Late on Saturday night, there was a panicked phone call from Penny.
'Have you heard?'
'What?' I burbled, slurping on a glass of Shiraz.
'The Ian Hodgson's been cancelled.'
There was a slight note of hysteria in her voice. I could tell this was one too many of such cancellations and disappointments that she'd experienced lately. This was a blow, particularly after losing the village's best window-box display.
A race to the fell runners' forum revealed that the rumour was true. Brotherswater was like a paddy field. There was nowhere to park.
It was a shame, this. Our eight-person team had been out every weekend for weeks, finding the shortest line between points. Worrying about things....looking forward to Patterdale's finest cake display.
In short, the race didn't go ahead, leaving hordes of honed fell runners to have a series of relaxing runs in a more informal sense.
It's a right shame, but we're all looking forward to next year.
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