Walking 1,000 miles in 2017 – not all in one go!

Last year, I did an epic sponsored swim but it was all over in March and then I lost a bit of exercise motivation.

On Christmas Day, I gave my mum the pedometer she asked for and said that she fancied doing a challenge to walk 1,000 miles in 2017. She showed me a magazine advert and I’ve decided to sign up to it and give it a go! http://www.livefortheoutdoors.com/walk1000miles .

I had an unusual but very pleasant New Year’s Eve this year, on a friend’s new canal boat on the River Lea in North London. We could see the fireworks on the Thames from afar and it was a magical evening. We needed to walk another guest back to the tube station after midnight, so some of my miles were done on the towpath (slightly wobbly from Prosecco) but it all counts. Even though it started chucking it down with rain on our towpath walk later in the afternoon, the canal towpath is a magical world. I saw coots diving close up from the window of the boat, Canada geese, swans, gulls, mallards and even cormorants – click on the article as it seems they are moving inland due to over fishing at sea. I’d never seen them so far inland before.

Messing around on the river was a great way to start the year, and I clocked up 4.46 miles.

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Hidden Histories

The new year has already been very busy and is full of possibilities. This month, I’m saying “yes” to gifts and opportunities that come my way, which seems to be very fruitful so far.

On Saturday, I decided to join a guided walk with a poet that would end with a writing workshop in a lovely real ale pub. But the walk wasn’t in the hills of the peak district. It was one of the “Unregistered Sheffield” walks, a project run by Art in the Park, an environmental arts organisation based here in Sheffield. I was curious about the format of the walk and the techniques that the walk leader, poet Bill Cooper would use on the walk and in the workshop (because I’m interested in leading walks combined with creative writing workshops too!) And also, for months, I’ve been intrigued by Wardsend Cemetery, a Victorian cemetery, abandoned for years, on the banks of the River Don behind Hillsborough. However, I’d been told that it was a bit spooky, so I didn’t dare visit it on my own! I’m a wuss!

Despite a downpour earlier on Saturday morning, it was bright and clear as I set off for the meeting point in Hillsborough. But the streets were already busy with Sheffield Wednesday supporters and alarming numbers of police, before a Wednesday vs Leeds local Derby match. However, by the tram stop next to the Rawson Spring pub at Hillsborough corner, it was easy to spot the walkers – people of all ages, dressed in cagoules and fleeces which weren’t in blue and white stripes! I was pleased to meet Zoe, a lady who had attended the writing workshop I ran in October. We set off towards Hillsborough College and Penistone Road, already feeling “different” than I do on my shopping trips and errands that I usually run around here. As we crossed the dual carriageway – where I’ve driven thousands of times, we stopped under the huge sign for Owlerton Stadium. Bill said that we had crossed an “invisible line”, away from the world of cars and business, and the walk started to take on its own pace. We talked about the church of St John the Baptist, and the Swann Morton factory over the road, which makes most of the surgical blades in the world!

A sculptural stack of tyres

A sculptural stack of tyres at Owlerton Stadium

We walked past Hillsborough College, Napoleon’s Casino and around the back of Owlerton Stadium, where we found this rather sculptural stack of old tyres filling a whole in the fence! For years, I had wondered what the roaring engine noise was that could be heard from Crookes and Walkley on still nights. The stadium has hosted speedway racing since it opened in 1929 and all kinds of motor sports, including stock cars and monster trucks (which might be where those tyres came from!) The stadium is also famous for greyhound racing, which can be a cruel sport for dogs who don’t make the grade. But Owlerton stadium does support the Retired Greyhound Trust. We rounded the corner, and crossed the river at the back of the Cadbury Trebor Bassett factory, which smelled delicious, like toasted chocolate. Bassett’s Allsorts are made here! It was lovely to chat to the other walkers: artists, writers and people curious about hidden Sheffield.

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The river Don, behind the sweet factory!

As we crossed the river, memories came back to me, of driving slowly the long way round to Coopers Car Spares in 2008, after our beloved Fiat Cinquecento had spewed the insides of its exhaust onto Penistone Road and wasn’t firing on four cylinders any more. My last sight of it before I scrapped it was of a very large man being laughed at by his colleagues as he tried to drive the sluggish car up the hill in the scrapyard. I hadn’t even noticed the cemetery then, ironically, as I was taking my car to meet its end! And the cemetery is right next to Cooper’s scrap yard, the mechanical and human remains lying in close proximity.

