Don’t worry, I won’t be quoting Bono lyrics at you.

But apart from playing U2’s prime piece of sludge rock, New Year’s Day is famous for ill-prepared families attempting a significant walk somewhere with hills.

Obviously if you live in the Fens you’re not spoilt for choice for hills, so you walk up and down the stairs at Ely Sainsbury for an hour then buy a cake.

In Sheffield, I can walk to the edge of the Peak District in half an hour.

James joined me, along with half of Crookes, on a stroll down the Rivelin Valley where he insisted I take a pic of the frozen lake.

Frankly I think the Holly Bush is more picturesque. It would have coined it if Sheffield was in Tier 2.

The woods at Bole Hill were a bit muddy, so we stuck to the steep road up to Crosspool, where I found proof of the Sheffield Yeti, a poor relation of the Fen Panther.

The view from Clough Fields, the epicentre of pashmina wearing, takes in Stannington, where WhatPub alleges there’s a Marston’s pub. See if you can spot it below.

Some of the best allotments in England up here, and the mysterious free-standing door. Perhaps it’s a metaphor.

Down the hill you reach the edge of the A57 (Snake Pass) and what I always thought was posh Sheff when the Sportsman made the Guide 20 years ago.

But time has sent Ember downmarket, never mind the Stonehouse place over the road.

But the Crosspool MAY have John Smith Bitter on cask, and so you know it’ll be high on my To Do list when, well, whenever.

83 minutes, 4.5 miles, 707 calories. Not a bad start to 2021.

7 thoughts on “NEW YEAR’S DAY

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