Well they’ve finally started pulling them out. The Chilean miners that is. It’s all very impressive stuff and something actually worth turning the TV on for. It’s amazingly what the rescuers managed to do. Not only the final rescue but the way they’ve fed, clothed and entertained them through a tube for the last couple of months. I believe there’s even a Burger King and a Starbucks down there now. It’s just a shame someone didn’t apply all this technology to the mine in the first place, then they probably wouldn’t have got stuck down there at all.
It’s a shame to have to switch over to the cycling, where there’s gold for David Millar and silver for Alex Dowsett in the time trial. Whilst my hero Michael Hutchinson comes in 4th, again, for the second games running. Gutted for you Michael.
There’s success in the women’s too and as I cycle to the pool I contemplate Julia Shaw’s bronze medal for England, at the age of 45. So there’s hope for me yet.
I’ve been meaning to sign up again for the £50 cash back offer than Nottingham’s leisure centres are offering again. I just haven’t got around to doing it. OK, so perhaps it's because I haven’t been to the gym or the pool for ages. Then when I make it to the pool tonight, they tell me that the last place on offer was filled at 1pm today. Sob sob. So no £50 then. I suppose it serves me right for not going often enough.
To compound my misery the swimming pool is packed, which makes swimming any number of lengths without stopping to get out of someone’s way or to overtake is difficult. Mind you being crammed like sardines in one of the lanes isn’t too arduous as most of the swimmers seem to be from Nottingham University’s female swimming team. Then just as I’m about to give up and get out, the pool empties and I feel duty bound to swim a few more.
Its Doggo’s monthly training session tonight, which means MD’s had a totally lesson free week. He’ll start thinking he's at University if I’m not careful.
The session is good, we practice tight turns tonight, something the old man is good at but tonight’s training shows up just how much I’ve let things slip with him. All my fault, basically I’m not doing the handling right. I need to be more focussed on Doggo at our final outdoor show of the year on Sunday.
(Wednesday 13th October)
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Monday, October 11, 2010
A Couple Of Seconds With The Staple Gun
This week is National Chocolate Week.
Not that I shouldn’t really say that, what with two women in the house at home. In fact I had considered mentioning next week that last week was Chocolate Week but thought that was perhaps too cruel. Then again, perhaps not.
I run into work and nearly get run down by a cyclist. He would say that I should have seen him coming and I did, as he had fairy lights flashing away all the way down the front of his jacket. I just didn’t know which way to jump, plus I think I was momentarily dazzled by all his lights. I’m not sure all that illumination is really necessary, just to ride on the pavement.
That incident apart, the run goes well. I felt fit and I never feel fit in the mornings. I’m also fairly sure it was quite a quick time but I don’t know, as I chose to run with ipod and watch rather than my usual approach of phone and mapmyrun, then my watch battery went. I have no watch at all now, as the strap has broken on my proper watch. That watch is sat on my windowsill at work waiting for me to take it into town for a new strap. As I sit looking at it, a thought occurs to me. Hmmm. A couple of seconds and a few goes with the staple gun later, it’s as good as new.
I catch up with some more of the Commonwealth Games and watch the potentially lethal squash doubles. Fascinating and amazingly no blood yet but I can see why they're all wearing protective eyeglasses.
I'm not sure what's going on here though, between the two New Zealand girls, Jaclyn Hawkes and Joelle King, who had just defeated our English girls,
Jenny Duncalf and Laura Massaro, for the gold medal.
I have a night out in Derby after work whilst L goes to the Booker Prize evening. Kind of. Not the real one, hers is at our local library, where they are read excerpts from the six books on the shortlist and get to vote on the winner.
Everyone disagrees with the actual winner, Howard Jacobson's 'The Finkler Question', but isn’t that always what happens. L always says the winner is unreadable. So I’ll skip that one then, although I do need something new to ‘read’ now that I’ve finished the Pelican Brief.
(Tuesday 12th October)
Not that I shouldn’t really say that, what with two women in the house at home. In fact I had considered mentioning next week that last week was Chocolate Week but thought that was perhaps too cruel. Then again, perhaps not.
I run into work and nearly get run down by a cyclist. He would say that I should have seen him coming and I did, as he had fairy lights flashing away all the way down the front of his jacket. I just didn’t know which way to jump, plus I think I was momentarily dazzled by all his lights. I’m not sure all that illumination is really necessary, just to ride on the pavement.
