Note: The Winter Timetable (which, when mentioned among faculty here, is met with a minimum 8 seconds of groaning). Lest we forget we are in the northern hemisphere, the approach of winter means that the sun tends to set around 4:30 in the afternoon. To maximize the amount of time the kids can spend getting exercise, and (I think) to minimize the likelihood that all staff will sink into seasonal affective disorder, Bryanston moves sports practices (hereafter referred to as "games") to the middle of the day. We teach afternoon classes in the dark, but it's a small price to pay for fresh air.
What all this actually means is that on the afternoons I don't coach games, I have a nice chunk of free time. So I run near school, on gravel and dirt roads, opening the occasional farm gate and hopping over the occasional cattle grid. I'm pretty sure i'm not trespassing, but apparently I am in more danger when than I used to think.
When I jog, I'm not just flailing about in the elements, accumulating mud on my shoes. I'm also apparently disturbing the peace of avid sportsmen.
I only realized this after I had twice encountered a passel of middle-aged men in flat caps and wellington boots, who also happened to be shouldering rifles on their tweed-clad shoulders. I didn't notice them at first; they blended in so well with the undergrowth and with one another, but by the second time our paths crossed, I got a clue. Either I had stumbled upon the filming of a 1930's period piece, or I was disrupting a shooting party. I'll be more careful for the rest of the Wednesdays this season.
On a walk, I recently encountered a similarly clad figure (flat cap, wellies, earth toned jacket) who was just out walking his dog, but this guy had a pipe to boot. The whole effect was magnificent. He even said, "hello," while clenching his pipe firmly in his front teeth, a skill I'm sure it takes some time to cultivate. The effect was somewhat diminished by the presence of iPod earbuds peeking out from his coat collar, but I was willing to suspend disbelief for a bit longer and keep pretending I'd travelled back in time.
It's always worth the mud on my shoes and the wind-stiffened fingers to see an image like that. And even after a lovely holiday with my dear family, it's most definitely worth being back here at "work."
