My cycle in is better than I expected, mainly because my annoying clicking noise seems to have gone and without me even doing anything constructive to get rid of it. I hate annoying noises like that. So I’d hate to be in L’s shoes at the moment or, to be more precise, her socks. That is the new waterproof one’s she bought which seem to be made of knitted plastic and crackle when she moves. That would annoy me. I don’t need any more strange noises whilst I’m cycling.
Every day you cross paths with at least one driver who is obviously blind and today is no exception. I work on the principal that it’s safer to have a driver irritated by you than unaware of your existence. So I’m stood right in front of this guy at the lights but still he doesn’t appear to see me and tries to drive straight through me. Perhaps he’s just having a bad day.
L’s having a bad day. She been trying to get a visa out of the Chinese Embassy for her boss but they’re closed for several days as its Chinese New Year. So it’s not just city councils who take extended holiday in such circumstances. She’s well stressed out and is considering going home and drowning herself in chocolate. Sounds like that under no circumstances should she go home but I have faith that she’s strong enough to resist such things. Oops. Too late. She’s OD-ed over lunch.
She’s off out tonight and now probably won’t be AF or PF (pudding-free) and CF is already out of the window. Meanwhile I’m at dog class with MD. I have a month to teach him the rest of the obstacles he needs before his next show, which will be a step up from Saturday’s one.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Saturday, February 13, 2010
No More Parties
I am awoken by seriously loud music coming from our kitchen at 4am. I get up to turn it down, carefully avoiding the broken glass on the way. There isn’t even anybody in the kitchen; it would have been too aurally painful to stand that close anyway, so I turn it off. On the way back to the bedroom I detour to the bathroom, only to find that something is missing... the door handle is no longer there. Half an hour later, L gets up to deal with some kerfuffle upstairs. She reports that there is a chunk of stair banister missing.
Morning arrives. Damage report. Assorted glassware and crockery, the stair banister, the bathroom door’s handle and the hall lightshade decoratively shredded across the floor. Plus the usual assortment of bottles and cans discarded everywhere. Teenagers appear to have no concept of ‘bin’ or even for that matter a surface to put things on and liberally use the floor instead. Same goes for the cigarettes outside, scattered around the periphery of the dustbin but none actually in it.
So in conclusion, no more parties. Happy Valentine’s Day.
Time for some fresh air on the park. MD, as well as becoming an agility star, has been working hard on kicking his various bad habits. Even L thinks he’s now over his car habit. Though it might take him a bit longer to kick the people habit, the other dogs’ habit, the squirrel habit, the cats’ habit...
In the afternoon I run with L, seven miles, along a very nice canal side, river side route. Very pleasant.
Then as its Sunday, it’s film night. Tonight a treat for all the ladies who lust after Colin Firth... ‘A Single Man’. The directorial debut of fashion designer Tom Ford and based on the novel by Christopher Isherwood.
Firth plays George Falconer, fifty-something English man working in Los Angeles as a college lecturer during 1962, the period of the Cuban missile crisis. A role for which Firth has got an Oscar nomination. George is also gay.... but relax ladies, there may be kissing but there are no tongues involved and no steamy sex scenes.
George is a man wracked with grief and is struggling to come to terms with the death of his long term partner Jim (Matthew Goode) in a car accident. George lives life as if in a trance, slightly detached from everything, going through the motions of life.
The whole film takes place over a single day, eight months after Jim’s death and is replete with flashbacks that as usual truly addle my mind. This day is the day he decides that he cannot carry on as he is. We see him putting his affairs in order. Meticulously arranging his insurance policies for people to find, leaving money for his housekeeper and buying bullets for his gun. Today, he decides, the bullets will end his pain.
Meanwhile he is stalked by one of his students, Kenny (Nicholas Holt), as well as being picked up by a young Spaniard, Carlos, who's keen to jump into his car and beyond. He arranges to spend the evening with his close friend, and fellow English exile, Charley (Julianne Moore), yet still he is not distracted from his intended task.
Unfortunately he just can't get comfortable enough to kill himself or in a way that won’t prove troublesome for his housekeeper. This introduces a moment of humour into the film which lightens the tone slightly but also seems slightly unfitting.
It’s an enthralling film but the one thing that stops you really getting drawn in is that unlike with George, who you do get to know, you never really get to know his dead partner, Jim. This means you never really quite feel his pain but then Charley has the same feeling and she did know him. When it comes down to it, Charley, who is divorced and equally alone in LA, is simply miffed that he will never be the red blooded heterosexual male that she thinks she needs. She fails to grasp the magnitude of his relationship with Jim and her assertion that his sixteen years with Jim wasn't real love but was ‘just a substitute for the real thing’ doesn’t go down well with George. This is sixties America, not a good time to be gay. George wasn’t even invited to Jim’s funeral and only got told of the accident as an afterthought.
