Nosebleed Territory

There’s a bit of a run going on down at Wollaton Park today. The Run To READ 5k and 10k, organised by READ International.

It wasn’t really on my schedule and I’m trying to have a bit of a break from running to let my knees recover a bit. All the same I entered this but mainly because a couple of friends of mine were doing it and I felt I ought to support them by joining them in it.

In the end only one of them enters, into the 5k. L and I do the 10k. It’s not the best organised or best supported of races. It’s clearly new ground for the organisers but hopefully if they run it again, and I believe they intend to, they’ll learn from this one. It’s not been terribly well publicised and there’s a distinct lack of club runners here, which hopefully means I’ll get a good overall placing.

At the start, in the rain naturally, about twenty students put their heads down and sprint for it. As if they’re taking on Usain Bolt in the 100m but instead they just look like a bunch of school kids taking on a fun run and naively thinking they can run like that all the way around.

I hang back and let them get on with it. Even if they can sustain that unlikely pace, they may only be doing the 5k. None of them look like ‘serious’ runners and sure enough one by one they run out of steam and I pass them. I find the only person around me who looks remotely like they can last the distance and I use her to pace me around the early stages.

It’s actually a nice course. They take us around the lake; races in Wollaton Park don’t normally do this. I guess the smaller field makes this possible.

My running partner pulls me up into the top ten, then the top five and then the top three. By now we’re running side by side and after about 3.5k we take the lead. Something that has never happened to me before. Nosebleed territory.

Thing is I was pretty sure that I could drop the girl any time I wanted and go it alone but running the remaining 6k on my own with the ever present threat of someone attempting to reel me in doesn’t appeal at all. So I stick with her. We cross the line at the end of the first lap, side by side, nominally winning the 5k event and I think to the immense surprise of my non-running friend. I think he was impressed.

I’m still feeling fresh and confident. Although now obviously I have to start thinking about winning this. Oh the stress. Had I known that leading a race on Saturday morning was on offer I wouldn’t have had quite so much to drink last night... or perhaps I’ve stumbled on the unlikely information that a night out on the lash before a race is actually good preparation but it’s not in any of the training plans I’ve read.

Then... I knew this was too good to be true, we have company. Somebody is attempting to catch us up. I look behind. He still doesn’t look much of a runner. He’s got tracksuit bottoms on for a start. There are limits. I am not being beaten by somebody running in tracksuit bottoms, under any circumstances, no matter how good he is.

At 8k he’s right with us, not alongside us sharing the pace obviously, just shadowing us. Knowing that the last km is all on grass, at 1.5km to go, I apologise to my running partner, as I put on a spurt, dropping her and hopefully our shadow as well, doing so whilst we’re still on the path. Dropping her is not a problem but the shadow in trackie bottoms comes with me. Damn.

9km. On to the grass and I’m going to have to attempt some sort of sprint. So I hope there’s good traction and that I can dodge the pot holes and mole hills. I sprint but he proves stubborn. I still can’t shift him. 9.5km. I have a bit of a gap but he’s still with me and I’m dying, counting and recounting every one of last night’s drinks. I re-live each one. Now I have 10 metres. That should be enough. Surely.

Victory. I don't quite believe this and unfortunately no one I text does either.

Shadow comes in second and my former running partner third, although she almost catches him on the run in. She too obviously has limits and also doesn’t want to be beaten by somebody running in tracksuit bottoms.

As winner I get £20 in Sweatshop vouchers but there’s no trophy, no good bags for all runners (as promised), and nothing for first lady or the second place guy. Entries are clearly down on what they wanted/expected but then they still managed to raise over £900 for the READ Book Project. Which is all well and good but if you don’t look after your competitors they’re not going to come back.

Football wise, Derby have hung up their boots for the season, so I keep my eye on Forest in the play-offs. It’s good to see that they lose 2-1 at Blackpool, although I’m sure they’ll turn it around in the second leg.

Then there’s Leeds United. It’s been so amusing seeing Leeds struggle in League One for the last three seasons but to be honest the jokes over now and I’d like to get back to playing them. Problem is they seem determined to not go up. All they have to do is win today at home to Bristol Rovers, not a big ask, but they are soon 1-0 down and down to ten men after a sending off. So it looks like the charade will continue into the play-offs but then somehow they come back from that, win 2-1 and stumble across the finish line.

I think the way I sold tonight’s entertainment to L was 'Do you fancy something pink for your birthday?' It’s her birthday today by the way. What I was offering was big and pink and on at the Sheffield Leadmill. She even gets to drink the pink stuff, Rose, in the bar beforehand.