That incident apart, the run goes well. I felt fit and I never feel fit in the mornings. I’m also fairly sure it was quite a quick time but I don’t know, as I chose to run with ipod and watch rather than my usual approach of phone and mapmyrun, then my watch battery went. I have no watch at all now, as the strap has broken on my proper watch. That watch is sat on my windowsill at work waiting for me to take it into town for a new strap. As I sit looking at it, a thought occurs to me. Hmmm. A couple of seconds and a few goes with the staple gun later, it’s as good as new.
I catch up with some more of the Commonwealth Games and watch the potentially lethal squash doubles. Fascinating and amazingly no blood yet but I can see why they're all wearing protective eyeglasses.
I'm not sure what's going on here though, between the two New Zealand girls, Jaclyn Hawkes and Joelle King, who had just defeated our English girls,
Jenny Duncalf and Laura Massaro, for the gold medal.
I have a night out in Derby after work whilst L goes to the Booker Prize evening. Kind of. Not the real one, hers is at our local library, where they are read excerpts from the six books on the shortlist and get to vote on the winner.
Everyone disagrees with the actual winner, Howard Jacobson's 'The Finkler Question', but isn’t that always what happens. L always says the winner is unreadable. So I’ll skip that one then, although I do need something new to ‘read’ now that I’ve finished the Pelican Brief.
(Tuesday 12th October)
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Too Much Swinging
I gather than both of the intrepid girls from Saturday are still feeling a bit battered this morning. In her defence, L points out that in last year’s blog I mentioned that I wasn’t exactly 100% either and was suffering with aching arms, neck, back and shoulders from too much swinging on the monkey bars. Ah happy memories. The only thing is I don’t recall either of them doing any of the monkey bars.
Rather worryingly her Sis seems to have got quite a buzz from it and she says she is definitely on for next year... L wasn’t expecting that. She vows to pump a lot more iron and find something to practice swinging on.
I dump a load of books in the recycling that have been evicted (and about time too) from Daughter’s bedroom. Quite a few seem to be school library books... hmmm, some of them seem to be five years late but I’ll drop them in at the school, as long as they don’t expect me to pay the fines for them.
No training for the dogs tonight, so we hit the park instead. It’s packed even though it’s already starting to get dark. We pass a chap who is training his woman by making her run up the hills and hop around cones. I’m obviously too soft with L. Though I’m not sure whether he’s her loving partner or just her personal trainer, or perhaps both. It’s nearly seven o’clock and he’s making her do all this in near darkness. I’m impressed and take notes for my future personal training career. He obviously wasn’t very happy with her Survival Of The Fittest time.
(Monday 11th October)
Rather worryingly her Sis seems to have got quite a buzz from it and she says she is definitely on for next year... L wasn’t expecting that. She vows to pump a lot more iron and find something to practice swinging on.
I dump a load of books in the recycling that have been evicted (and about time too) from Daughter’s bedroom. Quite a few seem to be school library books... hmmm, some of them seem to be five years late but I’ll drop them in at the school, as long as they don’t expect me to pay the fines for them.
No training for the dogs tonight, so we hit the park instead. It’s packed even though it’s already starting to get dark. We pass a chap who is training his woman by making her run up the hills and hop around cones. I’m obviously too soft with L. Though I’m not sure whether he’s her loving partner or just her personal trainer, or perhaps both. It’s nearly seven o’clock and he’s making her do all this in near darkness. I’m impressed and take notes for my future personal training career. He obviously wasn’t very happy with her Survival Of The Fittest time.
(Monday 11th October)
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Role Reversal
Only just the other day, L and I were trashing the concept of ‘runner’s nipple’ and what have I been suffering with since Friday? Yep, you guessed it. Or ‘fissure of the nipple’ to give it its correct title. How embarrassing. I’ve never had any such problems before and I always wear the correct type of ‘technical’ shirts and not cotton ones, just like you’re supposed to. I also have a bruise on my upper arm, which I’ve no idea how I got.
However all my wounds are trivial stuff compared with Miss Black ‘n’ Blue herself, who is struggling to even roll over in bed unaided. L always has to try and go one better and has outdone me in style. She’s bruised all over from the Survival Of The Fittest experience. Daughter even has to slice the bread for her so that she can have toast for breakfast. Despite that she’s off today to run, or maybe hobble, around the Merrill 10k.