After a enjoyable but non-sexual evening with Kenny, George seems to decide that life might be worth continuing with after all. He puts away his gun and burns his letters of goodbye, only then to be struck down by a heart attack. Life’s a bitch.
A good film and one full of fine detail. Well crafted and well acted. They've obviously tried to make it Oscar worthy. Oooh I’m a cynic.
Morning arrives. Damage report. Assorted glassware and crockery, the stair banister, the bathroom door’s handle and the hall lightshade decoratively shredded across the floor. Plus the usual assortment of bottles and cans discarded everywhere. Teenagers appear to have no concept of ‘bin’ or even for that matter a surface to put things on and liberally use the floor instead. Same goes for the cigarettes outside, scattered around the periphery of the dustbin but none actually in it.
So in conclusion, no more parties. Happy Valentine’s Day.
Time for some fresh air on the park. MD, as well as becoming an agility star, has been working hard on kicking his various bad habits. Even L thinks he’s now over his car habit. Though it might take him a bit longer to kick the people habit, the other dogs’ habit, the squirrel habit, the cats’ habit...
In the afternoon I run with L, seven miles, along a very nice canal side, river side route. Very pleasant.
Then as its Sunday, it’s film night. Tonight a treat for all the ladies who lust after Colin Firth... ‘A Single Man’. The directorial debut of fashion designer Tom Ford and based on the novel by Christopher Isherwood.
Firth plays George Falconer, fifty-something English man working in Los Angeles as a college lecturer during 1962, the period of the Cuban missile crisis. A role for which Firth has got an Oscar nomination. George is also gay.... but relax ladies, there may be kissing but there are no tongues involved and no steamy sex scenes.
George is a man wracked with grief and is struggling to come to terms with the death of his long term partner Jim (Matthew Goode) in a car accident. George lives life as if in a trance, slightly detached from everything, going through the motions of life.
The whole film takes place over a single day, eight months after Jim’s death and is replete with flashbacks that as usual truly addle my mind. This day is the day he decides that he cannot carry on as he is. We see him putting his affairs in order. Meticulously arranging his insurance policies for people to find, leaving money for his housekeeper and buying bullets for his gun. Today, he decides, the bullets will end his pain.
Meanwhile he is stalked by one of his students, Kenny (Nicholas Holt), as well as being picked up by a young Spaniard, Carlos, who's keen to jump into his car and beyond. He arranges to spend the evening with his close friend, and fellow English exile, Charley (Julianne Moore), yet still he is not distracted from his intended task.
Unfortunately he just can't get comfortable enough to kill himself or in a way that won’t prove troublesome for his housekeeper. This introduces a moment of humour into the film which lightens the tone slightly but also seems slightly unfitting.
It’s an enthralling film but the one thing that stops you really getting drawn in is that unlike with George, who you do get to know, you never really get to know his dead partner, Jim. This means you never really quite feel his pain but then Charley has the same feeling and she did know him. When it comes down to it, Charley, who is divorced and equally alone in LA, is simply miffed that he will never be the red blooded heterosexual male that she thinks she needs. She fails to grasp the magnitude of his relationship with Jim and her assertion that his sixteen years with Jim wasn't real love but was ‘just a substitute for the real thing’ doesn’t go down well with George. This is sixties America, not a good time to be gay. George wasn’t even invited to Jim’s funeral and only got told of the accident as an afterthought.
After a enjoyable but non-sexual evening with Kenny, George seems to decide that life might be worth continuing with after all. He puts away his gun and burns his letters of goodbye, only then to be struck down by a heart attack. Life’s a bitch.
A good film and one full of fine detail. Well crafted and well acted. They've obviously tried to make it Oscar worthy. Oooh I’m a cynic.
Friday, February 12, 2010
A Landmark Day
Today is a landmark day, it's MD’s agility debut. I picked this slightly obscure low key indoor show, where we have entered something degradingly called Grade Zero, so that I could craftily sneak his debut in under the wire whilst no one was looking... so obviously L is attending, my parents are attending including my mother making her debut at a winter show (just for MD), as well as half the members of the two clubs I train with. His ring will probably have the biggest attendance figures outside the main arena at Crufts. L even does a 30 mile plus cycle ride to get there. She calls it training, I call it avoiding the early start I made and trying to get an extra half an hour in bed. I’m being unfair there; she’s training hard for this Cheshire Cat thing. Harder than me as it happens, as I’ve been concentrating on my running. Even to the extent of getting the Battenberg in on a BOGOF offer... well she says it's for her cycling.
