retiredmartin

May 2026. Leeds.

Well, you have to start somewhere, don’t you ?

Our Cask Camino started on the footpath of the Leeds to Liverpool canal, where a protective Mother Duck had just attacked a cyclist.

It would have been understandable if Mrs RM had turned round a minute into the Camino*, but she’s made of sterner stuff and bravely pushed me forward as a human sacrifice. Shades of being sent to shoo away that ram on the Devil’s Dyke a decade ago.

I edged forward along the wall, Mrs RM joined me, we marched on (together).

The first mile north gives you an unparallelled view of the housing development over the last 30 years,

building which shows no sign of abating.

The tow path, a bit like the Guided Bus route in Cambridge, is busier with runners than walkers

but we’re in no rush. The pubs in Apperley Bridge probably don’t open till 4.

“If you stop to smell the roses now, they might end up on you” **.

The walk was great, a mix of nature and joggers and Hockneyesque art.

The only sound, birdsong and an ice cream van playing the Match of the Day theme.

I would have diverted off to visit the Industrial Museum,

but I sensed Mrs RM had a “footwear issue”, and 2 ^1/4 miles into our journey I was searching a place to re-evaluate the day.

Just then, rising majestically in the distance, we saw the outline of Kirkstall Abbey.

And I knew that, somewhere in Kirkstall, there’d be a pub.

*_{In 2020 James made us retreat back up Ebbor Hill due to a docile cow, delaying my burger by an hour.}

**_{These Important Years, Hüsker Dü, 1987}