Pain is temporary, victory is forever, planning is everything

What's the phrase? Fail to prepare, prepare to fail. No, I don’t fail, not on Freshwalks, or on outdoor adventures. I just don’t. I don’t bring up the rear either with the walk leader giving me the option of dropping out and taking the road. Some people get injured, I get that. Just not me.

I did the walk. I don't quite know how, I'm just beating myself up about how hard it was and how close I came to quitting.

I’m so tired now, 24 hours after coming down into Hayfield, that I can’t easily remember the last time I did a 20km walk. April, maybe? A couple of magical evening strolls up Kinder and Bleaklow over the summer. Either way, it's poor preparation for 42km.

We were late signing up for the Seven Trigs Challenge, which Freshwalks organised with Tink Adventures in support of the Peak District National Park Foundation and all week I was worried it was a stretch too far. Then the warnings came through. Checking we were up for it, up to it, and then the dropouts due to swollen knees, etc.

I desperately wanted this feeling, the one I had as I inhaled a Manchester Egg (thanks Alex) at the incredible Pack Horse at Hayfield. The aftermath, the sense of achievement and togetherness. That's what I needed, that's what sustained me. Think of the glory, think of the delirium, even. But I'm going to be dead honest with myself. I failed to prepare for the pain that was to come.

Here's how it went down. We started in Hayfield and the climb up William Clough towards the top of Kinder Scout to the first trig point of the day (1) at 624m was a breeze. In warmer weather I slow down on that steep climb, but we passed Kinder Downfall en-route to (2) Kinder Low at 633m. Heading along the southern edges of Kinder, passing the tops of Crowden and Grindsbrook Clough, before a slight diversion off our usual beaten track to find the (3) third trig point on Kinder Scout at 590m. The route was a descent off Kinder via Crookstone Knoll, heading for Hope Cross where the old Roman Road takes you to the top of (4) Win Hill at 462m. Thereafter, the drop into the Hope Valley with a water stop under the railway bridge set us up to begin the climb of (5) Lose Hill, 476m. That's when I first felt a need to take the pressure off my feet. 

The two hardest bits both involved foot aches. That steep ascent up Lose Hill was tough, but though it put a painful strain on my shins and knees, my hips kept working, and I didn’t want for the energy. Every bit of my 56 year old frame did OK, but my feet were hot and I started to feel every bump and stubble. Attempts to engage me in conversation from friendly fellow walkers were met only with grunts, of which I'm so sorry. 

I changed socks at Win Hill summit, enjoyed the breather, and slapped on some peppermint foot lotion. I was OK along the delightful ridge walk to (6) Mam Tor, where we took another breather in the presence of the full Edale Mountain Rescue team and I was pointedly asked if I wanted to bail out while changing my socks again. If anything that just made me more determined than ever to keep going. 

Rushup Edge was fine - where I must applaud the new stiles and fences - and I actually felt quite bouncy again passing Lord’s Seat up along the flagged path to the final summit of the day on (7) Brown Knoll, 569m (pictured above). That section was just grim though. Every bone and tendon in my feet seemed to hurt, pressing up into my ankles and shins. It wasn't sharp pain, just uncomfortable, and hard going. It turns out I have two blisters, but they weren't giving me any grief, maybe because I just didn't know they were there and I couldn't think about them.

Even though I knew the finishing line was soon in sight as we started to drop down into Hayfield, the absolute worst bit was the steep pebble path down from Edale Cross before the last gentle stretch of the final straight on an actual road. I felt unstable underfoot and stubbed my toes half a dozen times, making sore feet worse. I think it must have been the tiredness too, not lifting my feet enough to avoid catching any protruding rock. Thinking on, I've done this route at dusk and unpleasant as it is having the ground move beneath you occasionally, I didn't do it in such pain.

So was that the fatigue and dehydration that I could have avoided?  I was OK on food and water, a nuut protein shake gave me the energy for the day ahead, and I nibbled little and often. Bread can tend to sit heavily on me so I was pleased to have calculated against taking sandwiches this time. Maybe a pasta salad with chicken would have given me superpowers, but tired as I was my engine never really gave up on me.

Gear-wise, I really have been blessed since I discovered Haglofs. The L.I.M. range in particular has given me high-quality technical layers with no chaffing and excellent temperature control in all conditions, even with a small self-inflicted rip on my shorts. When the wind gets up my hands can get numb, so I wisely packed a pair of thin gloves.

No, it was my feet. The Scarpa Ranger boots have served me well, never a blister or a leak in two years. Dry as a bone in the wettest of conditions. Definitely the best walking boots I’ve ever had. So the only reason I was feeling every pebble was that my feet were out of practice and my socks had made them worse.