Wardsend Cemetery

Wardsend Cemetery

We gathered around an impressive Victorian memorial, and Bill explained the background to the cemetery. When someone said: “where did people buried here come from?” Bill mentioned that many of the graves were from soldiers stationed at Hillsborough Barracks (now Morrisons’ Supermarket!), but I spotted that the memorial in front of me was dedicated to John Register, of Fir View, Walkley, which caught my eye. He must have been someone important in the community, with his prominent marble grave, and several other relatives had been buried in the same plot. We were given twenty minutes to wander around the cemetery but I noted the engraving on John Register’s gravestone for a six year old child: “the mother gave in tears and pain. The only flower she had to love. Assured she’ll find it once again. In heavenly fields of light above”. I stood and noted the call of great tits, the shafts of sunlight, the delicious, waffly smell from the Cadbury’s factory, the hum of the nearby electricity pylons, a call of a jackdaw and a distant roar of traffic.

Eerie gravestones amongst the bracken

Eerie gravestones amongst the bracken

I hadn’t left much time to explore the rest of the cemetery, so I took pictures of old gravestones and the wildlife that had taken over. I made my way quickly over the railway bridge to see the graves on the other side – Wardsend was the only major cemetery in the country bisected by a railway line. The gravestones on the other side were an eerie sight – half hidden by crispy brown bracken as the land on the other side turns into heath. There had evidently been a fire – perhaps in the dry summer, which had blackened some of the trees into skeletons, but the gravestones had survived, stubbornly. When we gathered again as a group, Bill showed us the Obelisk, which commemorated soldiers from Hillsborough Barracks, who had died in the 1860s. We also found a broken column lying on its side – the gravestone of a young girl. The broken column represented a life cut off before its prime. Wardsend cemetery used to have its own chapel, until it was demolished, and the graveyard was abandoned.

Keep Out!

Keep Out!

We walked along Club Mill Road – it had been a “proper” road when I had driven my car to the scrapyard in 2008 – because the bridge we’d walked along had been swept away by the floods in the summer of 2007. But now the road has been blocked to traffic and it is starting to resemble a riverside path, abounding with wildlife. The river flowed swiftly and we saw how the Parkwood landfill tip is being landscaped, with trees planted. We walked past demolished factories and a lady who was one of the walkers said that there used to be cooling towers here, by the side of the river. There was a large, grassy mound there now, and a half demolished, grafitti-covered wall on the other side of the road, it’s “keep out” notices redundant now there was just a grassy hill on the other side, rather than a factory. We mused on how Sheffield evolves and re-creates itself, in the space of relatively few years. Nature is reclaiming this part of Sheffield.

The old mill and the tree

The old mill and the tree

After a while, we reached the point on the road where traffic is allowed, and there are various industrial units. We felt like we were returning to “normality”. But then we heard a cockerel crowing. In yard of a ramshackle taxi garage was a man feeding a small flock of fancy chickens and fan-tailed doves with bird seed. It was an unexpected and endearing sight. We could still hear the cockerel when Gary showed us the old mill, complete with a rusting metal water wheel. The ruined mill, behind a row of Heras fencing, had a really spooky atmosphere – and all of my photos of the mill have come out blurred! There was an incredibly large, twisted willow tree nearby. Near the mill, an angler sat serenely on the river bank.

The old gates of Hillfoot County School

The old gates of Hillfoot County School

One of the walkers was a lady who had grown up on the Parkwood Spring estate, which was demolished many years ago. She showed us the coke depot where people used to queue to scramble on the slag heap for nuggets of coke during World War II and afterwards, when fuel was still rationed. She showed us the gates of her old school, blocked by a young ash tree and buddleia and the scruffy wall of a corrugated factory, where there was once a Victorian School building. Barbara vividly remembered fights outside the school gates and running up the hill when she found out that George VI had died. There was more rubbish and detritus between here and the derelict Farfield Inn – a culvert full of tyres and rubbish bags, an unpleasant cave  full of broken things where a few walls of a demolished factory stood – evidently a hiding place for someone up to no good. The atmosphere became edgy and oppressive as the road became a narrow alleyway.

It was a relief to be on the industrial streets again, and we passed close by Neepsend Gasometer and its huge gas pipe, which I can see from Walkley, but I didn’t know what it was before. It used to be obscured by a huge art-deco factory which was demolished a few years ago, taking part of the building next door with it. As we reached the Gardener’s Rest, a real ale oasis in the post-industrial desert, we stopped to look at the old brewery building and the ingenious graffiti mural. Sheffield ia a virtual gallery of street art, with work around many obscure corners by artists who have become well-respected in the art world. Check some of them out here: http://sheffieldstreetart.tumblr.com/.