Meanwhile I’m at the East Of England Showground, for a spot of dogging. Things don’t start well. Doggo skips his dog walk contact. So as soon as we leave the competition ring I drag him off to the practice one. Which is an ‘honour’ I’ve not bestowed on him in over three years. He looks gutted but is immediately better, although not perfect like he is in training. Hopefully that has given him the hint that I want him to be just as good in competition as he is in training.
MD makes a decent effort on a grade 1-7 course, which is above his usual level. He has only one jump down, although I do mean down, as in flattened. Both wings down as well as the pole.
Next up is his G3 course, his usual level. He’s perfect to jump 10 out of 20, then if all goes spectacularly wrong as he hurtles off down what I assume he thinks is the finishing straight, eventually hurdling the last jump with the timing gear on it. Only problem was, it was the start jump not the finish. An easy mistake to make I suppose, both have the timing gear on them. All the same though he should be taking instructions from me and not adlibbing.
Doggo redeems himself, temporarily. He is clear on his jumping course but then tries to take a chunk out of a Weimaraner, for which he gets booted. As in sentenced to a stint back in the car boot, which is where they usually travel. Whilst ‘he who usually get booted’, MD, is curled up quietly by my feet. Role reversal. L will never believe this.
So that’s all my runs done by 11am, bar one. I’ve got just one more to do with MD, in about four hours time... I pour a coffee from my flask and start reading the paper, slowly.
Bugger. A four hour wait and then MD does a near perfect clear round. So we’ve got to wait for the results now. I drain my flask and sip the last of the coffee, slowly.
We get 15th, not bad out of 185 entrants. Almost worth waiting four hours for. We’d have done even better if the judge hadn’t got in my way on the course. We took a revolutionary route and he clearly wasn’t expecting such innovation. Now I’ve just got to wait a little bit longer for the presentation and our rosette. Yet I’m all out of coffee.
Home for roast lamb, a take-out tub of ‘Brush’ from Fox and Crown and a romantic night with L. Who was a bit slower in her 10k than she had hoped for but after her exploits yesterday, it’s not surprising. So I won’t call her in for extra training.
Only thing is we’re both knackered, L protests that she got about as much stamina as a collie, and we both promptly fall asleep. Although not as promptly as the collies.
(Sunday 10th October)
However all my wounds are trivial stuff compared with Miss Black ‘n’ Blue herself, who is struggling to even roll over in bed unaided. L always has to try and go one better and has outdone me in style. She’s bruised all over from the Survival Of The Fittest experience. Daughter even has to slice the bread for her so that she can have toast for breakfast. Despite that she’s off today to run, or maybe hobble, around the Merrill 10k.
Meanwhile I’m at the East Of England Showground, for a spot of dogging. Things don’t start well. Doggo skips his dog walk contact. So as soon as we leave the competition ring I drag him off to the practice one. Which is an ‘honour’ I’ve not bestowed on him in over three years. He looks gutted but is immediately better, although not perfect like he is in training. Hopefully that has given him the hint that I want him to be just as good in competition as he is in training.
MD makes a decent effort on a grade 1-7 course, which is above his usual level. He has only one jump down, although I do mean down, as in flattened. Both wings down as well as the pole.
Next up is his G3 course, his usual level. He’s perfect to jump 10 out of 20, then if all goes spectacularly wrong as he hurtles off down what I assume he thinks is the finishing straight, eventually hurdling the last jump with the timing gear on it. Only problem was, it was the start jump not the finish. An easy mistake to make I suppose, both have the timing gear on them. All the same though he should be taking instructions from me and not adlibbing.
Doggo redeems himself, temporarily. He is clear on his jumping course but then tries to take a chunk out of a Weimaraner, for which he gets booted. As in sentenced to a stint back in the car boot, which is where they usually travel. Whilst ‘he who usually get booted’, MD, is curled up quietly by my feet. Role reversal. L will never believe this.
So that’s all my runs done by 11am, bar one. I’ve got just one more to do with MD, in about four hours time... I pour a coffee from my flask and start reading the paper, slowly.
Bugger. A four hour wait and then MD does a near perfect clear round. So we’ve got to wait for the results now. I drain my flask and sip the last of the coffee, slowly.
We get 15th, not bad out of 185 entrants. Almost worth waiting four hours for. We’d have done even better if the judge hadn’t got in my way on the course. We took a revolutionary route and he clearly wasn’t expecting such innovation. Now I’ve just got to wait a little bit longer for the presentation and our rosette. Yet I’m all out of coffee.
