number eight on my list. It's on the site of a former steelworks, and you can see more pictures of the development of the site if you click the link. Apparently at one time during the war they used an ex circus elephant to haul steel around the site. 

It was a bit of a grey day, and apparently the site looks much more beautiful in the summer when the meadows are full of flowers. 

I did get a good look at a dragonfly though. 

We cycled about eighteen miles together, and I'd already cycled two to join the group at the start, so once we got back to town I was very ready for a lift back up the hill to home. Sadly (for me) I had stupidly left our only car key attached to my own key ring, so Peter couldn't get into the car, and I had to cycle another two uphill miles. I wasn't in the best of moods when I eventually made it home, and the rest of the day didn't involve much activity at all. 

I've got five Wildlife Trust reserves left to visit, and it would be nice to tick them all off before we move out of Sheffield (we're not going far, and I'll have to come back to the city for work anyway, but it seems wise to visit while we still live here). 

Things have taken a distinctly autumnal turn around here lately. 

I think autumn might be my favourite season, but this year it's not been great so far. My nan died this week, we are still in limbo waiting for things to happen with our house, and altogether things are rather gloomy and unsatisfying. 

A look back through my photographs tells me we have been getting out and about though. 

We spotted these flowers planted into old milk cartons on the side of a metal fence screening some building work. I've never seen this before, but how pretty! 

Last weekend we went to Bakewell, a little market town out in the peak district, where I tried to hold onto the end of summer with a last lolly ice. 

We walked into town along the river, and I love to see the old houses lining the banks. 

This bridge was built in the thirteenth century, and is still one of the main routes into the town. 

We visit Bakewell quite a bit, so didn't feel the need to do anything particularly touristy. We wandered around the charity shops, bought some books in a second hand bookshop, and then had tea and a sandwich in the memorial gardens. 

I think we feel a bit discombobulated at the minute. We're moving - but who knows when? A lot of our stuff is packed, so we don't have access to most of our books or any of my sewing stuff and even some of our clothes. But there's no point packing anything else at this stage as it might be months before anything else happens. 

I'm trying to be interested in the legal and practical process of buying and selling a house, neither of which I've done before. I'm also trying not to get too hung up on whether we end up in this particular house that we're trying to buy, because so many things could still go wrong. We'd hoped to be in by Christmas, and there's still time, but I'm not holding my breath.

Hey ho. There's nothing I can do at this stage other than wait, so I suppose that's what I'll have to do. In cafes, mostly, particularly now the weather is turning. Maybe I'll knit myself a new scarf to keep me occupied. 

One evening last week I found myself by myself, with no fixed plans, no errands, no DIY. What to do? Lying on the sofa seemed appealing, but the evening sunshine won in the end, and I drove out into the peak district. 

I parked somewhere I'd not parked before, and set off towards a rocky outcrop in the distance. 

These outcrops litter the area, and are stunning to walk along. This one was no exception. 

I love the way the rocks seem to tumble over each other, and the strange gaps and balancing stones. 

I ambled along for an hour or so, watching the last of the sun light up the heather. 

Of course, the midges were out, and I was bitten all over, including both eyelids (which I would recommend avoiding - it's not pleasant). 

In case you're concerned about me wandering around wild places on my own in the evening, remember that this is the peak district - one of the most visited national parks in the UK. I definitely wasn't off the beaten track, and there's no chance of a place with a car park being deserted on a sunny summer evening. 

There were other people around, but it didn't feel too busy, which is a nice mix. I got back to the car just as the sun set. 

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. 

Ah, I'd forgotten this. Waking up at the weekend with nothing to do, nowhere in particular to be. It really is most pleasing.

On Saturday we had visitors, and we wandered to a local park which was hosting part of the local all-city music festival. Our friends were playing with their band, and we just lay on the grass for a while and listened. 

In the evening, we said no to a dinner invitation, and sat at home by ourselves, dozing in front of the tv. Not something we do very often these days, but again, a much needed rest. 

We woke up with nowhere to be, and found ourselves in another cafe with some different friends. And then some other people appeared, and we joined our two sets of friends together (are you keeping track?)