First though, Esben and the Witch, from Brighton, who take their name from a Danish fairytale... They take the stage with a couple of miniature street lamps and a porcelain owl or two. Enough said? Singer Rachel Davies, stands between her two guitarists and delivers an ethereal sound that is perhaps part Portishead, part Bat For Lashes, maybe. Most of the real action seems to revolve around the solitary drum and cymbal that is set up in the middle of the stage.



Dark, gloomy and intriguing... nothing like tonight’s headliners, The Big Pink.

Who open with the wail of guitars and an ear shattering rendition of ‘Too Young To Love’, that sounds little like it does on record. This is the approach they take to most of their material. They make everything bigger, beefier, louder, more distorted. So much so that some folk who have come for more of the bubbly pop of their hit record ‘Dominos’ immediately seem disappointed. Once you make the mental adjustment though it’s all rather good. Personally I have never actually been a big fan of 'Dominos' anyway, the track quickly became irritating but I was swayed, surprisingly, by the heavier sound of the rest of the album which I rather like.



The Big Pink are actually officially a duo. Consisting of singer/guitarist/self appointed rock God Robbie Furze and his keyboard maestro Milo Cordell. Cordell has his hoodie over his head all night as he prods at his keyboards, while simultaneously working an impressive range of effects pedals (for a non guitarist) and updating his Facebook profile via his laptop (or whatever else he’s using the laptop for). These two are joined on stage by their scantily clad drummer, Akiko Matsuura. Who was hidden from my view practically all night (shame) by a combination of her own drum kit and the band’s bass player who completed their live line-up.

'At War With the Sun' followed again accompanied by Furze’s shrieking guitar and a bass cranked up so loud and rumbling it’s almost painful. Although this is probably my own fault for standing right in front of the bass player’s amp.



The guitars are cut back slightly for ‘Velvet’ and ‘Frisk’, which are slightly more electronic, as tracks from their album made up the first half of the set. The best of which are probably an excellent ‘Crystal Visions’, sounding particularly huge tonight and a fave of mine, the wonderful ‘Count Backwards From Ten’.

The content of the second half is less clear cut, as they slip in a few covers and a new song. They cover ‘100%’, although I’m not sure where they got it from. Didn’t Mariah Carey do a song called 100%? and didn’t Sonic Youth? To be honest, it could be either or neither. Someone please advise.



No one is particularly talkative, apart from the odd cry of 'Sheffield’ from Furze and a brief introduction to a new track called ‘Twilight’, there’s little chat.

They finished in more of a pop mode with the new single, ‘Tonight’, a cover version of Beyonce’s ‘Sweet Dreams’, yes really and of course, 'Dominos'. I hate it when bands save their 'big' record until the end but it sounds good tonight and at least they don't elongate it.

We get back home at 11.30, quietly park the car in the street so as to not disturb the dogs’ slumber and then head into town for a beer or two. Son texts to ask if we’re in town and L informs him where we’re headed. Moments later as we walk into the bar, there he is sat at a table, waiting for us, looking very much like a man with a thirst.

After a few drinks and the walk home, I crawl into bed at 2am. That is after setting the alarm for 6.15. Dog show tomorrow...

As Clear As Mud

So we’ve had an election and somebody has won... only they haven’t and somebody has lost... only they haven’t. We have a new prime minister... only we haven’t. It's all as clear as mud. It’s no wonder nobody has any faith in politics any more. Perhaps I was wrong urging people to vote.

Unlike Son, Daughter appears to be taking an interest in the entire political goings-on’s, even though she isn’t yet old enough to vote. Not that it stopped that 14 year old lad who’s in the news today.

Daughter poses some great questions to me by email, which isn’t necessarily what you want when you’re in the pub and on your third pint... or perhaps that’s the best time. I’m out on a bit of a session tonight with some work colleagues. Although I didn't think it was going to happen, it's been on and off all day long, just like an election result.

One of the things Daughter asks is ‘Why were the Lib Dem’s never going to be in power? And if they were never going to be in power what was the point of them trying?’

What a good point! Has anyone got Nick Clegg’s email address? I'll ask him. Mind you he’s a bit busy right now sorting out this hung parliament business. Which was what her third question related to.

‘Say someone won, what's the point of other people being there in parliament? It isn’t their business because they lost.’

Blindingly good logic, that I can’t cope with right now. Someone get me another drink, so I can try and explain our form of democracy and ‘first past the post’.

As for question number six, ‘When do we find out who won...?’ That’s anyone’s guess.

Voting Intentions

L's terribly unscientific way of narrowing down her voting options was to not vote for any candidates who stopped her outside the polling station and asked her for her voting intentions or for her card number. I hope for her sake it wasn’t another party playing the double bluff and pretending to be somebody they weren’t.

My method, of not voting for anyone who direct mailed me election material was blown out of the water when they all did.