Home for roast lamb, a take-out tub of ‘Brush’ from Fox and Crown and a romantic night with L. Who was a bit slower in her 10k than she had hoped for but after her exploits yesterday, it’s not surprising. So I won’t call her in for extra training.
Only thing is we’re both knackered, L protests that she got about as much stamina as a collie, and we both promptly fall asleep. Although not as promptly as the collies.
(Sunday 10th October)
Friday, October 8, 2010
How’s The Hair?
I’ve been on stand-by for this year’s Survival Of The Fittest for what seems like forever. In theory L had talked her sister into joining her for a good hosing down by the local Fire Brigade but I was never actually sure that I wouldn’t be called upon as a replacement team mate until her sister actually turned up on our doorstep this morning. I suppose even then there was still a possibility she wouldn’t go through with it.
I wouldn’t have let L go through the ordeal on her own. I would even have run at her pace all the way around, on the condition that she piggy backed me across the river. I’m not going back into the Trent for anyone.
Her sister seemed to think that not being much of a runner would mean that she’d struggle with the 10k distance. Though it’s not actually 10k, it’s nearer 12. Sure there’s running involved but honestly that’s the least of her worries. The Trent, now that’s something to get worried about.
Sis comes well prepared. That is well prepared to not put her own trainers in the river. Smart girl. So L lends her a pair.
Hubby and the kids come to support, complete with bikes, so that they can cycle around the course with me. Which will be cool. Our own little peloton. L suggests she load me up with jelly babies and perhaps a bottle of Chardonnay with a straw. Nice idea but I ought not to drink wine whilst I’m cycling.
They are in wave 4 and at 10.45 they’re off. We wait at the first obstacle for them to come over the hay bales and wait... and wait. They are dead last over hay bales and it’s only fifty metres from the start. Cunning tactics I assume but they get appropriate abuse from the commentator for letting everyone else go ahead so they have the bales to themselves. I lead the fan club in trying to up that level of abuse.
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Then we set off in pursuit on our bikes, well we overtake them and get a good photographic spot for the mini assault course outside Nottingham Forest’s City Ground. Which seems a bit easier than when I did it last year. We weren’t allowed to put our feet on the ground between obstacles nor were we given a bunk up over that wall nor were we allowed to skip the monkey bars. What happened to equality?
Then I lead the peloton round to Holme Pierrepont and the really ‘fun’ bit. The mud crawl is well received... and there does seem to be more rocks in it than last year, which is one improvement at least. Sis crawls out of the mud and asks the photographer how her hair looks. ‘Great’ he lies, but her her hair will be fine, it’s about to get a rinse, in the Trent. Anyway, she’ll have more serious things to worry about soon, like not drowning.
First though there's more monkey bars and... I can’t believe they’re skipping them again. Then it's the river traverse and then the water slide back in to that cold cold water and a chance to wash all that mud out your hair.
There's assorted inflatables, tunnels, a clamber across the skate park and a chance to shoot some netballs until eventually it’s the last obstacle, the wall of fame. L has been worried all week that there won’t be anyone behind them to heave them over that wall. True she won’t be getting any help from the bunch of Santas who were spotted heading off in the other direction, destined to dip their suits in the river. No matter, there are still plenty of guys around who are willing to push a girl over the wall by her bottom.
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They do well. A respectable time and they’re not even last, quite a long way from last actually. Generally though I just think they’re relieved to be alive.
After a pub lunch and a chance to embellish those survival stories, we head home and then later up to Sheffield. It’s October, so it must be about time for another Delays gig.
We miss the tackily named ‘Scars on 45’ but catch the unusually named Ruberlaris from nearby Chesterfield, who seem to have a bit of a ska/reggae thing going on. Well, at least the lead singer/guitarist Chris Alsop does. Sometimes I think the rest of the four-piece band, who apparently are usually a five-piece with a saxophonist added, are playing something more conventional but it all blends together quite well. Lyrically he is strong too.
The band struggle at first to get much reaction, other than warm applause from the small crowd, because it’s still quite early in the evening but the crowd gradually warm to their high tempo music and energetic stage presence. They’re pleasant enough but really not my thing.
After a short delay (that’s nearly a pun), Greg Gilbert bounces onto the stage in typical Greg Gilbert fashion, wearing what I’m almost sure is the same shirt he always wears when we see the band live. I just hope he washes it occasionally.
