I have become far too sedentary over the last two years, partly because on the days I work on Manchester I spend around four hours travelling, and partly because the days I work from home I get stuck to my desk.  So, when something landed in my inbox today suggesting I take on an exercise challenge for the charity Refugee Action, I was motivated enough to set myself the challenge to walk 250 miles in September - an average of a little over 8 miles a day  I am looking forward to making this happen - and have ideas for early starts on the days I work from home (as I did when doing a walking challenge in Glasgow during semi-lock-down) as well as getting in more walking the days I am in Manchester (when I currently average around 4 miles).

I am very fortunate, I get to choose whether or not to walk, where to walk, when to walk... other people have no choice but to walk, carrying their most precious possessions, fleeing danger or disaster and hoping that they will find someone, somewhere to take them in.

So, I have set myself the challenge to walk 250 miles and raise £250 during September.  Should you read this, and feel so inclined, you can sponsor me here.  And if you aren't able to sponsor, your kind thoughts are also valued.

Roughly every eight weeks, I meet with my Pastoral Supervisor to reflect on my practice using a broad scheme of 'soul, role and context'.  I travel by train, and, as the trains don't quite align to the meeting times, sometimes there's time for coffee in the cafe in the tiny shopping precinct.

This year, summer has been more than a smidgen bonkers for 'reasons' as the saying goes.  All is well with both roles but a lot of 'stuff' disrupted my plans for a chilled break.

As always, it was good to slow down for an hour, to unpick some of what's what and to realign or re-centre my mind, heart, soul for the weeks ahead. And today there was time for a skinny latte and a scone before catching the train homewards.

Hard to believe that, technically come Sunday, I have done two years in these new roles - but good to pause and think back at all that's been achieved in that time.

I've always firmly believed that nothing is wasted, and that my fifteen years in industry, mostly associated with assessing risk for hazardous industries, were part of God's equipping for ministry.

So far this week, I've done a risk assessment for a Community Litter Pick (using an excellent template from Keep Britain Tidy) and a risk assessment for an educational visit to a Cemetery using online guidance and examples of good practice.

It's been fun (cos I am just a tad weird) and I am pleased to be able to use these skills in these contexts.

Have I gathered up the equivalent of twelve baskets of leftovers in the last quarter of a century?  I don't know, but I think I have contributed in some small way to risk management along the way.    

For almost twenty years, I joked that I could only serve churches with the initials HBC, those being the shared initials of Dibley and The Gathering Place.  Neither of my current roles fits those initials, which usually doesn't matter, but it did mean that, today, I had to do a mini transformation challenge on the hi viz vest I had personalised when my last role required me to do premises checks on a closed building (hard hat, hi viz, steel toe caps).

This coming Sunday, Railway Town Baptists are holding a Community Litter Pick-nic (litter pick followed by picnic) and, per the risk assessment (excellent one available to download from Keep Britain Tidy) need a hi viz vest.  So, rather than buy a new one, I bought some reflective tape and set about modifying the existing one.

It's not the finest sewing ever, but I rather like that the sewing machine is on permanent loan from a former overseas missionary nurse, who had taken it with her to India many long years ago, and that the thread (a super match for the tape) was from a big bag full of spools gifted to me by someone I only know online.  I don't think Patrick and Esme can quite match that combination!

Anyway, the end result is now ready for Sunday, and I have lots of tape left to modify other things, should l so wish!

I wonder what you were doing on Monday 23rd August 2010? Most likely you won't remember - I know that I can't recall anything about the days either side, but that date is indelibly etched into my memory and, though the intensity grows less over time, it never goes away.

The weather was lovely, that transition from summer to autumn, when the sun shines brightly but the light has subtly changed to a more golden hue.

It was, ostensibly, my day off, but I had agreed to meet the Church Treasurer in the morning to talk about something or other (I have long since forgotten what!).

I picked up an egg sandwich and a bottle of water from the 'little' Tesco and walked the half mile or so to Glasgow Western Infirmary, and entered the waiting room at Church Street Outpatients.

I remember where I sat to wait... which examination rooms I saw the inside of... the long corridor (littered with broken beds and other abandoned equipment) that led to the mammogram suite... I even remember the pale blue shirt and deep red tie of the consultant surgeon, and how the nurse reached out to hold my hand as biospies were taken...

Above all, I remember those four words, 'I'm sorry, it's cancer'.

Fifteen years later, I am grateful to be a NED, to have defied the odds my surgeon refused to give me ('I don't do numbers... we'll talk about it in five years' time'), grateful for the women I've met along the way, the lasting friendships I've made, the adventures I've had from night walks, to zip slides to fire walks, the charities that fund support and research, and of course for the NHS.

As always, when posting this, I do my annual nag to self-check your assorted 'bits', to do the screening if it's offered, to report the 100-day cough, the endless headache, the changes in bowel habit and even the nagging sense that 'something is not right'. Most likely you'll be fine, and if things aren't at least you will have the choice to treat or not.

It's not a day for celebration as such, I have known too many people whose lives were cut short by this, and other, cruel diseases, but it is a day to pause, reflect, be thankful... and maybe treat myself to something just a little bit indulgent, because if this taught me nothing else, it's always to be a little bit kinder to myself and sometimes to be a little bit less sensible!!

Photo - fifteen year old red duffle coat... bought because I'd always wanted one, and always considered it too frivolous... now very tatty but I can't imagine ever chucking it out.