That's the mission. I need to up my sock game. Thick wool walking socks made my feet too hot, which meant as good as they are the sweat reduced the protection and padding. I've been recommended Bridgedale midweight merino wool comfort boots socks. 

There will always be another walk. I will prepare better for the next one. I don't intend to hang up these boots, or put these feet up for a long time. 

Please support the Peak District National Park Foundation and the amazing work they do.

A ray of light in the Dark Peak

Pic: Freshwalks Fresh Futures on Kinder in April this year

Over the last three years I’ve developed a deep spiritual connection with a mountain.

Kinder Scout, the plateau that dominates the Dark Peak to the east of Greater Manchester represents so much of what I have come to believe in; connecting with and respecting nature, the universal opportunity we all have to explore the challenges of the great outdoors, and something uniquely connected to the traditions of the place I call home.

One of my sons lives over the hill in Raworth and when I drive over to see him - or he drives me - we get an incredible view of the plateau in all kinds of light. It’s like being able to view one of your favourite paintings again and again. Even when storm clouds loom over it, or it is enveloped in darkness.

For me, Kinder is also the spiritual home of Freshwalks, the walking community that I was loosely involved in setting up in 2013 and which my friend Michael Di Paola has established as simply the best networking community I’ve ever had the privilege to be involved in.

I adore the Lake District, I am awestruck by the Cairgorms in Scotland, Snowdonia has a magical magnetism. But Kinder and the Dark Peak feel like they are ours. It’s a different emotional connection. 

When walking up it, I love its unpredictability. My friend John and I set off one sunny August morning last year from the car park at Hayfield quarry where there stands a plaque to the heroes of the Kinder trespass in 1932. We were booted up and ready for anything in our walking shorts and also slapped on the factor 30 as the sun shone, imagining a still stroll around its eerie lunar edges. An hour later we were planning a hasty retreat down Williams Clough, soaked to the bone, as lightning crackled in a dark sky and the rains lashed down on us.

By the time we got back to Hayfield it was cracking the flags again, humbled that Kinder had once again laughed at our plans and reminded us how futile it is to speak of ‘conquering’ mountains and hills.

I was at a low ebb at the time. That challenge, the conversations we had up there that day have sustained me for a long time. I think of so many other days, other friends, other conversations, that have had a similar effect. Sometimes about music, by the way.

Shortly after my jaunt with John, my wife Rachel joined a sunset walk which properly gave her the confidence to make profound lifestyle and fitness choices. She’s now edging ahead of me on the leaderboard for miles walked on Freshwalks this year. 

And so to our latest initiative. I volunteered to be a mentor on the Freshwalks Fresh Futures initiative with Manchester City Council’s Our Year programme, to help young people see what I’ve experienced.

As potential mentors we just brought our open hearts, a curiosity and our passion for the outdoors. The young people brought ideas and energy, but also bonded with each other. It’s taken me a lifetime to find this way of recharging and connecting. Hopefully this day has made an early impact on these guys, though some are already well on their way to their Duke of Edinburgh Awards.

So here's to Kinder, whether in the morning sunrise, through hail and wind, or as the sun sets on another day, it truly was worth fighting for.

Lunch of the month for February - the winner

The month was cut a little short for me due to having Covid. So these are slightly slimmer pickings than I hoped for. And not many trips into Manchester or Stockport. That will change. 

Full marks to the steak and ale pie at the Wheatsheaf in Old Glossop, it took me back to the very first Freshwalks when this was the final destination. Superb piece of work.

No complaints about Nandos in Stockport either. But it's just a Nando's, right?

Antonios in Ashton was a real surprise. No disrespect to Ashton town centre, but this was a quality Italian and a cut above what I expected. I anticipated Pellicci and got a neighbourhood Piccolino. My canneloni was rich in tomato flavour, the garlic bread of similarly high quality to Rudi's Pizza, and it was a lovely friendly atmosphere. It stood up nicely next to actual Piccolino, where I was delighted to be asked back and I hope we can do some business with my host after our excellent calamari, followed by chicken and gnocci. It's slightly busting the budget rules though.

Also in the foody hot spot of Ashton was the absolute beast of a Morroccan / Lebanese mezze platter from Mozaic.  On any other month it would absolutely smash this competition out of the park. But it was a cold draughty day and though the food warmed us up, it wasn't as transformational as this month's close run winner.

The lunch of the month was actually an all day full Derbyshire breakfast from the Old Hall Hotel in Hope at the end of a glorious Freshwalks sunrise walk. 20 of us arrived and were served promptly, efficiently and with great humour. The bacon was thick and cured, just as I like it, the eggs done to perfection with deep pools of warm yoke to dip the sausage and black pudding into. The oatcake was a curve ball, if I'm honest, but gave it that point of difference for the local twist.

