My Sort Of Mission

I’ve spent the last few days setting up for a meeting that was arranged for first thing this morning and then suddenly it’s cancelled. The guy claims car trouble but I reckon he just didn’t fancy driving up from Norfolk in the rain. It is totally foul out there.

Oh well, all is not lost. There’s still the pre-ordered buffet lunch to dispose of.

In lieu of her new Madonna image L slots on the bottom of today’s shopping list ‘tights - your choice’. I like that sort of mission; I can let my imagination run riot. Although she’s probably expecting something in plain black or maybe she’s hoping for something more Madonna-esk. Hmmm. I think I’ll play safe, in any case she will want something that’s warm, whereas Madonna probably wouldn’t be that fussed as she doubtless doesn’t walk that often into town for a pint in the middle of winter.

Cue fanfare. I’ve finished another book, a Nick Hornby, called ‘Juliet, Naked’.



I like Hornby, particularly when he’s in ‘music fan’ mode. No one quite writes about the emotional attachment to music like Hornby does and he gets to let his imagination run wild with this one. He conjures up a whole career for his invented 1980’s American singer-songwriter Tucker Crowe. Crowe gets a complete set of albums with track listings, lyrics and accompanying tales, along with his own Wikipedia entries, fan sites and forums. So convincing was it that I almost found myself trying to track down a second hand copy of ‘Juliet’, his legendary break-up album from 1986, on ebay, just to find out what all the fuss was about because after ‘Juliet’, Crowe fell silent, stopped recording and became a recluse.

The story though is mainly about a couple, Annie and Duncan, who have been together almost as long as Crowe has been silent and Annie is well bored with the whole thing.

Then suddenly out of the blue Crowe’s record company releases ‘Juliet, Naked’, a CD of acoustic demos of all the songs from that legendary album. Duncan loves it and posts an ecstatic review on the internet. Annie hates it and posts a counter review. Perhaps as a consequence of this Annie gets kind of lucky when Duncan leaves her for someone else, very briefly, and then refuses to take him back as she starts getting her own life together. This includes hanging out with the man himself, Tucker Crowe, who gets in touch with her after he agrees with her review. Duncan can’t quite get his head around that.

In truth, not a lot happens in the book. It is three quarters of a good idea and then meanders a bit. I wondered how he was going to finish it but actually the ending is quite good.

By the evening, the rain is still impressive but then it has been practising all day. L says I won’t get Doggo to go out in it but its MD’s training tonight and although Doggo probably won’t get a go himself, he wouldn’t let us go unsupervised.

After that we do a late night raid on L’s work and nab an old desk for Daughter’s room. I believe we have permission and that it’s all kosher. Their new renovated offices look good, so good, that L reckons the rest of the staff will hate it when they come in tomorrow. Office politics, love em.

(Monday 8th November)

Idea Theft

It’s a touch cold when we arrive in Shepshed for the Shepshed 7 race and it’s not even as if it’s a crack of dawn start. Kick-off isn’t until 11am.



I ran this race three years ago and didn’t particularly enjoy it, too much off road for me. Nice smooth tarmac is what I like. So I haven’t been back since. L though has never done it, so it’s a nice treat for her... I think she’s also taking it quite seriously, right down to the aerodynamic sports bra. Think Madonna in Vogue. Red hair and now Madonna gear, she’ll be singing next. It does looks good though, on as well as off, but I digress.

Looking back at my performance in 2007, I put in some cracking split times, well suicidal ones and I feel well intimidated by myself of three years ago.

This week I have split the dogs up in the car, to try to prevent them egging each other on in a chorus of howling. It kind of works. MD appears mute, which is slightly unusual, ok very unusual, but Doggo makes a pretty good attempt at going solo.



Then we line up at the start among the impressive 536 entries. The course, to me, is a lap around the muddy playing field followed by roughly half a mile downhill, before about a mile on the flat and then uphill for the remaining two through a quite picturesque private country estate. Seems more up than down to me, which is perhaps why I didn’t like it much last time. And then we do it all again, as this is a two lapper.

As expected, at mile one, I’m already well down on my splits from 2007 but my pace isn’t too shifty. I catch up a chap who is wearing a special running vest that tells us he is doing ‘50 races in his 50th year’ and that this one is race number three. Ah, L won’t be happy when I tell her, that's idea theft, he’s pinched her idea. He’s also got the dates of his 50th year on there and as he was 49 right at the start of October, I reckon he’s already a little off the pace. It's five weeks in and this is only race number three. I pass him and wonder how I’m going to break the news to L. As I say she won’t be happy.

