A quiet day for us and a day off from competing. No dog show and no run, both are tomorrow, which is going to be interesting.
Instead I kind of do what normal people do and go shopping. First we went food shopping, although to our regular farm shop. Then I went into the city and tried to buy some 'stuff' but failed miserably. I just couldn't find a sports shop worthy of the name, so I didn't manage to get the new pair of running shorts that I was after. I even failed to get the things I wanted from the cycling shops I visited. So it's back to shopping on the internet.
Son goes off to visit his father, more a birthday present collecting trip rather than a social visit I believe but I could be being unfair. Daughter doesn't go, no presents to collect, so we don't quite get the house to ourselves.
I cook a non-spicy curry as we don’t want anything that might 'repeat' on us tomorrow. L cooks another sponge pudding, to complete the carbo-loading.
We're not quite AF. Two glasses of Rosé each, which, I suppose, is almost not alcohol.
Saturday, 31 May 2008
Friday, 30 May 2008
Causing Social Anxiety
I bus and run this morning. Two male cyclists acknowledge me and even get their 'good mornings' in first. Blimey. Cyclists and runners don't often cross-socialise, cyclists just run the runners down, accidentally of course.
I don’t feel fast and so it proves, I'm as slow as last week. Not only does my knee still feel dodgy but also now my shoulder is playing up.
In the afternoon L, emails from home and recommends that I don't come home. The two females in the household are often competing to see who's got the blackest mood. Today Daughter is winning, something to do with her managing to demolish yet another pair of ipod headphones. L suggests I get off the bus in Beeston and meet her at the pub. She's just trying to get me to go to the pub in my running shorts. It's a tempting offer and also a promising sign, if she's feeling iniquitous, then her mood must be lifting.
I catch the bus home in my shorts and Duathlon T-shirt causing a little social anxiety as I go. They do say that these things must be worn responsibly. Apparently if you wear 'event' t-shirts at the gym they're great for stimulating conversation with the opposite sex but unfortunately I don't 'do' the gym. Wearing them on the Red Arrow doesn't seem to have the same effect. All I get is vacant stares and possibly a touch of pity.
As usual two Red Arrows turn up a once, the one I get on is obviously the one that's running late because the driver waves everyone on without taking any money, so I get yet another free trip. Another step closer to financial ruin for Trent-Barton.
Later we end up in Beeston after all, by foot, for a beer or four. Today I found out an interesting fact that beer contains something called choline which ironically protects against liver damage... bring it on... if taken in small quantities... damn.
I don’t feel fast and so it proves, I'm as slow as last week. Not only does my knee still feel dodgy but also now my shoulder is playing up.
In the afternoon L, emails from home and recommends that I don't come home. The two females in the household are often competing to see who's got the blackest mood. Today Daughter is winning, something to do with her managing to demolish yet another pair of ipod headphones. L suggests I get off the bus in Beeston and meet her at the pub. She's just trying to get me to go to the pub in my running shorts. It's a tempting offer and also a promising sign, if she's feeling iniquitous, then her mood must be lifting.
I catch the bus home in my shorts and Duathlon T-shirt causing a little social anxiety as I go. They do say that these things must be worn responsibly. Apparently if you wear 'event' t-shirts at the gym they're great for stimulating conversation with the opposite sex but unfortunately I don't 'do' the gym. Wearing them on the Red Arrow doesn't seem to have the same effect. All I get is vacant stares and possibly a touch of pity.
As usual two Red Arrows turn up a once, the one I get on is obviously the one that's running late because the driver waves everyone on without taking any money, so I get yet another free trip. Another step closer to financial ruin for Trent-Barton.
Later we end up in Beeston after all, by foot, for a beer or four. Today I found out an interesting fact that beer contains something called choline which ironically protects against liver damage... bring it on... if taken in small quantities... damn.
Thursday, 29 May 2008
Rollerball
I was hoping Son would be up before I went this morning so that I could wish him many happy returns but no such luck. I shall have to try and catch the evening trip downstairs instead.