‘Girls On Fire’. It's back. The Bodega in June was good but this is already better, they didn’t play it then. Well its better until I start getting picked on. That's all I need the lead singer having a go at me for not clapping to ‘Lost In A Melody’. It’s not even one of my favourites. Then he seems to keep his beady eye on me all night which, I think, makes L a touch jealous.
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Greg introduces ‘One Night Away’ as just a song from ‘Faded Seaside Glamour’, their first album. I don’t recall them playing it before but I’m sure they must have, just not recently. I always like it when bands chuck in an obscure oldie. The song ends with a touch of feedback and morphs into the excellent ‘Friends Are False’.
Four tracks in and nothing new yet, nothing from their new album ‘Star Tiger, Star Ariel’. Then ‘Find a Home’ appears but the only track we’ve not heard before is ‘May '45’ which appears mid-set. That apart there’s a lack of new stuff.
.JPG)
A chap in the crowd keeps yelling for his favourite song but he doesn’t actually know the name of the song he keeps yelling for. Aaron fights him off once but then Greg has a go when he requests ‘In Bittersweet Sunshine’ for the third time. ‘How can I play that when I aint f***ing written it yet?’ he protests before launching into ‘In Brilliant Sunshine’.
Tonight I think it's possibly the liveliest Delays crowd I've seen, the place had filled up considerably, adding to the small crowd who witnessed Ruberlaris. The band are as lively as ever, well Greg is, he even bounces his shoe laces undone during ‘Wanderlust’.
‘Panic Attacks’ is accompanied by an order to ‘get your arms up Sheffield’ and I’m sure he’s looking at me again. He hasn’t got much time to hassle me though; they seem to be in a rush now, up against another Saturday curfew. To coin a phrase or an album title, ‘Everything’s A Rush’. (Mental note: in future pick midweek gigs for longer sets).
‘Hideaway’, ‘Nearer Than Heaven’ and ‘Valentine’ end the set with the crowd continuing the latter even after the band have left the stage.
They return and Aaron protests about the curfew, ‘they’re trying to kick us out’. Yes but you were late coming on mate. They still run slightly over budget with ‘You And Me’ and ‘The Earth Gave Me You’ appropriately from the aforementioned ‘Everything’s A Rush’.
I’ll let my partner sum it all up. ‘Such nice boys’, so says L. So there you have it.
(Saturday 9th October)
I wouldn’t have let L go through the ordeal on her own. I would even have run at her pace all the way around, on the condition that she piggy backed me across the river. I’m not going back into the Trent for anyone.
Her sister seemed to think that not being much of a runner would mean that she’d struggle with the 10k distance. Though it’s not actually 10k, it’s nearer 12. Sure there’s running involved but honestly that’s the least of her worries. The Trent, now that’s something to get worried about.
Sis comes well prepared. That is well prepared to not put her own trainers in the river. Smart girl. So L lends her a pair.
Hubby and the kids come to support, complete with bikes, so that they can cycle around the course with me. Which will be cool. Our own little peloton. L suggests she load me up with jelly babies and perhaps a bottle of Chardonnay with a straw. Nice idea but I ought not to drink wine whilst I’m cycling.
They are in wave 4 and at 10.45 they’re off. We wait at the first obstacle for them to come over the hay bales and wait... and wait. They are dead last over hay bales and it’s only fifty metres from the start. Cunning tactics I assume but they get appropriate abuse from the commentator for letting everyone else go ahead so they have the bales to themselves. I lead the fan club in trying to up that level of abuse.
.JPG)
Then we set off in pursuit on our bikes, well we overtake them and get a good photographic spot for the mini assault course outside Nottingham Forest’s City Ground. Which seems a bit easier than when I did it last year. We weren’t allowed to put our feet on the ground between obstacles nor were we given a bunk up over that wall nor were we allowed to skip the monkey bars. What happened to equality?
Then I lead the peloton round to Holme Pierrepont and the really ‘fun’ bit. The mud crawl is well received... and there does seem to be more rocks in it than last year, which is one improvement at least. Sis crawls out of the mud and asks the photographer how her hair looks. ‘Great’ he lies, but her her hair will be fine, it’s about to get a rinse, in the Trent. Anyway, she’ll have more serious things to worry about soon, like not drowning.
First though there's more monkey bars and... I can’t believe they’re skipping them again. Then it's the river traverse and then the water slide back in to that cold cold water and a chance to wash all that mud out your hair.