As it turns out neither L nor my parents arrive in time to see us queue up with the other grade zeros, known affectionately as the noughties, for our first run. In my father’s absence I have to get someone else to video MD’s first ever run for posterity. We don’t go clear or anything silly like that but he does well, loads of enthusiasm, doesn’t embarrass me and gets everything right although admittedly not always at the first time of asking but we’ll get there.
He has four more runs and all his fan club are there in time for the rest of them. Eventually we get the faults down to ten, that’s two lots of faults (five points for each). I am very proud of him. These are small steps but promising ones.
Doggo, now reduced to a supporting role, has the same number of runs and puts in his usual steady but in no great hurry clears. L quips, as they all watch Doggo for the first time that day; that this is how the expert does it... or rather doesn’t do it. Whereas MD has been totally focused all day, Doggo sees my father watching and not realising he was even here goes to say hello, and why the hell didn’t you come see me earlier?, mid run. Embarrassing or what and all recorded on video. Thankfully we have a second run on the same course and I clear the spectator area of anyone he might know before we run. This time we go clear.
It’s a satisfying day, that I even skipped a match for, Derby’s 5th Round FA Cup tie with Birmingham City. This was after all MD’s long planned debut and Doggo’s only event pre-Crufts. Unmissable really. In the game, Derby lead in their cup game against Birmingham but concede two late goals, one in injury time, to lose 2-1.
Back home, Son has arranged another party so we’re exiled to the local tonight, no bad thing really. The dogs are too tired to party anyway.
As it turns out neither L nor my parents arrive in time to see us queue up with the other grade zeros, known affectionately as the noughties, for our first run. In my father’s absence I have to get someone else to video MD’s first ever run for posterity. We don’t go clear or anything silly like that but he does well, loads of enthusiasm, doesn’t embarrass me and gets everything right although admittedly not always at the first time of asking but we’ll get there.
He has four more runs and all his fan club are there in time for the rest of them. Eventually we get the faults down to ten, that’s two lots of faults (five points for each). I am very proud of him. These are small steps but promising ones.
Doggo, now reduced to a supporting role, has the same number of runs and puts in his usual steady but in no great hurry clears. L quips, as they all watch Doggo for the first time that day; that this is how the expert does it... or rather doesn’t do it. Whereas MD has been totally focused all day, Doggo sees my father watching and not realising he was even here goes to say hello, and why the hell didn’t you come see me earlier?, mid run. Embarrassing or what and all recorded on video. Thankfully we have a second run on the same course and I clear the spectator area of anyone he might know before we run. This time we go clear.
It’s a satisfying day, that I even skipped a match for, Derby’s 5th Round FA Cup tie with Birmingham City. This was after all MD’s long planned debut and Doggo’s only event pre-Crufts. Unmissable really. In the game, Derby lead in their cup game against Birmingham but concede two late goals, one in injury time, to lose 2-1.
Back home, Son has arranged another party so we’re exiled to the local tonight, no bad thing really. The dogs are too tired to party anyway.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
It Doesn’t Work Anyway
I’ve inflicted some tough training schedules on myself but playing an hour of squash and then getting up early the next morning to run to work must be one of the most punishing.
I don’t run home after work and I get the bus instead, which is packed. Well it wouldn’t be if everybody didn’t want a seat for their bags as well. So there are no seats free to sit on. What we need is an attractive young lass to get on the bus. Then suddenly half the ‘occupied’ seats would miraculously become available, as all the men move their belongings and seductively pat the seat next to them. Well perhaps not the second bit. It doesn’t work anyway, she’ll probably opt to perch on the end of the luggage area whilst you just end up with a twenty-one stone chap with a body odour problem sat next to you instead.
L does run home, opting to run six miles and promising to be several hours. She’s jesting of course. If she wasn’t I’d have beaten her home and I didn’t. In fact she’d even cooked. We eat then head off out and back to Derby.
We’re at a new venue for us tonight, the catchily named 'The Venue', a place owned and run, or so it seems, by the same people who revived the now once more defunct Rockhouse. Maybe they just decided that this was a better proposition than the Rockhouse and I think they’d be right. No idea what the place was before, it still looks like an old warehouse and it’s perfect for gigs, much more so than the Rockhouse. A better prospect to front up in battle against the also excellent Royal.
We’re here to see the Sunshine Underground, a band who seem to have disappeared, well underground, for the last few years. Their new album 'Nobody's Coming to Save You' can hardly be described as hot on the heels of their debut album, 'Raise the Alarm', which was one of the best albums of 2006. Yes guys, almost four years between albums, that’s bordering on Portishead territory but anyway welcome back. First though we have two support bands to enjoy.