L's been wondering whether we should do a special meal to celebrate his birthday but we know what the answer would be if we gave him free rein, needless to say we wouldn’t need to cook anything. Heaven, is being holed up in his bedroom with a whole takeaway pizza to himself. 'Son' and 'celebrate' do not belong in the same sentence.
L pointed this one out to me. The University of Portsmouth has been studying how women's breasts move during exercise. They seem to think this hasn't been done before. Studies, believe me, are on going.
They say they've studied more than 100 women chests. Amateurs, what are they playing at. They've hooked them up to sensors and then got the girls to run. Bet there were a lot of applications from chaps for that job but they gave it to a woman. Equality eh!
My old physics teacher at school had it cracked. He once famously explained Newton's second law of motion to our stunned class of fifteen-year-olds by referring to a hockey match that was going on outside. Ah, happy days. He had numerous 'off the wall' teaching methods, none of which you'd be able to get away with these days.
This new study says sports bra's are failing women because it's not just the bounce that needs to be controlled but also the 'side to side' and the 'in and out'. Also it's not necessarily the degree of movement which is important but the speed, the acceleration and the deceleration. Absolutely fascinating. Roll on Sunday's 10k.
Pub today. I know I shouldn't bitch about other people's lifestyles but... there's this young couple we often see in the pub. He used to work near us and I member him about ten years ago when he was right skinny young lad. His partner is huge and she's clearly been a 'big' influence on him because he's now catching her up in the size stakes. It's not done his looks any good either, he looks at least 40. I hope I look a young 40 (no comments please), well he looks an old 40 and he must be only in his late twenties. Today they were in there with her mother, even huger, ordering cheeseburgers, bacon and cheese melts and the like. No, no salad please, but can we have extra chips. Enough said. The really shocking news is that they now have a baby. Which means he must have... which is too horrible to contemplate.
The other week, Idle Dog, this week Idle Chef. That's the beer selection by the way. Thankfully it's not a premonition, the chef isn't slacking, and the cottage pie is as good as ever.
L finishes at lunchtime and heads off to Rollerball. Good core stability stuff, she calls it. Sorry not Rollerball, its Bodyball. Do they really call it that? Sounds great. Sounds evil.
In the evening squash which is just terrible, terrible, terrible. No further comment required. I leave my victorious opponent to wait for his lift in the rain, that'll teach him to stop putting the ball in the corners.
L's been wondering whether we should do a special meal to celebrate his birthday but we know what the answer would be if we gave him free rein, needless to say we wouldn’t need to cook anything. Heaven, is being holed up in his bedroom with a whole takeaway pizza to himself. 'Son' and 'celebrate' do not belong in the same sentence.
L pointed this one out to me. The University of Portsmouth has been studying how women's breasts move during exercise. They seem to think this hasn't been done before. Studies, believe me, are on going.
They say they've studied more than 100 women chests. Amateurs, what are they playing at. They've hooked them up to sensors and then got the girls to run. Bet there were a lot of applications from chaps for that job but they gave it to a woman. Equality eh!
My old physics teacher at school had it cracked. He once famously explained Newton's second law of motion to our stunned class of fifteen-year-olds by referring to a hockey match that was going on outside. Ah, happy days. He had numerous 'off the wall' teaching methods, none of which you'd be able to get away with these days.
This new study says sports bra's are failing women because it's not just the bounce that needs to be controlled but also the 'side to side' and the 'in and out'. Also it's not necessarily the degree of movement which is important but the speed, the acceleration and the deceleration. Absolutely fascinating. Roll on Sunday's 10k.
Pub today. I know I shouldn't bitch about other people's lifestyles but... there's this young couple we often see in the pub. He used to work near us and I member him about ten years ago when he was right skinny young lad. His partner is huge and she's clearly been a 'big' influence on him because he's now catching her up in the size stakes. It's not done his looks any good either, he looks at least 40. I hope I look a young 40 (no comments please), well he looks an old 40 and he must be only in his late twenties. Today they were in there with her mother, even huger, ordering cheeseburgers, bacon and cheese melts and the like. No, no salad please, but can we have extra chips. Enough said. The really shocking news is that they now have a baby. Which means he must have... which is too horrible to contemplate.