There's assorted inflatables, tunnels, a clamber across the skate park and a chance to shoot some netballs until eventually it’s the last obstacle, the wall of fame. L has been worried all week that there won’t be anyone behind them to heave them over that wall. True she won’t be getting any help from the bunch of Santas who were spotted heading off in the other direction, destined to dip their suits in the river. No matter, there are still plenty of guys around who are willing to push a girl over the wall by her bottom.
.jpg)
They do well. A respectable time and they’re not even last, quite a long way from last actually. Generally though I just think they’re relieved to be alive.
After a pub lunch and a chance to embellish those survival stories, we head home and then later up to Sheffield. It’s October, so it must be about time for another Delays gig.
We miss the tackily named ‘Scars on 45’ but catch the unusually named Ruberlaris from nearby Chesterfield, who seem to have a bit of a ska/reggae thing going on. Well, at least the lead singer/guitarist Chris Alsop does. Sometimes I think the rest of the four-piece band, who apparently are usually a five-piece with a saxophonist added, are playing something more conventional but it all blends together quite well. Lyrically he is strong too.
The band struggle at first to get much reaction, other than warm applause from the small crowd, because it’s still quite early in the evening but the crowd gradually warm to their high tempo music and energetic stage presence. They’re pleasant enough but really not my thing.
After a short delay (that’s nearly a pun), Greg Gilbert bounces onto the stage in typical Greg Gilbert fashion, wearing what I’m almost sure is the same shirt he always wears when we see the band live. I just hope he washes it occasionally.
‘Girls On Fire’. It's back. The Bodega in June was good but this is already better, they didn’t play it then. Well its better until I start getting picked on. That's all I need the lead singer having a go at me for not clapping to ‘Lost In A Melody’. It’s not even one of my favourites. Then he seems to keep his beady eye on me all night which, I think, makes L a touch jealous.
.JPG)
Greg introduces ‘One Night Away’ as just a song from ‘Faded Seaside Glamour’, their first album. I don’t recall them playing it before but I’m sure they must have, just not recently. I always like it when bands chuck in an obscure oldie. The song ends with a touch of feedback and morphs into the excellent ‘Friends Are False’.
Four tracks in and nothing new yet, nothing from their new album ‘Star Tiger, Star Ariel’. Then ‘Find a Home’ appears but the only track we’ve not heard before is ‘May '45’ which appears mid-set. That apart there’s a lack of new stuff.
.JPG)
A chap in the crowd keeps yelling for his favourite song but he doesn’t actually know the name of the song he keeps yelling for. Aaron fights him off once but then Greg has a go when he requests ‘In Bittersweet Sunshine’ for the third time. ‘How can I play that when I aint f***ing written it yet?’ he protests before launching into ‘In Brilliant Sunshine’.
Tonight I think it's possibly the liveliest Delays crowd I've seen, the place had filled up considerably, adding to the small crowd who witnessed Ruberlaris. The band are as lively as ever, well Greg is, he even bounces his shoe laces undone during ‘Wanderlust’.
‘Panic Attacks’ is accompanied by an order to ‘get your arms up Sheffield’ and I’m sure he’s looking at me again. He hasn’t got much time to hassle me though; they seem to be in a rush now, up against another Saturday curfew. To coin a phrase or an album title, ‘Everything’s A Rush’. (Mental note: in future pick midweek gigs for longer sets).
‘Hideaway’, ‘Nearer Than Heaven’ and ‘Valentine’ end the set with the crowd continuing the latter even after the band have left the stage.
They return and Aaron protests about the curfew, ‘they’re trying to kick us out’. Yes but you were late coming on mate. They still run slightly over budget with ‘You And Me’ and ‘The Earth Gave Me You’ appropriately from the aforementioned ‘Everything’s A Rush’.
I’ll let my partner sum it all up. ‘Such nice boys’, so says L. So there you have it.
(Saturday 9th October)
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Silencing The Doubters
L rings what’s-his-name, oh you know, he who used to live with us but is now at Warwick University. He’s doing good, he says. He's even managed to cook something, so the free pizza must have come to an end and cooking is probably a necessity if he’s going to have any money left. He’s even done some washing and the rumour is that he may have to go to a lesson next week. Unfortunately we still don’t know what he wore to the pyjama party; he doesn’t have any pyjamas.
L is jealous. She wants to be a student. Not a problem. I tell her we’re both going. Once we’ve got Daughter there, it’s our turn.
L goes to sign on for tomorrow’s Survival Of The Fittest. The important question is, of course, what colour is it? The t-shirt that is. It’s white, well pre-Trent anyway, obviously grey afterwards, even after several washes. If I was her I’d wear something else tomorrow.