I immediately like Birmingham’s ‘51 Breaks’, although on the surface there’s nothing inherently different about them. They’re just another indie band that’s following the fashion to plonk a keyboard stage centre. In their case a rather large specimen as well and one that lead singer Michael Turner barely touches. Most of their keyboard stuff seems to be pre-programmed anyway, so it’s a bit of a waste of stage space to be honest. All the same they’re still a decent outfit who put in an energetic half hour shift and play some dangerously catchy tunes. They even have a touch of Sunshine Underground about them, which endears them to most of the audience, so appropriately arranged support I guess.
We wander off to get a drink from the bar which at £4.50 for two drinks was not bad at all. It’s that for one drink at most of the places we go to see gigs. I’m starting to like this place more and more. We return stage front and watch ‘Cosmo Jarvis’ take the stage.
I wasn’t sure if ‘Cosmo’ was going to be a band or a person and in fact he’s/they’re a bit of both. L immediately likes him/them, I’m not so sure. I’ve always been a little unnerved by people who name a band after themselves and he does appear to be a ‘band’. I’m equally mistrusting of anybody called something like ‘Cosmo’ but that’s just me being silly I’m sure. His album is also called, as you may have guessed already, ‘Cosmo Jarvis’.
Putting any ego issues aside he’s undoubtedly got talent. If you check out his website he’s also an actor and a film maker, who has made dozens of videos and short movies, as well as recording a stunning amount of music, which is all available there. No idea if they're any good, haven't got that much time to check. He appears a nice chap though, desperate to be liked, and clearly wants the crowd tonight to appreciate his talent but it’s not always that straightforward mate. A lot of his lyrics are very clever but unfortunately most of the crowd don’t notice and their attention span isn’t helped by the long and complicated instrument changes that disrupt the flow of his set.
He starts off in my kind of territory with a song called ‘Clean My Room’, in which he starts off promising to ‘clean my room and dump my girlfriend’. This is my kind of angst and it gets darker. By the time the song reaches its finale this line has metamorphosed into ‘burn my room and kill my girlfriend’. Nice.
His songs continue in that sort of vain, a track called ‘Crazy Screwed Up Lady’ sticks in my mind, if only because I knew her or was that her sister? Originally from New Jersey but having grown up in Devon, I’d describe him as a cross between Billy Bragg and good old Granddad Rob the Voluntary Butler with his home made mawkish I'm-a-loser-but-not-really songs. Then as a complete contrast he closes the set with a song about gay pirates...
So from Cosmo, busy chap, he of a thousand songs, to the unbusy ones, those we haven’t seen for nigh on four years.
I do love a good rave, not. So The Sunshine Underground shouldn't really be my thing, nu-rave or whatever it was termed four years ago. The lads from Leeds though, always seemed better than the genre they ended up pigeon-holed with.
They open with last year’s 'Coming to Save You' single with not a keyboard in sight, although certainly more than a hint of a backing track, and set about disposing of that pigeon-hole. Their sound seems bolder and brasher than before but still predominately revolves around the strong voice of front man Craig Wellington and the crunching riffs of his and Stuart Jones' guitar.
Gems from ‘Raise The Alarm’ are interspersed amongst the new stuff, a lively ’Wake Up’ and a predictably well received 'Commercial Breakdown' sandwich their forthcoming new single 'We've Always Been Your Friends'.
The new album is in many ways a continuation of the first but perhaps a little heavier and more expansive. As for the old stuff, that seems slightly reworked tonight, beefed up if you like, to fit in. Still though they are as anthemic as ever, and L and I are right down the front, dodging the fists punched towards the ceiling and just out of reach of the crowd surfer’s boots, as the diehards dance and jump around, singing along to every word, old or new.
Mid set, they slip in an obscure one, the b-side/album bonus track ‘You Never Party’, probably the raviest track they’ve done before a wonderful reworking of their finest moment, ‘Borders’ steals the night.
Of the new stuff, I prefer the slower numbers like ‘Any Minute Now’, simply ace tonight, an affecting song that builds to a soaring climax, but the best track is the penultimate one ‘Here It Comes’, a bouncy track, with a great intro that reminds me of Doves’ ‘There Goes The Fear’.
They are a band in a hurry tonight. Probably having cut too much slack with their supports they are now pushed for time. The original set list appears cut down from what they had been playing on this tour, although in the end they do add to it and helped by rolling the encore into the main set, they get in all but two of the tracks on the new album.
They close with a rushed and slightly messy ‘Put You In Your Place’ but I think it’s only me that notices. Then we tumble out into the cold night air to discover that we’ve missed our bus. Damn, now we have to stay on in Derby for a few extra beers and get the night bus home.