Then when he later re-overtakes me, I’m not happy either.

As I climb up the hill in the final mile, I pass the 10k point and it’s pleasing to see I’m actually faster than last week and that’s with saving a bit for the last .8 of a mile. It’s still in the 42’s though, so I’m not totally ecstatic about it.

The race goes ok. 68th I think. Over a minute slower than 2007 but I expected that and I did have a few beers last night, not that they seemed to hold me back.

It’s a well organised race with a nice technical t-shirt that I will actually wear and most importantly it’s not red. Well mine’s ok, I pick a medium and it’s a perfect fit. L’s t-shirt choice doesn’t go quite so well, they’re all out of smalls and her medium turns out to be blank, with no logo. In fact all the remaining mediums turn out to be blank, so I give her mine and grab a large for myself. Gallant or what.

We head home and after a hot bath take Daughter with us for Sunday Lunch. Hobgoblin is on at our local which is a cruel trick for a Sunday.

Daughter goes out later, so with the dogs comatose and of course Son in Warwick we have a quiet house all evening. Which brings back memories. Those were the days, before dog ownership and children who stay up until midnight.

(Sunday 7th November)

The Pre-Race Food Of Champions

L’s volunteers to help out at work today. There’s more furniture to be rearranged or dumped and they are all meeting up at 9am. Ahemmmm. Now who’s nipping off from a lie-in on a Saturday morning...

So left on my own, I’m up earlier than usual and taking the lads on the park. ‘Lads’ isn’t very accurate I suppose, it makes them sound like youngsters and both are more like old women.

Then I bike back to the location of last night’s bonfire, to fetch the car back from where we left it. I take my ‘posh’ bike, partly because the battery on my bike computer on my usual bike is flat, only to find it is also flat on the other one.

I have almost the whole of Saturday free, a real luxury, though spent mostly trying to squeeze as much of the garden as possible into the garden waste bin. That’s my style of gardening. Then I get the bus over to Derby for the match. It’s a late kick off, 5.20pm as we’re on Sky tonight. We usually lose when we’re on Sky. Not tonight though and Derby move up to 4th with a 2-0 win over Portsmouth.

Then I meet up with L for a few beers and pies in the Silk Mill. Beer and pies eh? I know how to show a girl a good time. Romance is alive and well on our house. Then as we wait for the bus back we have chips and beans as well, the pre-race food of champions. We have a race tomorrow...

(Saturday 6th November)

Selective Deafness

I’m on the bike again and although it’s not raining when I head in to work, naturally it is by the time I return later.

Son finally manages to pay for his university accommodation. He kept telling us they were rejecting his card and I think L was beginning to think the bank were bouncing the payment because he’d run out of money... but he says he’s sorted now. So at least we don't have to take him a tent. Although, knowing Son, he’d have fallen on his feet anyway. Someone would have taken him in, rent free and probably fed him as well. Probably the same person who’s lending him the different clothes we keep seeing him wearing on the Facebook photos.

L’s company is having a clear out of old furniture, so we have plenty of options for firewood for the bonfire we’re going to tonight, if only we could fit them in the car. Instead we have a car full of teenagers, Daughter and a couple of friends, and they probably won’t burn that well.

Tonight being Bonfire Night, or Guy Fawkes Night if you prefer, is the one night of the year when Doggo’s selective deafness doesn’t kick in. Instead he hides behind the settee while MD plays ball alone in the garden despite the constant shelling. Chalk and cheese those dogs.

It’s still raining. A nice night for a BBQ and fireworks. Not.

The bonfire, well one of those metal dustbin things that they use on picket lines, is at a friend’s house and we bring our ‘one large firework’ in accordance of the rules of the evening. Although it looks more like a suitcase bomb.



I find myself roped in to helping with the ‘display’. I had kind of hoped to take a back seat this year but to no avail but it all goes very well. Despite a firework ‘safety’ lighter that seems far from safe. It performs more like a Roman Candle and is far more impressive than the sparklers we have. Especially my sparklers, which refuse to sparkle at all.