I leave work and run towards home. My work colleague and occasional protégé asks if I’ll be running all the way home this week. I keep saying this is something I intend to do. No, I have that pencilled in for next Friday, which will be my last long training run before the Birmingham Half Marathon. ‘You’re not going to do it’, he says, ‘are you?’ Of course I am. Next week. Hmmm. Doubter.
It’s busy out there on the streets, lots of runners about. The men sweating away profusely. The women glowing away... so they say. ‘Men perspire, women glow’ you know. Some of them are glowing buckets. Attractive actually, I do like a bit of sweat, I mean glow.
The run goes very well. I don’t walk any of it and don’t stop apart from at the occasional road junction. It probably goes too well. I get carried away and run fourteen miles, carrying on past my intended stopping point by about three miles. Well at least that should silence the doubters.
Three quarters of the way across the university campus, close to home, I decide to walk the rest as a warm down. Then L texts to say she’s got the house to herself and she's just about to slip into a hot bath... I break back into a run.
Later we naughtily slip out to the Plough but no one notices, as no one is home.
(Friday 8th October)
L is jealous. She wants to be a student. Not a problem. I tell her we’re both going. Once we’ve got Daughter there, it’s our turn.
L goes to sign on for tomorrow’s Survival Of The Fittest. The important question is, of course, what colour is it? The t-shirt that is. It’s white, well pre-Trent anyway, obviously grey afterwards, even after several washes. If I was her I’d wear something else tomorrow.
I leave work and run towards home. My work colleague and occasional protégé asks if I’ll be running all the way home this week. I keep saying this is something I intend to do. No, I have that pencilled in for next Friday, which will be my last long training run before the Birmingham Half Marathon. ‘You’re not going to do it’, he says, ‘are you?’ Of course I am. Next week. Hmmm. Doubter.
It’s busy out there on the streets, lots of runners about. The men sweating away profusely. The women glowing away... so they say. ‘Men perspire, women glow’ you know. Some of them are glowing buckets. Attractive actually, I do like a bit of sweat, I mean glow.
The run goes very well. I don’t walk any of it and don’t stop apart from at the occasional road junction. It probably goes too well. I get carried away and run fourteen miles, carrying on past my intended stopping point by about three miles. Well at least that should silence the doubters.
Three quarters of the way across the university campus, close to home, I decide to walk the rest as a warm down. Then L texts to say she’s got the house to herself and she's just about to slip into a hot bath... I break back into a run.
Later we naughtily slip out to the Plough but no one notices, as no one is home.
(Friday 8th October)
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Moderate Success
I cycle in and it’s very foggy again, well it is in Derby. Nottingham wasn’t too bad.
Apparently L’s dog was mega noisy this morning. Making up for being out-noised by Doggo at training last night obviously. He was so rowdy that when he got back from his walk, and began loudly demanding his breakfast, he woke Daughter up and you don't want to do that when her college day starts with a free period.
As you may have gathered I like a girl in figure hugging Lycra but this has nothing to do with why I’ve been watching the Commonwealth Games cycling every morning this week. I was very impressed with Becky James this morning, her cycling ability that is, as she clinched the silver medal in the women’s sprint on the track in Delhi and she’s only eighteen. Naturally I had to watch her terrific semi-final performance on the internet because the BBC were still being obsessive about the swimming and now the athletics as well. They did however wise up for the final, where she lost out to the vastly experienced Australian Anna Meares. Watch out Victoria Pendleton she’s on your tail.
Rant time...
There’s a lot wrong with the Commonwealth Games because a lot of the sports just don’t get a good enough field, due to a lack of eligible countries. Track cycling should though be the exception though because the best two countries on the track are Australia and Great Britain, with New Zealand not being too bad either. However, what essentially could have been an enthralling head-to-head between the Aussies, who have almost a full strength team in Delhi, and the home nations has been a bit of a let-down because team GB has failed to turned up in any sort of force.
This is partly the fault of the European Track Championships which are coming up in November in Poland, a new event that has sprung up from nowhere and has been designated as an Olympic qualifying event. It also didn’t help that the World Road Race Championships in Australia were only a fortnight ago but the Aussies have coped with that inconvenience ok.