Maybe I'm also slightly biased, because I've had breakfast on my mind this week as Dave Angel reminds us all that pancakes are on Shrove Tuesday, with lemon, and sugar. And that a full English is the one thing at which we rule the world.

Well done everyone.  

The blogathon story so far

This is going to be quick. After a busy week in Ireland and walking from Langsett onto the moors today, this is just about all I've got time for today.

With a week to go to the end of the month, I'll tackle some of the bigger issues relevant to what I'm trying to do long term. Then, there's a sweep of reviews of books and films that need updating. 

I could say something profound about time, what we do with it, who we spend it with and why there doesn't seem enough of it. 

Or an appreciation of friends who make those times special. Like James Torry who took that amazing picture of us today.

Maybe that's for another time. Goodnight.

Fitness regime - a change of speed, a change of style

I wrote, here, a darkly confessional piece about negative body image and my progress on my own fitness journey. 

Since then I had a few back twinges, shoulder aches, and I was worried I wasn't making as much progress on my abs as I would have liked. 

A couple of things have changed.

Firstly, Rachel has joined me on the daily workouts, has accelerated her own progress and has joined MyGym in Hazel Grove, working regularly with my personal trainer pal Steve Hoyles. I've supported Steve's new gym since he started and have been enjoying going there, it's a lovely environment to train in, and a step up on the weights I shift.

Secondly, those basic routines have had to change.

I went to Marple Physio with the back problem and came away a bit shocked at how I was on the edge of damaging myself in a few ways. 

When I was a kid I used to be quite good at swimming and my stroke of choice was backstroke, but the abdominal action accelerated a hernia. Because of my obsession with improving my abs, I was at risk again of another hernia or a rupture to the stomach wall. I must admit I was really fed up to hear that, but I would be even more upset if I wasn't able to go on a Freshwalks because I'd had a back spasm, which I was in real danger of having. 

Luckily, I was booked in with Leonie Fitzgerald, who really knows what she's doing. The progress I've made since has been remarkable. Both the repair to my sore back, and the strengthening of my core and the impact on my abs. I so rate physios, by the way, they seem to be able to spot the slightest things and impressively diagnose cause and effect. 

The routine she prescribed that has absolutely changed everything is pilates. I must admit I'd never really given it much thought, I just assumed it was a bit like yoga (it is, to be fair). Although I don't throw myself around like I do with High-Intensity Interval Training where I would bang out the sit-ups and the crunches, the breathing and holding movements have been awesome (and exhausting).

Life comes at you fast. I do still love the endorphin burst, the fact that I can push on up the hills and fells with very little trouble. And I like that I look better too, I'm not going to lie about that. As we eased out of lockdown, I played football again. Once. I really liked how my stamina held up for the hour, but I was really worried about getting injured. It was an old fellahs five-a-side, and everyone was dead sensible, but the next day my left Achilles was quite swollen. Scoring a wondergoal, or threading a pass, just isn't worth it if I then miss a Kinder sunset.

It's a reminder why we do this, why we push ourselves and how it makes us feel. 

When Friends Write Books

I have a couple of book projects I'm writing up at the moment. One is at proposal stage, the other is an idea. Having been through the agony and the ecstasy of the writing, pitching and publishing process before, I know what's in store. More than anything though I'm grateful for the support of friends and family. 

It got me thinking about friends who have also written books recently and have therefore been on a similar trek to the peaks and valleys of getting a book out. I'm not trying to make out I'm part of some northern renaissance movement, akin to The Frankfurt School or The Bloomsbury Set, but I am very, very proud of each and every one of them for their efforts and the end result.

I've reviewed a few of them already - so you can click through to see what I liked about the books by my University friend Shobna Gulati, our neighbour David Nolan and Manchester icon Vikas Shah.

Three of the other authors I met on Freshwalks, which says something about the network that has been created. Mark Sutcliffe joined us on a West Pennine walk just before lockdown and we became good mates quickly. Slightly by design, we would speak weekly in a scheduled group chat and I was always interested in what he had to say about anything. He's written a beautiful, handy and warm guide to walks in Lancashire, and as he inscribed in the front, 'three down, 37 to go', reminding me we've made a great start together. The epithet 'warm' is the most important here because I read a lot of walking guides that are very utilitarian. Alfred Wainwright owes his popularity to his authenticity - grumpy, shy and eccentric. I'm not saying Mark is any of these, but his love of the land, and what he encourages you to experience, is quite something.

I've also had the pleasure of walking with Natasha Jones and Martin Murphy, two very different personalities, but in their own very unique ways, really inspiring and equally fascinating. Murph's book takes you through his life story as a Special Forces soldier and applies lessons to leadership in relatively safer environments. Natasha boldly takes on the challenge of addressing toxic masculinity. It's a neat, digestible and challenging guide to tackling the root causes of poor mental health amongst men. 