I don’t run home after work and I get the bus instead, which is packed. Well it wouldn’t be if everybody didn’t want a seat for their bags as well. So there are no seats free to sit on. What we need is an attractive young lass to get on the bus. Then suddenly half the ‘occupied’ seats would miraculously become available, as all the men move their belongings and seductively pat the seat next to them. Well perhaps not the second bit. It doesn’t work anyway, she’ll probably opt to perch on the end of the luggage area whilst you just end up with a twenty-one stone chap with a body odour problem sat next to you instead.
L does run home, opting to run six miles and promising to be several hours. She’s jesting of course. If she wasn’t I’d have beaten her home and I didn’t. In fact she’d even cooked. We eat then head off out and back to Derby.
We’re at a new venue for us tonight, the catchily named 'The Venue', a place owned and run, or so it seems, by the same people who revived the now once more defunct Rockhouse. Maybe they just decided that this was a better proposition than the Rockhouse and I think they’d be right. No idea what the place was before, it still looks like an old warehouse and it’s perfect for gigs, much more so than the Rockhouse. A better prospect to front up in battle against the also excellent Royal.
We’re here to see the Sunshine Underground, a band who seem to have disappeared, well underground, for the last few years. Their new album 'Nobody's Coming to Save You' can hardly be described as hot on the heels of their debut album, 'Raise the Alarm', which was one of the best albums of 2006. Yes guys, almost four years between albums, that’s bordering on Portishead territory but anyway welcome back. First though we have two support bands to enjoy.
I immediately like Birmingham’s ‘51 Breaks’, although on the surface there’s nothing inherently different about them. They’re just another indie band that’s following the fashion to plonk a keyboard stage centre. In their case a rather large specimen as well and one that lead singer Michael Turner barely touches. Most of their keyboard stuff seems to be pre-programmed anyway, so it’s a bit of a waste of stage space to be honest. All the same they’re still a decent outfit who put in an energetic half hour shift and play some dangerously catchy tunes. They even have a touch of Sunshine Underground about them, which endears them to most of the audience, so appropriately arranged support I guess.
We wander off to get a drink from the bar which at £4.50 for two drinks was not bad at all. It’s that for one drink at most of the places we go to see gigs. I’m starting to like this place more and more. We return stage front and watch ‘Cosmo Jarvis’ take the stage.
I wasn’t sure if ‘Cosmo’ was going to be a band or a person and in fact he’s/they’re a bit of both. L immediately likes him/them, I’m not so sure. I’ve always been a little unnerved by people who name a band after themselves and he does appear to be a ‘band’. I’m equally mistrusting of anybody called something like ‘Cosmo’ but that’s just me being silly I’m sure. His album is also called, as you may have guessed already, ‘Cosmo Jarvis’.
Putting any ego issues aside he’s undoubtedly got talent. If you check out his website he’s also an actor and a film maker, who has made dozens of videos and short movies, as well as recording a stunning amount of music, which is all available there. No idea if they're any good, haven't got that much time to check. He appears a nice chap though, desperate to be liked, and clearly wants the crowd tonight to appreciate his talent but it’s not always that straightforward mate. A lot of his lyrics are very clever but unfortunately most of the crowd don’t notice and their attention span isn’t helped by the long and complicated instrument changes that disrupt the flow of his set.
He starts off in my kind of territory with a song called ‘Clean My Room’, in which he starts off promising to ‘clean my room and dump my girlfriend’. This is my kind of angst and it gets darker. By the time the song reaches its finale this line has metamorphosed into ‘burn my room and kill my girlfriend’. Nice.
His songs continue in that sort of vain, a track called ‘Crazy Screwed Up Lady’ sticks in my mind, if only because I knew her or was that her sister? Originally from New Jersey but having grown up in Devon, I’d describe him as a cross between Billy Bragg and good old Granddad Rob the Voluntary Butler with his home made mawkish I'm-a-loser-but-not-really songs. Then as a complete contrast he closes the set with a song about gay pirates...
So from Cosmo, busy chap, he of a thousand songs, to the unbusy ones, those we haven’t seen for nigh on four years.
I do love a good rave, not. So The Sunshine Underground shouldn't really be my thing, nu-rave or whatever it was termed four years ago. The lads from Leeds though, always seemed better than the genre they ended up pigeon-holed with.
They open with last year’s 'Coming to Save You' single with not a keyboard in sight, although certainly more than a hint of a backing track, and set about disposing of that pigeon-hole. Their sound seems bolder and brasher than before but still predominately revolves around the strong voice of front man Craig Wellington and the crunching riffs of his and Stuart Jones' guitar.