The other week, Idle Dog, this week Idle Chef. That's the beer selection by the way. Thankfully it's not a premonition, the chef isn't slacking, and the cottage pie is as good as ever.
L finishes at lunchtime and heads off to Rollerball. Good core stability stuff, she calls it. Sorry not Rollerball, its Bodyball. Do they really call it that? Sounds great. Sounds evil.
In the evening squash which is just terrible, terrible, terrible. No further comment required. I leave my victorious opponent to wait for his lift in the rain, that'll teach him to stop putting the ball in the corners.
Wednesday, 28 May 2008
Picnic In The Pool
It's a miserable day again today. The rain I am sure is partly due to the fact that this week is National BBQ Week, billed as Europe’s largest celebration of the pleasures of alfresco dining. Perhaps not.
Despite the miserable outlook, I dodge the rain and stay dry, other than catching the spray off the roads. A good cycle, despite not de-edging myself this morning.
L reports back from the park that there are now several deer with their cards well and truly marked. Oh no, she's been out with her can of red spray paint again, marking up targets for the next cull.
She's working from home today, accompanied by Doggo, who is apparently spending the day sprawled out on his back with his tongue out. Apart from the park all he's done is see off some imaginary visitor, which apparently caused him to almost choke on his bacon. Bacon? Hmmm, the things that go on when I'm not at home.
Eighties favourites Yazoo have reformed and are coming to Nottingham. I'm tempted to say ‘lets go’, what with it probably being a once in a lifetime chance and all that. It could be good, they had the good sense to quit (or rather fall out) whilst they were still at the top of their game, so it should be good set. So despite the fact it's at the acoustically devoid and atmosphere free zone that is the Concert Hall, I'm tempted until I saw the price. £45. Ridiculous. The feeling on the web is that the price is putting a lot of people off going to see them, which is a shame but it'll serve them right if it's only half full. Money grabbers.
Just checked the date, we’re off to see Glasvegas on that day anyway, for a humble £7. There are simply too many good new bands around to bother spending such a lot of money on a spot of reminiscing, particularly when you've got YouTube. Footage from The Tube here.
and on Cheggars here. Cool. Alf looking almost slim there.
L checks out the links I send her then starts trawling through old TOTP clips of Depeche Mode. She says it's like old times. It is old times, my dear fellow old timer.
Come late afternoon it's throwing it down. Which should liven up the bike home, the paper round, and the tennis. Had I mentioned L and Daughter are playing tennis tonight? L did say it would guarantee rain. Did somebody say AF tonight...
I cycle home, somehow dodging the rain, and to the pool where I find a student party going on half way up lane one. There are about six lads in there, I think they're having a picnic and make swimming in there impossible. The attendants look concerned, they're good at that, and do a lot of hopping from foot to foot but don't have the guts to say anything. Instead they tell off a couple of kids in the beginner's pool for chucking water at each other. Cop-out. I really hope my old friend Mr Annoying-Stop-Start-Psycho swimmer turns up; one stare from him usually empties that lane.
I go for lane three where some swimming is actually going on. I toy, is that the right word?, with a couple of girls in there. Both are slightly slower than I am, so naturally I had to make sure I stayed ahead of them. When I stopped for a brief breather and one of them got ahead of me, obviously I had to make sure I got back in front of her. So it gave me a good workout.
I go and home and wait for the girls to return from tennis... and the sauna. Glad I missed that, I remember nearly fainting in the sauna in Austria. I head off to dog training.
Despite the miserable outlook, I dodge the rain and stay dry, other than catching the spray off the roads. A good cycle, despite not de-edging myself this morning.
L reports back from the park that there are now several deer with their cards well and truly marked. Oh no, she's been out with her can of red spray paint again, marking up targets for the next cull.