As I cycle home I wonder what a chap is doing standing in the centre of one of the roundabouts in Spondon waving a placard. Then I realise he's promoting the BNP and amazingly no one has tried to run him over.

Son doesn’t intend to vote, despite the fact that a lot of his mates appear to be doing so and that L’s really been on his case about it for the last few days. He ought to take an interest really, as someone who’s becoming a University student in September, the differing polities towards student finance should interest him.

I'm one of the few people who love a good election. So after a family meal out at L's parents, I grab a few hours sleep before getting up to watch the results come in. The TV news shows long queues at polling stations and people being locked out when they closed at 10pm, making us look like a third world country. Although anybody who takes all day, when the places have been open since 7am, to get to the polling station doesn’t really deserve any sympathy.

The BBC coverage of it all is appalling, even David Dimbleby seemed bored with it as we get pictures of cars, which may or may not contain important politicians, speeding down motorways and a debate on a boat rather than actually concentrating on the results themselves.

Is There An Election On?

Rather amazingly I have sold Daughter’s ‘spare’ Reading Festival ticket. I put it on Viagogo at midnight last night and it had gone by lunchtime this morning. Partly perhaps because I priced it just below all the other tickets on there. It was all far easier than I thought and it appears that we’re going to make a small profit on it. Perhaps I could change career and become a ‘ticket reseller’ or perhaps not.

Is there an election on? For once the hot talk in the barber shop is not concerning the hemlines and necklines of every female passing their window, as it usually is, or when it isn’t that it’s about the last customer to leave the shop. Your ears really do burn as you walk down the street after a trim.

Today though they are taking about the General Election for crikes sake. This isn't what I come here for, which was... well a haircut I suppose, but the banter is usually good and worth coming for, although more politically incorrect than you get practically anywhere these days.



The big ethical question today is should one of the guys, who didn't intend to vote at all, cast his vote on behalf of his mother who has been detained out of the country. Well firstly, of course, I take him to task over not voting. Everyone should vote or else you have no right of complaint about who you end up getting. Even spoilt ballot papers count as votes, so at least go and draw a pretty face on it and get your vote counted.

His problem, as he sees it, is he doesn't approve of who she wants to vote for, not that he would have approved anyway unless it had been the Natural Law Party, who famously advocated using transcendental meditation and yogic flying to cure all the ills of society. Unfortunately they don’t seem to be standing this year.

Actually I think having to vote for his mother's choice frankly serves him right.

Meanwhile all the real politicians seem to be out on an all-night bender only without alcohol, doing a full 24 hours campaigning, chasing your vote. It’s kind of funny that happens on the same day an article comes out telling us sleeping for less than 6 hours a night can kill you. So bye bye guys.

I head to dog training, where the talk is also of rumours, untruths, back stabbing and behind the scenes deals. No, not election talk, we’re talking about teams for Crufts. Much more interesting and much more controversial.

That’s Next Year's Birthday Sorted

The traffic seems quite light today; I think lot of people skivvying for another day.

L tells me she's lending the old Derby County football kit she has to a friend, who is doing a ‘fetish run’ for someone's birthday. The girls have to dress up in a Rams' strip and the boys have to dress up as Cheryl Cole. How quaint. Why didn’t I think of something like that for my birthday?



Oh well, at least, that’s next year sorted. Though L makes it quite clear that she’s not running near any man dressed as Cheryl Cole. It’s true. No matter how hard they try they will still look like Dick Emery. I must admit I’d have done things a little differently. I’d have got all the girls to dress up in the style of Cheryl Cole, or some other appropriate role model, and the men... well... they could wear what they liked, Rams’ strips would be fine.

I head off to dog class with the intention of fluttering my eyelashes and trying to woo another woman. You know, I think L is impressed at how many women I have in my address book... although don’t misunderstand, it’s not the woman I’m after, it’s her dog, for my team.

I am sadly disappointed because my target doesn’t make it to training this week and I end up trying to woo her husband instead. This wasn’t anywhere near as much fun but was almost as successful and I didn’t have to resort to fluttering anything.

Putting A Few Noses Out Of Joint

I take the boys for a Bank Holiday stroll on the park. This includes MD, who now seems back to normal, much to everyone’s delight. They’ll soon wish he wasn’t.

This team management lark isn’t so bad. In 24 hours I have raised one team and am well on the way to getting a second team together. The previous team manager hadn’t got this far in three months. I have to deal with a few squabbles though, along the lines of ‘I won’t run in team if so and so does’. It’s just like organising the six-a-side team that I used to be involved with. I might even end up recruiting a few new members for the club, which has got to be good surely. Although new members going straight into the team and potentially to Crufts might put a few noses out of joint. Hopefully. They only have themselves to blame for not making themselves available.

After de-gritting the inside of the car followed by a quick pedal/run at the gym we head down to Rock City for a gig.

