The land between Long Ashton and Dundry has been the subject of much planning debate - it seems that developers want to coat it in tarmac and erect the sort of houses that have a 20 year shelf life. The fields have a sense of history about them and the prospect of 24,000 houses taking up my running territory is hardly going to fill me with pleasure, regardless of a stated need for so many more dwellings.
I ran under the bypass and along the side of the golf course down an ancient-feeling path with some reflection that I should enjoy this land before it is lost. Up the steep climb to Dundry and onto ground that I imagine won't be built on for a very long time - Dundry is so steep that any pavements would have to be steps - it just isn't practical to build there. For now.
I curved past Castle farm. I have no idea whether there once was a Castle there and wasn't really fussed about asking the resident there - a man repairing the roof on top of some scaffolding. He was dropping planks down as he dismantled the scaffolding and his skittish dog kept getting in the way. Past the house and on to the top.
Over the ridge and I was presented with a view of Chew Valley lake gently glinting in the late afternoon sun. A field of cows were rather startled by my presence and I took advantage of their presence to draw breath as I reached out to stroke them; their hides always being just out of reach as they cautiously stepped back.
I love the time in the winter just before it gets dark; things feel expectant with the only sound being slightly hysterical blackbirds clucking warnings to each other. They seem to be attempting to shout the dusk away with their voices echoing in the hovering silence.
I then dropped down Elwell Lane; surely the rockiest, steepest most challenging track in the area. At the best of times a stream runs down the middle, and there is no level surface anywhere. You have to carefully pick your way down one step at a time and this time I was joined by fallen leaves as they were washed down the hill by the stream. I once found a load of hair care products up there - shampoo, hair spray and some brushes. There is no way a car can get up the track and I couldn't imagine the owner of so many beauty products being up for a strenuous scramble and so the mystery remains.
Across the road, onto Rock Lane and out on the A38 by the house with loads of dogs. There were so many border terriers in a pen, all barking at me, that it sounded like pebbles rolling down a beach after having been thrown up there by a wave. One much larger black dog was also barking, but its lower-toned bark and the fact that it was much taller than the terriers gave it a sense of being the school teacher amid a rabble of small over-excited children. I rolled on past the dogs, crossed the main road and then ran alongside the pig farm, enjoying a scramble of hyperactive piglets.
It was starting to get darker now, but I had my headtorch if necessary - past Jubilee Stone, through Barrow Gurney and up to the hill we call Elly's field. I could see our house at that point but I couldn't see my feet any more, so I had to return to Long Ashton cautiously.
I don't know if town planners can feel the atmosphere that rolls through the country at dusk, or the pellucid summer mornings where every sound seems to travel further. I don't know if they give value to sloppy deep mud by a stile or the vivid yellow leaves clinging on to trees in the Autumn. Or holes in the hedge where a fox habitually passes through, or the sudden reward of an opening vista on rounding a corner. But I do know that these pleasures are removed when the land is built on, never to be brought back. There is some debate about whether we actually need all the houses that are claimed - if that is the case we should hold out until we know.
