Way. The Pennine Way. Peaty bogs; lost wanderings across misty moors. Rain and mist and might and nought. Miserable majesty: a step, a slog, a climb, a place, a mind; another step. Peat. Smell. Life.

The Pennine Way is a 400km trek from England to Scotland, taking in the Yorkshire Moors, Hadrian’s Wall. It brings to mind images of tweed jackets and a pointer at the side. Around 15-18 days of 15 miles, or thereabouts, per day, the last day potentially a 27 mile exhaustion.

It’s stuck in my head.

It’s been there many a year but has returned to the fore. The only thing for which I can gather any passion at all. A time to dwell; to walk mile by mile, day by day. A sense of wilderness and solitude. But a bed. In a room. Each night.

I have no plan. I have a book. An idea. A desire of sorts.