Whilst the individual events have been well attended by the ‘minor’ countries some of the team events have struggled for competitors. The highly specialised Team Pursuit had only three participants, Australia, New Zealand and a very game Indian team who were willing to have a go against the big boys. As it stood, with England choosing not to participate, the Indians stood to win an unopposed bronze. That was until the organisers persuaded both Northern Ireland and Wales to cobble together teams. Which they did do, made a competition of it and denied India the bronze, which went to Northern Ireland.
Why though, with the UK’s huge depth of cycling talent, weren’t England there in more force? It was thought that the UK’s first professional cycling team for some time, Team Sky, were a good thing for Britain. This week however they haven’t been. Top British riders who are on Sky’s payroll, such as Geraint Thomas, Ben Swift, Ian Stannard, Russell Downing and Peter Kennaugh said they were going but then pulled out. Whilst Sky's Bradley Wiggins never had any intention of going.
You can say what you like about Mark Cavendish and he’s not everyone’s cup of tea but he is in Delhi for the road racing this weekend, as is David Millar, and both have ridden the Tour de France this year as well as the other two big tours, Vuelta a España and Giro d'Italia, as well as the World Championships. Both must be knackered after a long season but they’re there and strikingly neither ride for Team Sky.
At squash I try a new serve, as see in Delhi. I stick with it all night, with moderate success but moderate success is step up from my old serve. Four very good games tonight, well three of them were good anyway plus we had dark ales in the pub afterwards. Followed by late night spam curry. Quite a night.
(Thursday 7th October)
Apparently L’s dog was mega noisy this morning. Making up for being out-noised by Doggo at training last night obviously. He was so rowdy that when he got back from his walk, and began loudly demanding his breakfast, he woke Daughter up and you don't want to do that when her college day starts with a free period.
As you may have gathered I like a girl in figure hugging Lycra but this has nothing to do with why I’ve been watching the Commonwealth Games cycling every morning this week. I was very impressed with Becky James this morning, her cycling ability that is, as she clinched the silver medal in the women’s sprint on the track in Delhi and she’s only eighteen. Naturally I had to watch her terrific semi-final performance on the internet because the BBC were still being obsessive about the swimming and now the athletics as well. They did however wise up for the final, where she lost out to the vastly experienced Australian Anna Meares. Watch out Victoria Pendleton she’s on your tail.
Rant time...
There’s a lot wrong with the Commonwealth Games because a lot of the sports just don’t get a good enough field, due to a lack of eligible countries. Track cycling should though be the exception though because the best two countries on the track are Australia and Great Britain, with New Zealand not being too bad either. However, what essentially could have been an enthralling head-to-head between the Aussies, who have almost a full strength team in Delhi, and the home nations has been a bit of a let-down because team GB has failed to turned up in any sort of force.
This is partly the fault of the European Track Championships which are coming up in November in Poland, a new event that has sprung up from nowhere and has been designated as an Olympic qualifying event. It also didn’t help that the World Road Race Championships in Australia were only a fortnight ago but the Aussies have coped with that inconvenience ok.
Whilst the individual events have been well attended by the ‘minor’ countries some of the team events have struggled for competitors. The highly specialised Team Pursuit had only three participants, Australia, New Zealand and a very game Indian team who were willing to have a go against the big boys. As it stood, with England choosing not to participate, the Indians stood to win an unopposed bronze. That was until the organisers persuaded both Northern Ireland and Wales to cobble together teams. Which they did do, made a competition of it and denied India the bronze, which went to Northern Ireland.
Why though, with the UK’s huge depth of cycling talent, weren’t England there in more force? It was thought that the UK’s first professional cycling team for some time, Team Sky, were a good thing for Britain. This week however they haven’t been. Top British riders who are on Sky’s payroll, such as Geraint Thomas, Ben Swift, Ian Stannard, Russell Downing and Peter Kennaugh said they were going but then pulled out. Whilst Sky's Bradley Wiggins never had any intention of going.
You can say what you like about Mark Cavendish and he’s not everyone’s cup of tea but he is in Delhi for the road racing this weekend, as is David Millar, and both have ridden the Tour de France this year as well as the other two big tours, Vuelta a España and Giro d'Italia, as well as the World Championships. Both must be knackered after a long season but they’re there and strikingly neither ride for Team Sky.
At squash I try a new serve, as see in Delhi. I stick with it all night, with moderate success but moderate success is step up from my old serve. Four very good games tonight, well three of them were good anyway plus we had dark ales in the pub afterwards. Followed by late night spam curry. Quite a night.
(Thursday 7th October)
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