I've written before about the completion of my MSc thesis in political science this year. Genuinely, two of the friends who inspired me on this journey were Mike Emmerich and Jack Brown. Mike's history of modern British cities is also cited in my thesis as a key source text and he makes a well-argued case for further devolution. Jack's work on London is really challenging to a lot of the orthodoxy around inequality and the power of the capital city.

Andrew Graystone and I worked together on a short-lived political project. He's such a brave and inspiring force, and I literally can't keep up with his output. The title above is a really smart guide to social media use from a Christian perspective, but he has a new book out soon that is far more expansive.

The last physical book launch I went to was for Penny Haslam's How to Make Yourself a Little Bit Famous. I was so pleased for her, for how she successfully created this massive and impressive calling card for her business. Because of the work I do around brands and events hers is probably the closest to my sweet spot of lived experience and knowledge and I can say without fear or favour that she is spot on with her advice. 

The next book launch I'm going to will be for Dave Haslam's latest, a short form essay about English revolutionaries in the sixties and seventies. I'll review it when it arrives. And then there are other friends, like me, who are at different stages with their own projects. 

I'm proud of all of them. They have created something special and lasting in their own very honest and personal ways and I don't hesitate in recommending each and every one of them.

September blog challenge

I need to get my mojo fired up and my writing head on. I've created a whole load of deadlines and expectations for the month, that will keep me motivated. However, I've also set myself the blog a day target as well. 

I've done this before in July 2019 and November 2020. I may even get around to covering some of the topics I promised to cover last time, but didn't. Like on our radio show, I do requests, but reserve the right to not do ones I don't like.

In short order, and on the list are:

• Academic writing v journalism
• Refugees
• Magazines
• Debate and disagreement
• Networks, why we need them, and why we don't
• 24 Hour News vs Slow news
• Family
• Friends
• All Those Things That Seemed So Important
• Aesthetics
• Devolution and Democracy
• Living with medical conditions
• Welsh Nationalism
• Some book reviews
• The 143 (not a bus route, a music list)
• Folk horror
• Kinder Scout, my complex relationship 
• Cumberland

Just to be clear, I don't often suffer from writer's block, but I am old enough to recognise that I work best under pressure. I should also at this point link to the Big Issue in the North, which published my feature on the BBC. I'd love you to buy a copy from their digital archive, here.

I also do a weekly column on music (mainly) for the Weekender section of the Tameside Reporter and Glossop Chronicle. One of the recent ones is here.

I was also involved in the Inset Day at Aquinas College yesterday, which prompted this piece on LinkedIn. 

So, which me luck and I hope this works.

Hosting at Invest North 21: Selling the north to the world

Had a wonderful time hosting this final session at the Invest North 21 conference last week, Selling the North to the World organised by The Business Desk. The discussion was great, but I'm probably more excited by the way the new podcast rig looks and sounds.

I was joined by Collette Roche, chief operating officer at Manchester United Football Club, James Mason, chief executive for Welcome to Yorkshire, Sheona Southern, managing director at Marketing Manchester and Kerry Thomas – head of marketing – Blackpool Cluster – Merlin Entertainments Group.

We covered so many great things our tourist sector is gearing up to market as the economy reopens. But the spirit of the people was a constant. “Friendly”, “Down-to-earth” and “Hospitable” were just some of the attributes which will be used to help maximise the North’s attraction to international visitors, according to our panel of experts. I was pleased to slide in references to Freshwalks, my DJ work and Tame Impala, which hopefully added something.

Hope you enjoy it. It reminded me of a couple of things, I really enjoy doing this kind of thing. It's not for me to judge whether I'm any good at it, but the feedback was good. There's a link to coverage of the session here.

Review - 'Life of a Mountain: Helvellyn' by Terry Abraham

In fairly short order we were treated to the BBC showing all three of Terry Abraham's films in his series Life of a Mountain, the latest being A Year On Helvellyn. Although this is the most recent addition to his series of stunning films about the mountains of the Lake District we didn't watch them in strict order. First we watched the Scafell Pike film from 2014, then the latest one, and then last night finally completed  the trilogy with the return to BBC4 of A Year on Blencathra from 2017. I loved how all of the interviewees were so passionate and eloquent, how they seemed to be just in conversation, rather than being interviewed. That takes a particular skill. They are in no way tourist films, but are deeply respectful of the everyday lives of people in the Lake District and their relationship with all three mountains and their different characteristics. Terry has clearly got better and better as a film maker and developed a sense of what worked from the first two, so much so that I would almost militantly urge anyone who hasn't seen any of them to view them in the correct order - Scafell Pike, Blencathra, Helvellyn - and see how they reach a peak of their own. A spiritual dimension definitely populated the first two, but deeper historical and social context seeped into the Blencathra film (as well as more music), but Helvellyn had the right blend of everything (and less music).

