The Gloves and the Cocoa

As my head hit the pillow last night I was worried about today. Worried about missing out. The forecasted snow might mean that I should be outdoors, but today was always shaping up to be a very busy day at the desk.
One of our sons solved this little dilemma by getting me up at 4.30am. One peek out the window was enough to bring a childish, almost wild, excitement. For me that is, my son fell straight back to sleep. I was out on the hills by 5.00am. The plan wasn't perfect: in order to avoid waking my wife I had to make do with the kit I could find downstairs.
I ventured out into the cold woods, wearing jeans, wellington boots and a pair of gardening gloves. The Shackleton Centenary Expedition this was not.

The woods managed to be both white and dark simultaeously.

I have just returned from three hours of exhiliration and the sharpest air to a bowl of perfect porridge. There were many treats along the way, some of them navigational, that will find their way to this space in time. Time to chain myself to a desk for several hours.

The fresh air should keep me going for a few hours, but if things slow later today then I will reach for Plan B. It is a plan that is dark and bad. I'm not much of a coffee drinker, but there is some nuclear-strength chocolate in the cupboard. The sort of thing Dr Evil would eat. It's pure cocoa solids by another name and dissolved in hot water should do the trick.