Graffiti mural in Neepsend

Graffiti mural in Neepsend

Once inside the warm, sunny conservatory of the pub, we ate lunch, enjoyed a drink (I had a pint of shandy), and chatted. Bill talked us through a series of writing exercises, asking us to list the things we had found charming, or sad or shocking on our walk. We listed verbs: “glitter, sparkle, splash, squelch, crunch, reflect, fester, cockadoodledoo”, and imagined conversations taking place in the cemetery, at the gates of the old school and at the garage where the man was feeding the chickens. We had time to draft a piece of writing inspired by one of the exercises. I’ve been writing more poetry recently, but I found myself writing a story about some sixth-formers from the college holding a seance in the cemetery, which I’ll try to finish soon! If it works, I might have a great Young Adult novel on my hands – in my head, it’s threatening to develop into something much longer.

The walk was a great adventure. It felt like we were exploring a hidden world, yet only a short walking distance from home. I met an interesting mixture of like-minded people – and I’ll definitely be going along to the Unregistered Sheffield celebration event this Sunday afternoon in the pavillion in Hillsborough Park. There’s always something interesting, stimulating and creative to do in Sheffield – and even in the midst of industrial decay, there is beauty and wonder – and amazing stories.

Sometimes the real world doesn’t look like the map…

That’s what I found myself thinking on Sunday as we found the stile several hundred metres from where the path seemed to start on the Ordnance Survey map, and then found ourselves sinking in a bog. It was the first time I’d convinced the other half to go on a walk with me in a long time and it wasn’t quite what I’d envisaged.

I’d been able to tempt him out by reports that Redmire Reservoirs were haunted. Visitors to the Sheffield Forum reported a “strange sense of unease” when walking there. Some people have reportedly seen the ghosts of the World War One soldiers, the Sheffield City battalion, who had their camp and trained in trench building near the dams. 248 of these men died in the battle of Serre in 1916. There are also reports of a “ghost plane” in the area, perhaps a world War Two bomber, or the American Airforce plane, which crashed into the nearby Lodge Moor hospital in 1955.

The reservoirs themselves date from 1836; a chain of three. They were built to provide Sheffield with clean water following a cholera epidemic in 1832. Sheffield is surrounded by reservoirs, fed by clear moorland streams and dammed rivers.

It was a crystal blue day, the first of the winter frosts, but with the woods still rich in autumn colour. We could have been miles away from anywhere, on the top of the moors, but we were only a few miles away from home, still within the Sheffield city boundary.

We set off early on Sunday morning and drove to Lodge Moor, along Redmires Road, until it narrowed and the road was bordered by fields, woods and the odd isolated cottage. We parked in a car park at Wyming Brook, where an inviting, well-maintained bridleway, formerly a road, wound through a wooded valley full of birdsong towards another set of reservoirs, the Rivelin Dams. But we had come here to walk around the reservoirs. I’d looked at a map on the internet and it looked like there was a nice clear path, running all the way around the three reservoirs.

An almost empty reservoir

An almost empty reservoir

The map indicated that there would be a path through the wood, and after walking past an isolated farm, we found a footpath. It was boggy in places and there was an eerie atmosphere as the sun filtered through the pine trees and we passed an overspill that looked like an abandoned bob-sleigh run. We ended up at a water treatment plant with twentieth century houses which would have belonged to the water board. Redmires is almost the highest point in Sheffield and it was so cold and crisp that I couldn’t feel my feet any more, despite hiking boots and two pairs of socks. The tarmac drive was slippery, the grass was white and there was a large icy puddle. Winter was coming fast.

The overflow in the woods

The overflow in the woods

We took a wrong turning on the path to the reservoir, and ended up at a derelict post war water treatment centre. This place certainly had a strange atmosphere, with its doors and windows shuttered with metal, peeling paint and a defunct sign next to a rusty doorbell: “press here for attention” on a side door that hadn’t opened in years, complete with a decrepit doormat. We turned back and found the path.