My own relationship with the Lake District is lifelong and I love it deeply. My Mum is from there, my Grandma spent time in the sanatorium on Blencathra when she conducted TB, and I've probably had more holidays there than anywhere else. For all of that my run rate on its mountains isn't great - I've hiked up a dozen, no more. I went up Catbells and Skiddaw in October last year (not on the same day) and still feel quite emotional about how much I enjoyed doing so, and with the friends I did it with, at a time we now look back on as a false dawn, when we all felt lockdown was easing. These films have drawn me ever closer to these mountains as I'm sure they will for you too. And I think we'll do so more respectfully, more sensitively and with an enormous sense of gratitude that it is possible. Thank you Terry Abraham.

Day 17 - he's finally flipped, he's talking about trousers

I may have reached peak lockdown cabin fever madness with this blog, but I need to say it. I've always had problems with my trousers. I just don't feel either comfortable, or right, in pretty much anything except jeans. Working from home has been liberating in one small sense. Not having formal meetings, or events, or politicians and special visitors around, means I have four suits hanging up in the wardrobe that haven't been worn this year. A couple of them were looking a bit ragged anyway and I'm tempted to bin them for good. I particularly hate another one I have which only comes out for weddings. 

I've found some dark trousers from Uniqlo that work alright with smart shoes and are OK for work, but they're a bit narrow. I've been told it rocks my "Danish architect" look, though I'm not sure that's a compliment.

I also hate chinos. I immediately think they make me look like I'm off to Twickenham. I bought a pair of neutral stone coloured ones from Community Clothing but ended up getting them taken in. Though they're comfy, they're still not quite right for me.

This is probably a load of self-indulgent bollocks, but I am trying to make positive and progressive purchasing choices. This means shopping at good retailers, ditching fast fashion and thinking of craftsmanship and provenance. 

So, in that spirit, I stumbled on Tim at This Thing of Ours, in a unit at Hatch. He totally sold me on a pair of loose fitting cords from a Korean brand called Uniform Bridge. They've been my go-to non jeans this autumn and they look and feel ace, hanging nicely onto whatever I've got on my feet. . 

Next, I was put on to these deep navy Roots trousers from a niche brand called Arhto (top). I got these ridiculously cheap in a flash sale and they're so gooood. The material is a midweight canvas, but it's the cut that's quite unlike any others I've worn before; lower cut crotch with a slight taper at the ankle. The rear pockets are also like an inverted fatigue style. And they have a button fly; really smart buttons too. 

Outdoor wise, I still prefer walking in shorts, even on a winter grueller. I've got some Fjallraven multi-pocket utility long walking trousers, which are practical enough, but frankly are like a chocolate fireguard when it rains. I tried the waxing thing but it didn't work. For our last yomp over the West Pennine Moors I wore these mammoth Haglofs bib and brace snowboarding pants, which may have been over the top for what I was doing, but they absolutely did the trick. Being so big too, there's plenty of space to layer up underneath, the technical knowledge of which has been a genuine revelation in recent months.

I think I may have temporarily solved the pant dilemma, but the search goes on and recommendations are very welcome.

See you on the other side, see you on the fells

I don't think I've ever felt envy like it. 

There was a Freshwalks today to Alport Castles in the Upper Derwent Valley of the Peak District National Park on this most beautiful of autumn days. 

Obviously I was pleased for friends who were able to take this last opportunity to get out in a small group and be guided on a new route, while I sat isolating at home in our virus pit. It must have been quite emotional, as the description of the walk on the Twitter reveals: "Alport Castles quite simply took the breath away. Howden and Derwent reservoirs also competitively resplendent."

This has really been a driver for me over the last year. Not only getting out and walking the hills, but sharing the experiences safely and responsibly. It's been a journey of personal and collective discovery;  pushing the limits of what I can do, but developing friendships of real depth and trust.

I also went out on quite a few walks independently of Freshwalks though the summer, and predictably, on a couple of occasions, got lost. I'll save a few more stories for this blog-a-day through lockdown.

I shall miss this more than anything else over the next month. Thank you to each and every one of you I've walked with. 

An introduction to the future

Every day we seem to lurch from one example of our crisis of leadership and trust, to another. I'm not alone in feeling adrift, confused, and searching for purpose, but whatever else is going on it doesn’t have to be one of crushed personal responsibility and accountability. This pandemic and the ensuing lockdown has been a shock to the collective system and to individual hopes and dreams.