By delaying her entry until 8.30 Sarah Blasko risked being upstaged by the impromptu balloon show organised by the impatient crowd. Then once on stage it takes an age to get her band’s double bass booted up, or whatever you do with a double bass. Finally she gets started.

I was worried we'd get an Australian Ellie Goulding but she's more of a Florence, with a touch of Cerys Matthews thrown in. Well, perhaps more than just a touch as it happens. Overall, her sound is a simple mix of drums, keyboard and double bass with only a light sprinkling of guitar and the occasional banjo. A blend that lets her strong vocals shine through.



Her tunes are generally quite mournful and her rockiest moment comes during the closing 'No Turning Back', which is perhaps pure Florence but then I have a suspicion that Sarah Blasko got there first. Her rather long 45 minute set doesn’t drag and she’s entertaining but frankly, just not my type.

After the resumption of the now rather tedious balloon show, fellow Aussies The Temper Trap take to the stage and open with something, according to their set list, imaginatively called 'Intro'. This is basically a jamming session for the band but is actually rather good. Then it’s into ‘Rest’ and a trawl through every track on their debut album and solitary release, last year’s ‘Conditions’.



‘Fader’ is a real crowd pleaser, vocalist Dougie Mandagi singing in the highest pitch I’ve heard since Jimi Somerville warbled Smalltown Boy but it’s the band I find most impressive, at times they pile three guitars on top of Mandagi's distinctive voice. Bassist Jonathon Aherne was entertaining in his own right, as he bobbed around the stage, and his long hair, piled weirdly on top of his head, bobbed along with him.

‘Sweet Disposition’ has frankly been everywhere in the last year, in numerous TV adverts, repeatedly used as background music for, well, practically anything and it even featured in the film '500 Days of Summer'. In fact, you only had to be walking down the street and it would come up behind you and tap you on the shoulder. Tonight though it seems to creep up on the crowd with an elongated teasing introduction, before exploding into life.



After which they closed the set with ‘Resurrection’ amidst a blinding light show, ‘Resurrection’ like ‘Down River’ which was played earlier, builds up gradually in layers towards a grand finale. They then segued this into another jam session that turned out to be 'Drum Song'. The band letting themselves go like they did on the equally instrumental opener and we get our first crowd surfer of a so far quiet evening for the security staff.

Dougie pours a bottle of water on to the solitary snare drum that he is playing and then illuminated by strobe lighting, he bangs the drum so that the water splashes up high, to quite impressive effect.

They depart after almost 50 minutes on stage, which is only marginally longer than Ms Blasko but after a short break they return. The break being just long enough to give the roadies time to mop up the water from the stage.



For the encore, they play a new song called 'Rabbit Hole’; again it’s another song that starts slow and builds up, something that seems to be a bit of a trademark style for them. They leave us with their most recent single, 'Science of Fear', and Dougie again gives security something to do by seemingly trying to hug as many of the crowd as possible.

Children Please

Final football match of the season today, it’s a fixture with nothing hanging on it and it’s a 1pm kick off. So you wonder why anyone would bother going but it’s a near sell out. Bizarre folk are football fans. There’s even 2,000 from Cardiff, who are safely in the play-offs so don’t need to get anything from the game and have widely publicised the fact that they’ll be putting out a reserve side. So clearly they’re even more bizarre in Cardiff, although I suppose at least they have something to celebrate.

The result, not that is matters, is a 2-0 win for Derby, not that anyone seemed that bothered either way.

Whilst I’m out, two important bits of information arrive via text. Firstly, and most importantly, there’s news that ‘We’ve eaten a bowl of dog food’. Though not too sure what L means by we? Has she had some too, just to make sure that the invalid eats? Apparently they all stood and watched MD eat breakfast. Awwww. Seems he’s on the way to recovery.

Secondly, the team for the one of the Crufts qualifiers has collapsed, as no one seems to want to go. A mix of a bit of apathy and a lot of 'I’m not being in the team if he/she/it is in the team'. Children please. So the team manager has thrown in the towel. We have no team.

For my sins, I ask if I can take over the task of organising it. I’ve sorted out a multitude of football teams over the years. So how hard can this be? I am quickly granted full control of the team. So... now what...

Back home, there's confirmation of MD’s recovery as I get the lawn mower out and attempt to cut the grass, with a dog attached to the wheels. If he’s up to attacking the lawn mower, he must be almost back to normal. As it turns out, he seems to have some success as well. Just as I’m completing the lawn it conks out. Not totally sure it was his fault. It had been making strange noises for years. Probably beyond repair and anyway I can’t be bothered to try and revive it just now.

Instead I try him over a few jumps to see how fine he is. Fine enough to be back in training a.s.a.p. I reckon.