Gems from ‘Raise The Alarm’ are interspersed amongst the new stuff, a lively ’Wake Up’ and a predictably well received 'Commercial Breakdown' sandwich their forthcoming new single 'We've Always Been Your Friends'.
The new album is in many ways a continuation of the first but perhaps a little heavier and more expansive. As for the old stuff, that seems slightly reworked tonight, beefed up if you like, to fit in. Still though they are as anthemic as ever, and L and I are right down the front, dodging the fists punched towards the ceiling and just out of reach of the crowd surfer’s boots, as the diehards dance and jump around, singing along to every word, old or new.
Mid set, they slip in an obscure one, the b-side/album bonus track ‘You Never Party’, probably the raviest track they’ve done before a wonderful reworking of their finest moment, ‘Borders’ steals the night.
Of the new stuff, I prefer the slower numbers like ‘Any Minute Now’, simply ace tonight, an affecting song that builds to a soaring climax, but the best track is the penultimate one ‘Here It Comes’, a bouncy track, with a great intro that reminds me of Doves’ ‘There Goes The Fear’.
They are a band in a hurry tonight. Probably having cut too much slack with their supports they are now pushed for time. The original set list appears cut down from what they had been playing on this tour, although in the end they do add to it and helped by rolling the encore into the main set, they get in all but two of the tracks on the new album.
They close with a rushed and slightly messy ‘Put You In Your Place’ but I think it’s only me that notices. Then we tumble out into the cold night air to discover that we’ve missed our bus. Damn, now we have to stay on in Derby for a few extra beers and get the night bus home.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
I Have The Bruises To Prove It
I ought to have run to work this morning but a sore ankle, a sore knee and the icy conditions persuades me to take the bus. My two ailments are on different legs. This makes developing a sympathy grabbing limp almost impossible. I just end up walking like Quasimodo which impresses no one.
As ever on the bus, I am the only person who removes their coat after they sit down. What's a matter with these people? Didn't they're grandmother tell that what mine did? That you won't get the benefit when you go back outside.
Apparently, according to something I found on the internet, the fastest speed achieved by any projectile (such as a ball) in sport is 206 mph and that was a badminton shuttlecock.
This is followed by 204 mph for a golf ball then 188 mph - pelota, 188 mph - jai alai, 155 mph - tennis, 127 mph - baseball, 80 mph - volleyball. I assume they’re not including bullets in this because shooting is a sport... as is archery. Surely though squash should be in there? I have the bruises to prove it.
A squash ball must travel faster than a volleyball? A quick Google reveals several unproven reports of a squash ball travelling at 178mph. I will have a go myself later.
By the way I have no idea what the sport of jai alai is. I thought it was a chilli based dish.
The trick for getting the bus back home is to correctly pick which of the two buses arriving at 5.35 is the one that's come all the way from Chesterfield because this is the 5.20 and it’s always late. Because it’s late you can claim a free ride. Tonight I guess correctly. Bingo.
I think I’m on a promise tonight. L mentioned something this morning about booking me for 10pm... unless that is Mika’s on the TV and she wants me to rehearse before next week’s big occasion. She is cooking when I get home from work which means an early meal which sounds promising... or ominous.
First I have to survive squash which I do and I win my one game, that's three in a row. This year is going well so far. I might have to try and be more ambitious.
No Mika on TV. Phew.
As ever on the bus, I am the only person who removes their coat after they sit down. What's a matter with these people? Didn't they're grandmother tell that what mine did? That you won't get the benefit when you go back outside.
Apparently, according to something I found on the internet, the fastest speed achieved by any projectile (such as a ball) in sport is 206 mph and that was a badminton shuttlecock.
This is followed by 204 mph for a golf ball then 188 mph - pelota, 188 mph - jai alai, 155 mph - tennis, 127 mph - baseball, 80 mph - volleyball. I assume they’re not including bullets in this because shooting is a sport... as is archery. Surely though squash should be in there? I have the bruises to prove it.
A squash ball must travel faster than a volleyball? A quick Google reveals several unproven reports of a squash ball travelling at 178mph. I will have a go myself later.
By the way I have no idea what the sport of jai alai is. I thought it was a chilli based dish.
The trick for getting the bus back home is to correctly pick which of the two buses arriving at 5.35 is the one that's come all the way from Chesterfield because this is the 5.20 and it’s always late. Because it’s late you can claim a free ride. Tonight I guess correctly. Bingo.
I think I’m on a promise tonight. L mentioned something this morning about booking me for 10pm... unless that is Mika’s on the TV and she wants me to rehearse before next week’s big occasion. She is cooking when I get home from work which means an early meal which sounds promising... or ominous.