I hardly stand unique in this country at my disgust and horror at how the most impressive collective contribution of sacrifice and civic spirit was frittered away by a lethal amateurism. It is a time of intense national shame. Yet organisations and individuals across our country have displayed leadership, generosity and a capability to contribute to the common good, and it is from them that we must take inspiration in order to contribute to a rebuilding of trust.

Many of us are determined the inevitable change should be positive, and a few of us have been knocking ideas around. For me, this arose from a small group of us from within the Freshwalks hiking group. We were split into smaller groups to support one another during lockdown and see where it took us. We've done OK, I think. We've shared a lot, helped one another and enjoyed the experience. I knew one of the others quite well, another a bit, one used to work with Rachel years ago, and the final chap, not at all. I'd say we've been through a fair bit together since and know each other pretty well now. 

Let me start with my own state of mind.

I’m one of those people on the divide in society that has been able to work from home.  I’m not going to complain about that, because others have suffered far worse symptoms than the new blight of being all Zoomed out. We've done alright at home, eating together, I exercise regularly, Rachel's done well with her work, raising money for people in crisis.

But while I’ve got a lot done - finally written an MSc thesis - I’ve also drifted and dithered. I’ve wondered how I can make a meaningful contribution to my work, and to making the world better, to know what I’m doing in my job, and that it matters. In reviewing things I’ve written and read, there’s an awful lot of nostalgia. From that comes a melancholy about what I’ve missed out on. I think we look back because there’s precious little to look forward to. The promise of the future as a better place is an uncertain one now.

I have three impatient words written on the opening page of my work journal – the book where I take notes at meetings and where I write ideas down. It just says – does it matter? Frankly, at the moment, it doesn’t always feel like much does; but it must.  I want to articulate a bold sweep of key actions and behaviours that can and should take place as we emerge out of lockdown to contribute in our own way to Build Back Better, it can’t happen just by willing it so.

And much as I muse at a policy level - I literally wrote a thesis on it - it's at a personal level that I have had similar moments of clarity that have looked at the ticking clock of life and thought – I no longer have the patience to work with unpleasant people. I think part of me has always done this. I've definitely been guilty of discriminating in favour of working with people who crack on, get stuff done, work at a pace I do and share my values. I described it recently as finding a golden thread of good people. However, I’m also aware that has come across in the past as 'picking favourites'. But for many emerging from this terrible pandemic and the recession to come, we’re going into a severe economic situation where plenty of us will be content to work for anyone, assholes included. Therefore it also places an even greater importance on those of us who can discriminate to build alliances with the good, the kind, the generous.

Here, then, are my three thoughts on where I think I must go:

All of us who can must double our commitment to get on and do stuff - I think of what Matthew Taylor at the RSA described as the need to 'make power, not take power'. Not require power to be given to us, but demonstrate we are effective community leaders and actors, capable of using the skills, efforts and capacity we have to make change. It’s not a substitute for gaining real power, but it’s a step towards it.

Secondly, more than ever, we need to build alliances. I’m in a community of people loosely based around our hiking group, Freshwalks. It’s but a small example of how we can support one another. It's not the solution to the world's problems, but right now as a collective it works for me. So does the People's Powerhouse, the RSA, my Church, other networks I'm part of, and the links I've built through my work. Our whole world is volatile, uncertain, complex and ambiguous (VUCA) and obviously plenty of people say this, repeatedly. But maybe within that we have to understand there are things beyond our control and decisions made that we don’t like and that our response has to be messy too. So to counter that feeling of helplessness we need to ask the right questions, not always to try to provide all the answers, and only through thinking through a potential answer with others, will we be able to make progress.

Thirdly, we must never be afraid to think big, and realise it’s not just for us. I’ve stumbled across something called “Cathedral thinking” the idea that you are creating something you may never see built in your lifetime. Greta Thunberg has talked about it, apparently, which is fine with me. Submitting yourself to the pursuit of a big idea. 

The bottom line is a revolution in spirit, in kindness, in a new conception of how we live our lives in relation not only to each other, but to nature, to our air, our rivers and seas and a different understanding of how our land is our common treasury. I've said so many times that happiness is about spending time with the people you love, but it's also about knowing you are living your life as close as possible to your own sacred values. Mine are to be honest, be loyal, be kind. When I fall short on any of them, it crushes me. So I need personal strength, but also that of others, to uphold those pillars.  

Where we individually go with that I genuinely don't know. The answer to the question of "what we do" isn't actually as important as the why?

Freshwalks in the City - the benefits of looking up

I've blogged before, here, about the wonder that is Freshwalks. Maybe I haven't mentioned how it's expanded to also include Freshwalks City

It has a similar function, get outdoors, meet new people, hang out with old friends, learn something.

The lunchtime or evening walks are guided and themed, and today we had a quick jaunt around the city centre looking at the makings of modern Manchester.

