Four of the Lawrence Clan are currently battling the summer Scotland weather near Oban and, so far, have done quite well in managing to survive on a soggy camping field in our tent. The ground is very squelchy, but does make a very pleasing noise with each step taken. The non drought weather of the West Coast really made for plentiful portions of mud at the Appin Show this afternoon, although spirits of competitors, cows and patrons were not in the least bit dampened. My wellies were a godsend.
Rupert and I tackled a new parkrun this morning, Ganavan Sands, just outside of Central Oban, and were certainly stretched by the undulating course. The path was fully tarmaced and easy to run on, sadly the hills were not quite so straightforward. At the end the fabulous volunteers provided congratulations and cake, with the cake section teaching me a very important life and age lesson. More of that in a moment, but a word or two first about parkrun volunteers. They really are a special and very kind group of people. Anyone who agrees to stand and direct strangers across a 5km course each week, whatever the weather, or anyone who agrees to scan finish tokens and barcodes and anyone who happily acts as the tail walker: you are truly great people. As for the volunteers who agree to lead those others, input data, arrange rostas, wash volunteers bins and the hundreds of other jobs that parkrun directors do, massive thanks to you indeed.
And then there are the volunteers who do all of the above and make cakes too. A special cloud in heaven awaits you lovely lot, particularly those who even ice and decorate those very cakes too. This morning, at Ganavan Sands, there was homemade cake!
I found the course tough going and so came back in in just over 31 minutes. All I wanted at the end was to catch my breath and drink some water, while I waited for Rupert to arrive in. A few minutes later he did and, while I was chatting to and, crucially, thanking a volunteer, Rupert zeroed in on cake, seconds after crossing the finishing line. He appeared next to me, a little flushed from his exertion, but managing to pack away a slice of chocolate covered chocolate cake. "You should get some Daddy. It's great," he advised, breathing miraculously recovered. Deciding to play the long game and the polite game I chose water and relaxation first, as well as more chatting with other finishers.
Finally, having thanked the run director, I felt that it was morally acceptable to try a small piece of cake, as this now felt polite to do so and it was also an imperative as it would stop Rupert from hoovering up anymore. However the gods of cake had conspired against me and all the delicious, homemade cake that Rupert had so delicately scoffed from had been eaten. Only Mr Kipling's offerings remained.
We left, having with me having learned many lessons. Clearly a 17 year old boy's approach to cake is different to this 52 year old. His was: "Cake? Go! Get the best bit before anyone else does." My "When I am ready and when it is seemly so to do" approach was clearly a different one, and one that should, I felt have left me with the chance of a small morsel of cake joy. Clearly I was wrong.
It did make me smile, remembering that I once was that 17 year old "Cake? Go!" boy. I chuckled as I gingerly bit into a piece of Mr Kipling cake that tasted of nothing. Sometimes cake, especially homemade cake, must wait for nothing.
PS: I did not finish the Mr Kipling brown offering. Rupert did though. After all, cake is cake.