First I have to survive squash which I do and I win my one game, that's three in a row. This year is going well so far. I might have to try and be more ambitious.
No Mika on TV. Phew.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
A Decent Burial
Apparently there were flurries of snow in centre of town this morning but I’ve seen nothing. Even L reports it snowing during her morning walk with the dogs.
L’s been looking at cycling undies in Evans Cycles. Cycling undies? Really? There are such things then but apparently there’s not much of a range. Not quite La Senza then. Although I’m not sure L's idea of cycling undies is quite the same as mine.
Finally we get a flurry of snow here. Then suddenly the flurry turns into a white out, albeit a brief one. I check my phone, no texts about dog training being off tonight, yet. They are a fickle bunch; surely it’s just a matter of time.
I receive an email from the Derby Triathlon Club entitled 'Dear Athlete'. Flattery will get them everywhere. The Derby Double Duathlon, which is three lots of running and two lots of cycling, is on again. This year they’ve even avoided a clash with the Derby 10k. It’s the week after, not that that helps much as I already have several options for ‘entertainment’ that weekend. Another weekend where I’ll be pulling events out of a hat.
The Save the Victoria Leisure Centre Campaign rumbles on as the council attempts to close the centre a year early, before it has even obtained planning permission for its replacement. A petition of 3464 signatures and 233 letters of objection have been submitted. There was also a demonstration last weekend that attracted hundreds of people.
One interesting fact about the ‘public consultation’ has emerged. Initially, the consultation on the future of the historic old building produced a majority in favour of refurbishment. That was until the council went into local schools and made presentations to the children. Once their views were counted, the results were reversed and there was suddenly a majority in favour of knocking the place down and building a new one. No doubt swayed by the option of a child-friendly fun pool? Nice maybe but a loss maker for the council. Kids now swim for free and the money the council gets from central Government doesn’t cover their costs. Perhaps they should listen to what the paying customers want but then they’d be in danger of turning a profit.
Shame about the Americanised spelling.
Dog training actually survives the two millimetre deep drifts we have here and I head off over there with the boys. MD’s weaves are excellent. Unfortunately he won’t be required to weave on his debut on Saturday. His jumping is ok; he even keeps most of the poles up. His tunnels though are rubbish. I mean how hard can a tunnel be for a dog? There’s very little you can do with a tunnel rather than go through it but MD doesn’t seem to quite get it yet. Unfortunately, I’m sure they’ll be plenty of those on Saturday.
After training I go around to my father’s again, he’s still having computer problems. Well that might be an understatement. It’s totally died. I take it away with me, to give it a decent burial.
L’s been looking at cycling undies in Evans Cycles. Cycling undies? Really? There are such things then but apparently there’s not much of a range. Not quite La Senza then. Although I’m not sure L's idea of cycling undies is quite the same as mine.
Finally we get a flurry of snow here. Then suddenly the flurry turns into a white out, albeit a brief one. I check my phone, no texts about dog training being off tonight, yet. They are a fickle bunch; surely it’s just a matter of time.
I receive an email from the Derby Triathlon Club entitled 'Dear Athlete'. Flattery will get them everywhere. The Derby Double Duathlon, which is three lots of running and two lots of cycling, is on again. This year they’ve even avoided a clash with the Derby 10k. It’s the week after, not that that helps much as I already have several options for ‘entertainment’ that weekend. Another weekend where I’ll be pulling events out of a hat.
The Save the Victoria Leisure Centre Campaign rumbles on as the council attempts to close the centre a year early, before it has even obtained planning permission for its replacement. A petition of 3464 signatures and 233 letters of objection have been submitted. There was also a demonstration last weekend that attracted hundreds of people.
One interesting fact about the ‘public consultation’ has emerged. Initially, the consultation on the future of the historic old building produced a majority in favour of refurbishment. That was until the council went into local schools and made presentations to the children. Once their views were counted, the results were reversed and there was suddenly a majority in favour of knocking the place down and building a new one. No doubt swayed by the option of a child-friendly fun pool? Nice maybe but a loss maker for the council. Kids now swim for free and the money the council gets from central Government doesn’t cover their costs. Perhaps they should listen to what the paying customers want but then they’d be in danger of turning a profit.
Shame about the Americanised spelling.
Dog training actually survives the two millimetre deep drifts we have here and I head off over there with the boys. MD’s weaves are excellent. Unfortunately he won’t be required to weave on his debut on Saturday. His jumping is ok; he even keeps most of the poles up. His tunnels though are rubbish. I mean how hard can a tunnel be for a dog? There’s very little you can do with a tunnel rather than go through it but MD doesn’t seem to quite get it yet. Unfortunately, I’m sure they’ll be plenty of those on Saturday.