I was looking forward to this one because as our city centre changes, it's important that we understand the context of how things are changing. Sometimes this isn't for the best reasons, nor are the right choices made. But we can appreciate both the beauty and ugliness that surrounds. I'm not sure at the moment there's a consistency in design styles that appreciates all of that. But for all of us a better understanding of the past equips all of us to better shape the future.

Thanks to tour guide Emma Fox, here are a few things I learnt today.

The movement of millions of artefacts in 1934 was done with the assistance of hundreds of unemployed Mancunians, carting stuff between Piccadilly Gardens and the new library in St Peter's Square.

There's a fallen soldier statue on the top of the war memorial, his great coat draping downwards.

Ship Canal House on King Street has a statue of Neptune at the top.

55 King Street, once the home of District Bank, then NatWest, is constructed from black Swedish granite, which was chosen to match the soot covered stone buildings alongside. They were subsequently cleaned and the air quality improved.

I did know that the Arndale Centre was deliberately planned in order to crush an underground and multiracial music scene in the 1960s. I didn't know that the same architects responsible for the hideous yellow tile design were also responsible for the Hulme Crescents. Wow, what a legacy.

The call of the mountains

Our rocky place

I'd love to claim that my bond with the hills, dales and mountains of England is in my blood. That I could climb rock faces and that I learnt of daring tales of Himalayan expeditions on my mother's knee. And that Chris Bonnington, Don Whillans and Ian Clough were as familiar names around our lives as George Best, Jimmy Armfield and Bobby Charlton. I'd like to be able to say that I was raised on Kendal Mint Cake, born with a Karrimor rucksack on my back and a pair of stout walking boots to guide those few tentative steps.

All of that is true, by the way. Before she had me at the age of 22 my mum was a climber, hitching to Scotland, proper hardcore, hanging with Whillans and that crowd, dossing down in a tenement in the Gorbals before heading out to Glencoe in the morning. Her dearest friends were Ian and Nikki Clough, absolute legends of the climbing world. We now wear the brand of Patagonia on our packs and coats, that logo with the distinctive peaks of Cordillera Del Paine in bleakest southern Chile. Their expedition conquered the central tower of Paine in 1963. To get there they stowed away on container ships and hitched a ride on a military aircraft. Nikki climbed the Matterhorn, the first woman to do so. Ian died on Annapurna in Nepal in 1970. Like I said, legends.

The very first Freshwalks

I probably managed more outdoor yomps than most kids, but I never tried to climb anything more challenging than a tree.  Weekends were spent scrambling around Littledale and Baines Crag, which we called The Rocky Place (top). I went Youth Hostelling with my primary school, hiking with the Scouts and even went up Borrowdale with the serious walkers in my secondary school.

And yet serious walking and hiking never quite fully formed in me. Music, football and friends took hold. True, for my 21st birthday me and the mother got our boots on and conquered Dow Crag, which is laughable when you think of what she was capable of and could have done. I did a bit of exploring when I lived in Australia and climbed Uluru, which I probably shouldn't have done. But I then went for years without doing something that clearly made me very happy whenever I did it. It always gave me a sense of achievement and helped me refocus. I realise now what I was missing all that time.

Over the last ten years, as a family, we've strapped on our boots and hit the hills. We've bagged the best that the Lake District has to offer, even getting lost attempting Haystacks, Wainwright's favourite, only to discover we were in fact on the top of Grey Knotts. But the kids have had enough of that lark, except for the middle son who has taken it to extremes.

It's the Peaks that now draw me closer. And other undiscovered gems around the North West, like Delamere and the coastal walks. That step into nature, away from everything that my city and suburban life isn't. A retreat from the present and yet a step into my past. Yes, I think I've got back in touch with who I should have been. I like the community of Freshwalks, a responsible adult guiding our route and actually understanding maps. I love that it has done all of this for me. It has pushed us to be better, to go further and not only to explore the outdoors and appreciate the natural beauty of the North of England, but to smell it, touch it and respect the challenge it can give us.

Freshwalks is for dogs - even eccentric ones like ours

Rachel and I went on the latest Freshwalks yomp through and around Lyme Park on Friday. It was a truly great day, as these occasions always are, covering 9 miles, 21,128 steps and a climb up the equivalent of 76 floors. 

We also took our trusty border terrier, Martha, who we thought would enjoy the challenge and the exercise and being around other people. As this is National Dog Day, it's high time this blog paid tribute to our eighth family member. I didn't expect us to be joined by six other four legged friends on the day. It has to be said, our Martha doesn't like other animals. We can be relaxing in the back garden or conservatory and she goes completely doolally at the smell of a cat, squirrel or a pigeon. She is particularly offended by squirrels. Hates them. And she will never get near one, ever. But she retains her greatest outrage for other dogs, the nearer to home, the angrier she is. When we walk her up the hill from our house she's literally straining at the leash in a demented rage if there's another dog on our road. Not without justification she's earned the nickname "Millwall" for her readiness to "have it" with any dogs trying to take serious liberties on her "manor".

