There is nothing else to match the memories of marshalling morning practice.
Sneaking out of the house so as not to wake the dog, or the wife.
Spotting a youth making off with milk from the doorstep as I passed the Co-op.
Arriving at the Gorse Lea Shelter on footsteps muffled by a liberal coating of squashed black slugs.
The smell of fresh dung from cattle in the nearby fields.
Being overwhelmed by breakfasting midges.
Being told after an hour of purgatory that the practice was cancelled due to mist on the mountain.