There was a jogger and a couple of dog walkers on the path around the top of the dam. But a sign said that walkers were not allowed up there. I decided to ignore them. After all, if questioned by some water board official, I still have a valid water hygiene card from my old job in the utilities industry (which allows me to go behind the scenes in water treatment works, or enter excavations – not as exciting as it sounds!) We scrambled up the bank, and were disappointed that the reservoir was mostly empty. There were excavators, temporary Heras fencing and the rattle of generators, but the view from the dam was breathtaking.

Approached the second dam, we clambered up the steep grassy bank. There was even less water in this reservoir! We walked around the gravel path, feeling a little illegal, until we arrived at another temporary fence, blocking the reservoir from the road, with a large digger parked in front of it. The fence wasn’t very well secured, and there was a way to squeeze out onto the road. Despite the reservoir being a construction site, it felt sinister, and there was a dead hare lying in front of the fence. It had obviously been dead for some time. The site compound was opposite here. No one stirred, but one of the welfare unit (toilet/shower) doors was swinging open, and it felt uncomfortably like someone was watching us.

The abandoned hut

The abandoned hut

We walked on, sticking to the road, which curved around the top reservoir. There were more people around now, parking up to enjoy a walk. Further on, a river flowed into the reservoir, with a path leading off it towards Rivelin. There was a large bell-mouth spillway, like a giant plughole. Next to the path was a ruined brick building, looking like a witch’s hut from a fairy tale. We enjoyed exploring it, and posing, looking out of the windows that had long ago lost their glass.

The rest of the walk along the road was enjoyable, admiring the smooth expanse of blue water and sky, the reservoir only ruffled by swimming mallards and seagulls bobbing in the water. Families and groups of walkers were parking up – but we’d hardly seen any people so far around the other reservoirs. The road ran out, with thick, mysterious woods on one side and a sign for ‘Redmires Lodge’. There’s a house in the woods and a very isolated shooting lodge, which would be a spooky place to spend the night.

All the walkers were making their way up a path which leads towards Stanage Edge, another favourite landmark for Sheffield walkers. The path didn’t go in the direction we wanted to go, and it was crowded with people strolling and chatting in large groups. We decided to take a path which would lead us higher up around the other side of the reservoir, near some interesting looking stones on the map. Unfortunately, this is where we got stuck in the bog – perfectly ordinary looking grass tussocks that squelched and oozed when we stood on them. We retraced our steps and found a muddy but stable path around the other side of the reservoir. We scrambled up onto the dam of the top reservoir and climbed over a wall before rejoining the road and making our way back to the car.

Clear blue skies and water

Clear blue skies and water

It was an interesting walk, and we managed to find a way to walk around the reservoirs. We enjoyed ourselves and exercised in the fresh air. In the clear, sunny conditions, we didn’t find it spooky, but it was certainly atmospheric, although I’m sure I would find it terrifying if I was alone here at dusk. However, we will definitely be back to explore Redmires – investigating Wyming Brook, the path with the spooky ruined cottage, and the track leading to Stannage. I can’t believe I haven’t been here in eighteen years of living in Sheffield, but we will have many more years of enjoying this place. There were difficulties at times, but we had fun in the sunshine.

This blog post is about a walk, and it isn’t an extended metaphor, but my life does feel like this walk at times. If I keep going, I will reach my destination of having a stable career as a creative writing tutor, with a thriving editing business and my own novels published and read by thousands of people. There are bound to be diversions, adventures, blocks and boggy bits along the way, but they are part of the journey, and I am already on my way there.

The power of a solo walk – the Porter Valley

In need of fresh air and thinking time…

I’ve been feeling a little out of sorts. I think it’s the change in the seasons, and my natural anxiety in the process of  changing careers and becoming self employed. Some things have been going brilliantly well – my writing workshop for Off the Shelf has filled up, due to my own hard work, and I’m in the middle of another freelance editing project. But some things start well and then take more time than expected to get off the ground. I always think I can do more than I can in one day – and the task of writing my second novel has been languishing behind more exciting tasks such as cleaning the bathroom!

I’m making lots of links with people to build my business, developing new ideas, and learning new skills all the time. But I know I could be doing more, working harder or smarter. There are lots of “shoulds” in life, aren’t there? Sometimes these days, I surprise myself with my own confidence; sometimes I’m cursing myself for the smallest mistake. I’m aiming to be on the look out for every opportunity: concentrating on keeping my life afloat and moving forwards in the right direction.