Incidentally, I've been introduced to a new cafe. Not so new really, and I think I've written about it on here before, but this is the favourite haunt of a friend of mine, and I do so love to be introduced to other people's favourite cafes. 

This one has a little back garden with its own flower shop. 

I've already drunk many happy cups of tea here, and can see many more in the future. 

Still no house news. We're waiting for our buyer to accept an offer, and also nervously waiting for our own offer to be accepted on a house that we have fallen for, but that would require far more work than we've ever done in this one. 

I'm not so good at waiting. My mind is filled with 'what if...?' and 'should we...?' and 'would it be completely foolish if we...?'  

Lots of deep breaths (and much tea) required this week. 

And so, just like that, we have sold our house. 

Of course, it wasn't 'just like that' at all. There were tears, tantrums, endless trips to Wickes and visits to friends, and much late night tidying and sorting and painting. 

But the photographer came (and was here for hours, and made our home look beautiful), and the next day we had a for sale sign in the garden (after a brief period of it being in someone else's garden, which must have been quite alarming for them). 

Over the next week we had sixteen viewings, three offers (and several counter offers, and retracted offers, and increased counter offers), and eventually we said yes. And of course, as soon as we did, someone jumped back in with a higher price. We said no - we're retaining some shred of sanity by acting as much as we can with good manners and integrity. 

It's a strange thing, having people wander round your house. I thought I'd feel judged, but by the time it went up for sale, it really didn't feel like our house any more. We've made so many changes (and I will share some of them), and packed away so many things, that it feels more like a holiday cottage. 

On the first day of viewings the sun shone obligingly, and even I couldn't quite believe how well the house looked. The third person to view went straight to the estate agents and offered, and it was her offer we accepted in the end (after much to-ing and fro-ing between us and with other people - I've never had so many phone calls in my life).

Of course, nothing is ever straightforward. Our buyer has to sell her house before she can buy ours, and we've given her quite a short deadline (I'm confident she can do it!) And we, having finally put ours up for sale after finding our dream house, have decided that the location of our dream house may not be quite as idyllic as the house itself. 

We've found an alternative, but it needs a lot of work. A two hundred year old cottage in a national park, with peeling wallpaper, mouldy carpets and a slightly precarious roof. And a greenhouse, woodland, outbuildings and a beautiful view. 

We've put in an offer, and are keeping our fingers crossed. 

Our searching has taken us to many beautiful places. This is a big move for us, and we want to be as sure as we can about the place we move to. We spend our weekends wandering between cafes and poking around potential new houses as much as we dare, and after work we sometimes drive out and just sit and listen. We've learned a lot doing this, but it's actually a nice activity in its own right. 

In the meantime, I've been pottering in the garden. My efforts have been focused on the house these last few months, and outside the raspberries have died and the willow is reaching for the telephone wires. But at the last minute I spent a small fortune on bedding plants, and with the lavender, the fuchsia, and the redcurrants, the garden looked as beautiful as the house. 

Once we'd accepted an offer, we breathed a sigh of relief, closed the door, and life started to return to some vague kind of normality (albeit still with a lot of phone calls from the estate agent - I'll miss those guys when this is all over). On Sunday, I picked some of the remaining gooseberries, and sat de-stalking them in the garden ready for making jam. 

I haven't actually got round to making that jam yet, and the gooseberries are now in the freezer. I remembered that I do, in fact, have a full time job, and rather inconveniently that has required me to do a fair bit of travelling these last few weeks. Just this week I've spent over 20 hours on trains and buses. I'm tired. 

But we're getting there. This waiting is hard, but being able to sit still makes a nice change from painting and plastering and gluing and sticking. At least while we wait we can drink tea, and see friends, and rest. And, of course, investigate questions like 'are you allowed to replace metal framed windows in a national park?' and 'just how much does it cost to put in a new heating system?' I'm going to know so many things when all this is over. 

I'll miss this little garden when we leave. I might look back at pictures from when I first moved here and see how far we've come. It feels like it looks after itself now (apart from the willow), and now I have a bit more time, I can just sit out there and read. 

Our new garden, if all goes to plan, will be much bigger, and no doubt I'll be marvelling and cursing in equal measure about that. But for now, I'll just sit and wait, with as much patience as I can muster.