My colleague in the pyrotechnics department starts with the fireworks right at the bottom of his garden but gradually they seem to inch closer to the house. A touch of artistic licence is in play and a desire to increase audience participation. Hmmm. When it comes to the suitcase I think it’s time to reverse the tide and head back away from the house.

Thankfully we all survive to ignite another day.

(Friday 5th November)

A Bit Damp

Well that turned out to be a bit damp. The weather thought I was going to cycle this morning but I didn’t. Ha. So it rained on my run instead, constant drizzle all the time from when I left home to when I got to work. It would have been wetter on the bike though.

That mine of accurate information, The Sun, reckons that Nottingham is sixth in its list of town/cities worst hit by the recession because Nottingham has 1254 empty shops, that’s 23% of all its shops.

That's also far more in number than the other cities. Not that it has much to do with the recession, Nottingham has been building extra shops it doesn’t need for years, long before the downturn, long after demand had peaked and the same shops have just moved to better locations. I can’t think of many that have closed for recession reasons. Shops like the beloved Selectadisc can’t be classed as a recession casualty, it was the internet that certainly did for them.

1. Hull 601 empty shops, 27 per cent of total
2. Blackpool 600 empty shops, 26 per cent of total
3. Stockport 373 empty shops, 25 per cent of total
4. Hartlepool 327 empty shops, 24 per cent of total
5. Grimsby 547 empty shops, 24 per cent of total
6. Nottingham 1254 empty shops, 23 per cent of total
7. Sunderland 475 empty shops, 22 per cent of total
8. Wandsworth 112 empty shops, 22 per cent of total
9. Letchworth 203 empty shops, 21 per cent of total
10.Folkestone 265 empty shops, 20 per cent of total

It’s dry by the time I leave for home after work, although I’m getting the bus all the way but I still have to try to cobble together some dry clothes to wear.

Squash goes ok, although I miss loads of easy shots and don’t win a game... but it was still fun! Apparently my opponent has now got his 100th game of the year, so at least he’s happy.

I arrive home at about the same time as L who’s been making up for lost time in the gym as she’s been unable to get there all week. So I think we’ve both earned the excuse to warm up the liver for the weekend.

(Thursday 4th November)

Firework Shopping

I head out firework shopping over lunch, something I’ve not done for a while. The party we are going to on Friday is a ‘bring a firework and make it a big one’ party. Someone tells me of a bloke with a funny beard who said he’s got a ton of fertilizer going cheap... but I declined.

Mind you the box of explosives I did manage to source, from some wide boy in Alvaston, is as big as a suitcase and just about fills the boot of the car. So I trust it will suit requirements. I email our host, just to check how big his garden is and whether it is feasible to retreat as far as the instructions say.

Last time we did this sort of thing we had a bit of a ‘minor’ mishap with a large firework that tipped over, it decoratively illuminated the garden with a nice shower of coloured sparks parallel to the ground, making it very easy for everyone to see where they were running to. That is those who hadn’t climbed the fence into next door's garden or found a big tree to hide behind. The damn thing also tried to set fire to someone’s children but luckily their coats proved to be semi-flame retardant.

So as entertaining as it was, eventually, we’re not hoping for a repeat.

Both dogs get some training tonight and MD gets to boss a baby collie around, which he seems to enjoy.

(Wednesday 3rd November)

A Meteorological Conundrum

‘How come every time you cycle it chucks it down?’ says L. Well it doesn’t. Not absolutely every time. It just seems that way. Come to think of it, it probably is most of the time.

The ride in this morning was actually dry, though still pretty miserable. So miserable in fact that I’m not quite sure what all this fuss is about altering the clocks or not altering the clocks or doubly altering the clocks... because it doesn’t seem to have got light here yet and it's nearly 3pm.

When L posed that meteorological conundrum concerning my cycling habits, it was actually fine in Derby but I imagine there’s a monsoon somewhere heading this way with my name on it.

It does start raining by 5pm, of course, and I consider skipping my swim if it turns out as bad as L predicts but it’s not too bad in the end. So I go to the pool as planned.

The swim is exhausting. One woman flails her way painfully slowly up one of the 'quick' lanes but won’t let anyone pass and so becomes a human slalom to a fast bloke and I, who predictably end up racing each other. When he moves lanes after we've had a few near misses with our overtaking, I end up racing a fast girlie instead and losing badly. I put her unnatural speed down to the particularly well streamlined low drag co-efficient swimsuit she was almost not wearing.

(Tuesday 2nd November)