So on Sunday, I decided to go for a walk. My other half didn’t want to come, but it was such a lovely warm day, I had to make the most of it. And if it’s a choice between doing something I really want to do on my own, or not doing it at all, I’ll go for the solo option. And a solo walk is always an adventure. When I start walking from the house and find myself in the Bolehills and the Rivelin Valley, there are so many paths to take that I just choose them on a whim, not knowing where I’m going to end up, but knowing where I am from the contours of the land, the ramshackle allotments, the incongruous tower blocks of Stannington, and the swift river flowing through the bottom of the valley. These walks can be quite magical and unpredictable.

The Queen Victoria Jubilee Monument - a good spot for reading

The Queen Victoria Jubilee Monument – a good spot for reading

This Sunday, I decided on one of the other famous valley walks in Sheffield, the Porter Valley. This walk starts in Endcliffe Park, a popular park in Hunters Bar (immortalised by the Arctic Monkeys on their first album) with a large playing field, duck ponds and a cafe abounding with “yummy mummies” of this upmarket area of Sheffield. it’s also a favourite student area, and I parked on Ranby Road, a terraced street running down to the park, where I lived in my second year at university, catching up with my reading list by Queen Victoria’s jubilee memorial.

A heron! On the busiest pond in Sheffield.

A heron! On the busiest pond in Sheffield.

The park was busy with footballers, picnickers, kids and cute dogs. As I walked past the first pond, I had my first surprise. The pond is usually a bit boring, rather silted up, with the world’s fattest mallards bobbing around on the surface, staring disdainfully at the sliced white bread being thrown at them. They prefer ciabatta, daarling. But there in the trees, in full view of everyone, was a heron. A mother and daughter pointed it out, and soon, crowds had gathered to point and take photographs. Herons are quite common, really, but there’s still something special about them, scruffily elegant and mysterious.

I moved on, enjoying the vivid autumn colours and entertained by the antics of dogs who seemed determined to jump into the stream. Taking a few quieter paths, I saw a charming little grey wagtail, catching flies and bobbing around.

Steps made out of grindstones at Shepherd Wheel

Steps made out of grindstones at Shepherd Wheel

The Shepherd Wheel Mill was working today. Each pond on the Porter Valley used to be a millpond – powering water-powered grinding wheels for sharpening cutlery and tools. Shepherd Wheel is the only grinding mill- on any of Sheffield’s rivers, in existence, and it’s been restored over the last few years, with a working water wheel and the grinder’s wheels inside. The place bores my other half rigid, but I like it. it’s an important part of Sheffield’s history, and I find the noise of the wheels turning, and the water in the wheel, quite relaxing. It’s picturesque, dating back to the 1500s. In its heyday, it would have been a noisy, dangerous, dusty place to work – the whole valley would have been very industrial.  In the restored millpond, a lady was encouraging her Labrador to swim to fetch a ball – he was having a wonderful time.

A shaft of sunlight in the woods

A shaft of sunlight in the woods

Soon after the mill, a road crosses the path, and on the other side, it’s more wooded. There were still a fair amount of people taking a Sunday stroll or bike ride, but woodland and birdsong were taking over. There are some wonderful old, gnarled trees, and it really started to smell like autumn; of damp earth and fungi. I took atmospheric photographs of sunlight through the dappled leaf canopy.

Never mind the bullocks!

Never mind the bullocks!

Eventually, I ended up at Forge Dam, with its round pond, now rather silted up, and legendary cafe, recently refurbished. I had an excellent chip butty for lunch and sat outside in the Sunshine, amused by the rather posh clientèle, and large dogs causing chaos. I was going to end my walk here, but I decided that I was up for an adventure. I fancied a walk to the llama and alpaca farm – yes, you heard correctly, in Ringinglow, After Forge Dam, the path runs through the Mayfield Valley. This is definitely the countryside, there are fields on either side of the path, picturesque farms, and the high-rise buildings of the city look very distant. I passed a field of curious bullocks.

Just around the corner, the path to the village of Ringinglow climbs steeply uphill through a field. Once I walked up here and the field was full of cows with large pointed horns, but I was lucky this time – there was just a group of children launching themselves down the hill, loving the feeling of being out of control. It was a hard slog up the hill, but the view was worth it, miles of green valley, with the landmarks of Sheffield clear but tiny on the horizon. At the top, I exchanged out of breath pleasantries with a family visiting the Alpaca farm. As I walked into the village, I could see the long-necked animals in their fields, but I didn’t feel like paying to walk around the fields on the other side of the fence – after all, I’d already seen them!

