I am very behind in my Bach cantata listening. Here we are at Trinity Sunday, and I'm still listening to the Whitsun ones, including ones for Whit Tuesday, oddly.
Nevertheless, Juneathon proceeds apace, with eight miles here, out to the Cuckmere, the beach spotted with bodies, past the Golden Galleon and along the banks of the river, past herons and cows. This is the reverse of the Seaford half marathon route, which I and other gallants will attempt in a week's time. I made it to the Litlington bridge, then crossed, turned south again and climbed the hill to High and Over, then back through fields of sheep to Seaford, home, a shower and an excellent sailing club lunch.
I should also mention last night's Seaford Striders quiz night, for I believe running club quizzes attract extra Juneathon points. Our team came last, but we did at least know the chemical symbol for tungsten, so all was not lost.
