Striding across the meadow looking as if he’s stepped out of Hardy’s fictional Wessex landscape, Steven McCulloch is wearing a wide-brimmed white hat, a billowing
“It was brutal, but wasn’t that what nature was, what we were, made brutal by our drive to survive?”
‘As an adult I’ve always likened running to ironing – it’s just showing off. I’ve looked at runners and thought, but what are they actually running away from?’
“For small creatures such as we, the vastness is bearable only through love.”
As the light changes I begin to think about the big stuff and Carl Sagan’s wisdoms come to mind.
LOCKING DOWNAs lockdown rumbles on, my fantasies begin to revolve around journeys. I roll the memory of driving into the grey January dank on the
BeginningsThere was something in the way he raised his hand to thank the traffic as he crossed the road, open, confident, yet slightly apologetic. He