Porter Clough

Porter Clough

Instead, I walked on until I reached Porter Clough, the very top of the Porter Valley walk, on the edge of the Peak District, where the stream is little more than a trickle from the moors. The steep-sided valley is covered in ancient woodland. I managed to avoid the rain of acorns falling in the woods. Although it was still t-shirt weather, the leaves were steadily twirling down.  I took the higher paths on the way back, to vary the route, and picked up my pace, and it wasn’t long before I was on Ranby Road again.

A solo walk is a great way to clear your mind and allow your thoughts to settle. I also find it good for creativity. Walking alone always makes me want to write poetry – and occasionally, I do. That’s why a familiar route on a reliable path is good, as no map-reading is required and you’re not going to get stuck in boggy bits when you’re not concentrating! One of my other favourite solo walks in Sheffield is around Damflask reservoir, near Bradfield village. It can be managed in just over an hour and it’s good if you just want to get away from it all for a while!

Safety first though! If you are going walking on your own, you might want to stick to tried-and-tested routes at first, where there will be other walkers. If you’re using a map to plan your route, make sure it’s manageable in the time you have. Wear sensible footwear! Bring a waterproof jacket, water, an OS map if you need it, a snack, or enough money to buy one. Bring your mobile phone, although a reception isn’t always guaranteed in mountainous regions! And always tell someone where you’re going and roughly when you expect to come home (not that I do all of these things all the time!) When you do get home, you’ll definitely be feeling better than when you set off!

Sheffield’s got Soul

 

This has been my first “free range” week. I’ve kept myself very busy.

I’ve been setting up and promoting a memoir writing taster course to be held in Sheffield later this month. For more details, please take a look at my new business blog http://wildrosemarywritingservices.wordpress.com/ The courses will be held on Thursday 23rd and 30th May at the Quaker Meeting House in Sheffield city centre.

I’ve lined up some volunteer work in my local primary school. During my initial visit last week, I discovered how vibrant, creative and colourful it is, a far cry from my junior school, where we had to write with a fountain pen, sing endless hymns from a shabby blue book and the boys had to wear short trousers, even in winter. And this was in the 1980s, not the 1890s! I’m looking forward to starting work as a supply teaching assistant at schools around the city.

I’ve also made some freelance connections: I’m formatting and proofreading the novel of an writer with a wealth of experience. It’s a great novel and an honour to work on it. It was brilliant to meet the writer, Tom Webster, as he wrote many radio plays broadcast on the BBC in the 70s and 80s.

And tonight, I’m meeting Kweku of Ghana again and the other members of up-and-coming band The Allstar Revolution http://m.soundcloud.com/the-allstar-revolution. I’m going to be doing some press and publicity work with them and I’m really looking forward to their gig tonight at Haggler’s Corner, a quirky Arts Centre in Sheffield. https://www.facebook.com/hagglers.corner

In between all of this activity, it’s been lovely weather this week in Sheffield and the spring is really starting to come alive. The woods and valleys are starting to turn a fresh green colour. The daffodils are starting to turn brown and crinkly but gardens are turning into a riot of colour. I’ve finally got round to planting some vegetables and salad leaves in my garden. Walking around Sheffield this week has been a pleasure, discovering shortcuts and hidden corners I didn’t know about, watching birds collecting fluff for their nests and seeing the first butterflies of the year. This is a good sign, as we’ve had some bad years for butterflies. http://butterfly-conservation.org/

If you’re reading this and have never been to Sheffield before, you’re probably thinking of the Full Monty – a grim, post-industrial landscape, full of ex-steelworkers stripping off in a working men’s club. Well, to be honest, you’re not far wrong! A lot of the places I’ve been wandering to this week were featured in the Full Monty, from the park outside The Blake pub, to the back streets around Burton Street near Hillsborough (The Burton Street Centre was where they filmed the Job Centre scene). I saw the film again recently and noticed how green the city looks. It must have been filmed in early summer. That’s one of the things that makes Sheffield special. Wherever you are, you’re never far from a park or a green oasis. It was very different in the boom time of the steel industry, when the river Don was one of the most polluted places in Europe. Now its banks are lined with trees and it’s teeming with life (as well as the odd shopping cart!) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/River_Don,_South_Yorkshire. It’s true that Sheffield is built on hills. Walking around here gets you fit, but there’s always a good view at the top.

I’m determined to spend time in my city and be part of my own community. It definitely beats driving 100 miles every day!

Things this blog is about…