After training I go around to my father’s again, he’s still having computer problems. Well that might be an understatement. It’s totally died. I take it away with me, to give it a decent burial.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Stranger Things Have Happened But Not Often
I park my car at my parents’ house and run in to work. It was a reasonable run and my iffy calf seemed to behave itself. I did have one problem though. The building of the rather unnecessary industrial park hear Alvaston has been snarling the traffic up for weeks and it’s a long term project, so there's no prospect of any respite any time soon. This morning though they had also closed the main road, Raynesway, to pedestrians. Apparently that includes runners as well. Flippin’ roadworks, can’t even avoid them when I run. So I had to detour through Alvaston, which must have added a mile or so. Yes I know it's all good extra training but it made me late for work.
As for my time... 9k in 46 minutes. Terrible. Slit my wrists stuff, but I suppose I did waste a lot of time scratching my head, trying to decide which route to go and attempting to negotiate with a yellow coated workman whose only form of communication appeared to be the ‘shrug’, as in ‘of the shoulders’.
So not happy... but happier than my Kilomathon training work colleague who ran the eleven miles home last night and crawled in this morning. Say he’s exhausted and can’t see how he’s going to add another five miles to that. L suggests I tell him to try training for a cycle event at the same time... but I daren’t. I think he would turn violent, if he had the strength.
I apologetically confess to him that I am running again tonight, back to my parents house, although going nowhere near Raynesway this time.
Ah the joys of the Fantasy Football League.
Where you find yourself performing complex mathematical calculations each time some player in a match somewhere crosses a ball.
Where you find yourself supporting teams that you really should hate.
Where you find that you are more bothered about your fantasy team than your 'real' team.
Where you get up early in the morning to update your team selection for the thirty-second time.
Where you spend more time thinking about team selection than work.
Where you wish you put this amount of thought into the rest of your life.
We’re starting a self-help group called Fantasy Football Anonymous. So if you can answer yes to more than two of those statements, let me know and I’ll put the membership forms in the post. Not that you’ll be able to spare the time to actually fill them in as this week some teams play more than once... and one of your players has probably got booked or injured and will not play...
Seriously though, you can’t beat it, great fun. Well I am top of the league at the moment... but that is before tonight’s games. This reminds me, I must update my team selection again.
Derby County are not eligible for the Fantasy League, what with not being in the Premier League, so at least I don’t get a conflict of interest. Tonight’s game though is as close to ‘fantasy’ as you can get. League leaders Newcastle United are in town and like Forest the other week are in the midst of a long unbeaten run. So obviously Derby win 3-0 and thoroughly deserve it. Stranger things have happened but not often.
As for my time... 9k in 46 minutes. Terrible. Slit my wrists stuff, but I suppose I did waste a lot of time scratching my head, trying to decide which route to go and attempting to negotiate with a yellow coated workman whose only form of communication appeared to be the ‘shrug’, as in ‘of the shoulders’.
So not happy... but happier than my Kilomathon training work colleague who ran the eleven miles home last night and crawled in this morning. Say he’s exhausted and can’t see how he’s going to add another five miles to that. L suggests I tell him to try training for a cycle event at the same time... but I daren’t. I think he would turn violent, if he had the strength.
I apologetically confess to him that I am running again tonight, back to my parents house, although going nowhere near Raynesway this time.
Ah the joys of the Fantasy Football League.
Where you find yourself performing complex mathematical calculations each time some player in a match somewhere crosses a ball.
Where you find yourself supporting teams that you really should hate.
Where you find that you are more bothered about your fantasy team than your 'real' team.
Where you get up early in the morning to update your team selection for the thirty-second time.
Where you spend more time thinking about team selection than work.
Where you wish you put this amount of thought into the rest of your life.
We’re starting a self-help group called Fantasy Football Anonymous. So if you can answer yes to more than two of those statements, let me know and I’ll put the membership forms in the post. Not that you’ll be able to spare the time to actually fill them in as this week some teams play more than once... and one of your players has probably got booked or injured and will not play...
Seriously though, you can’t beat it, great fun. Well I am top of the league at the moment... but that is before tonight’s games. This reminds me, I must update my team selection again.
Derby County are not eligible for the Fantasy League, what with not being in the Premier League, so at least I don’t get a conflict of interest. Tonight’s game though is as close to ‘fantasy’ as you can get. League leaders Newcastle United are in town and like Forest the other week are in the midst of a long unbeaten run. So obviously Derby win 3-0 and thoroughly deserve it. Stranger things have happened but not often.
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