Around people she's absolutely fine. She'll roll on her back and invite anyone to stroke and tickle and she's remarkably affectionate with little kids.

Her transition from border terrier to border terrorist can be traced back to when she was a puppy and she bounded up to a Rottwelier being barely controlled by a skinny woman in high heels and "WAG" sunglasses who screamed at us, making the situation even worse. She's never been the same since. Our only other major concern was when she escaped from our cottage in the Lake District and chased sheep (and caravans). I have palpitations thinking about it now, relieved none of my kids were far sighted enough to capture the moment and my anxiety for YouTube. Put it this way, Fenton wouldn't be the name guaranteed to get a cheap laugh whenever a dog is chased if they had.

Here's the thing though. She managed not to have any fights yesterday. A bit of casual gnashing to start with, but she got used to it and behaved herself. Even shrugging off an attempt to be mounted by a lively bull terrier. My favourite of the other dogs on the trip was Fox, pictured above, a gorgeous and totally eccentric character who did a lap of honour around the Ram's Head at the end of the walk. All that was missing was a chef in full whites chasing this curious half Jack Russell/half Collie out of the kitchen while he scamped off with a string of sausages hanging from his mouth and that tail wagging furiously. And our Martha slept ever so well.

An outstanding Freshwalks hike up Kinder Scout and Edale

I've done a fair bit of walking in the Lake District, but all the toughest walks I've done have been in the Peaks. Even the names sound daunting - The Dark Peak, Bleaklow and Black Hill. This Saturday the Freshwalks tour did the Edale Circle, a good 16km in some fairly hostile conditions. It was at times unbearably hard. As a symbolic celebration of completing Jacob's Ladder, I slipped onto my arse.

I took the potentially irresponsible option of taking my 14 year old son. I am sufficiently worried that he doesn't get enough exercise and that he needs to find more things that he's good at, and that get him out of the house. And I thought he'd like it. For large parts of it he really didn't, but then none of us really enjoyed the lashing wind, the swirling rain or the hazards of the marshy bogs of Kinder Scout.

It was like the Revenant, without the bear, but no less harsh.

I'm no expert on building personal resilience in kids. I try my best. God knows I was hardly brought up in a favella myself and didn't want for much. And I worried that this was a step too far. But there was also a profound sense of euphoria and excitement when we yomped up the last hill before a smooth descent into Edale.

A word too on the company. I was involved in the very first "netwalking" expedition that has now developed into the hugely successful Freshwalks, led by my pal Michael Di Paola. Timing has conspired against me joining further expeditions, but it is clear that something truly special has been created here. The levels of support and friendliness are astounding. The kindness so front and centre.

As I cuddled up to Matt on the train heading home, trying to congratulate him on an awesome personal achievement, he just looked relieved. While I was trying to understand the mix of teenage hormones, his own unique characteristics that I can never truly comprehend but will never stop loving him for, I swear I had something in my eye.

Netwalking, not working and a fantastic day

I have a sore knee, aching feet and a warm glow. Yesterday was the culmination of an idea I first had two years ago. To take a party of people into the Peaks for a day out. Anyone who knows me well will understand that the logistics and delivery of something like this is beyond me, but the core idea - the simplicity of netwalking - was something that got me excited.

Enter stage left then my good pal Michael Di Paola, a branding genius, a bundle of energy, with a personal magnetism and a following gained from his status as Man of the Year. Michael made sure we had the full turn out we needed - and a good mix of people who made the day so special.

As with all good plans, they adapt and we were blessed to have Thom Hetherington, the one man Glossop tourist board, who offered to guide us on a route described as Bleaklow from Old Glossop.

It was a physical challenge - at my age walking 9 miles to anywhere will be - but the initial steady 2 mile climb was gruelling and a shock to the system. The wind on the next leg was bracing and invigorating and a relief it wasn't colder. The yomp across the peat moors to the summit, and then to the site of a crashed American WW2 plane was a test of your balance. But mostly it was just a matter of keeping your footing and spending time with the rest of the party. That's what these days are about - not passing out business cards and schmoozing, but getting to know people a little better, seeing ways you can help one another, working people out and being amazed by what they do and what they know.

The rain started five minutes after we landed at the Wheatsheaf pub in Old Glossop. A sure blessing, but a fine piece of luck on a day when a plan really came together.

There are more pics on my Facebook, Chris Marsh took some crackers and on the Twitter hashtag #netwalking.

The business club with altitude.