She's working from home today, accompanied by Doggo, who is apparently spending the day sprawled out on his back with his tongue out. Apart from the park all he's done is see off some imaginary visitor, which apparently caused him to almost choke on his bacon. Bacon? Hmmm, the things that go on when I'm not at home.
Eighties favourites Yazoo have reformed and are coming to Nottingham. I'm tempted to say ‘lets go’, what with it probably being a once in a lifetime chance and all that. It could be good, they had the good sense to quit (or rather fall out) whilst they were still at the top of their game, so it should be good set. So despite the fact it's at the acoustically devoid and atmosphere free zone that is the Concert Hall, I'm tempted until I saw the price. £45. Ridiculous. The feeling on the web is that the price is putting a lot of people off going to see them, which is a shame but it'll serve them right if it's only half full. Money grabbers.
Just checked the date, we’re off to see Glasvegas on that day anyway, for a humble £7. There are simply too many good new bands around to bother spending such a lot of money on a spot of reminiscing, particularly when you've got YouTube. Footage from The Tube here.
and on Cheggars here. Cool. Alf looking almost slim there.
L checks out the links I send her then starts trawling through old TOTP clips of Depeche Mode. She says it's like old times. It is old times, my dear fellow old timer.
Come late afternoon it's throwing it down. Which should liven up the bike home, the paper round, and the tennis. Had I mentioned L and Daughter are playing tennis tonight? L did say it would guarantee rain. Did somebody say AF tonight...
I cycle home, somehow dodging the rain, and to the pool where I find a student party going on half way up lane one. There are about six lads in there, I think they're having a picnic and make swimming in there impossible. The attendants look concerned, they're good at that, and do a lot of hopping from foot to foot but don't have the guts to say anything. Instead they tell off a couple of kids in the beginner's pool for chucking water at each other. Cop-out. I really hope my old friend Mr Annoying-Stop-Start-Psycho swimmer turns up; one stare from him usually empties that lane.
I go for lane three where some swimming is actually going on. I toy, is that the right word?, with a couple of girls in there. Both are slightly slower than I am, so naturally I had to make sure I stayed ahead of them. When I stopped for a brief breather and one of them got ahead of me, obviously I had to make sure I got back in front of her. So it gave me a good workout.
I go and home and wait for the girls to return from tennis... and the sauna. Glad I missed that, I remember nearly fainting in the sauna in Austria. I head off to dog training.
Tuesday, 27 May 2008
The Uninvited One
I can hear the rain falling this morning, so I roll over in bed and snuggle up to L. The rain does stop though and after getting L's assistance in testing out my knee, just to see if it was up to cycling, I decide I ought to give it a go after all.
The weather isn't actually too bad and I wouldn't have been damp at all, if it hadn't been for a few lorries 'sharing' the spray.
My cleats too, now appear to be ok. Instead today, I fall down a rather large pothole, that I'm sure wasn't there yesterday. This was on a stretch of road that was totally resurfaced just a year ago but has since been dug up again and left in a right state and full of potholes again.
They say that there are now so many potholes on our roads that it would take more than eleven years to fill them all in. Another problem is that local authorities are now paying out more in compensation for damage and injury from potholes, than they are on repairing them. The government, has of course, set a target to clear the backlog in filling in potholes by 2010. Don't hold your breath.
L's confirms that her old war wound is indeed playing up and although she's been to the gym, she did all of it standing up because she can't sit down. I wonder if she's still standing up now, at work. It's obviously affecting her sanity too because she's having cold toast and Marmite for breakfast, either that or it's some self-inflicted penance for something she's done.
After work I am again the uninvited one and my work colleagues run without me, five miles this time, I wonder if they're training for something. Something that I'm not invited to obviously.
I take Doggo on the park and we wander down to the South Lodge on Derby Road because it is closed for Health & Safety reasons. It's pulled quite a crowd and we expect to see a tree embedded in the Gatehouse but no, it looks like it always does; neglected and in need of urgent attention but not dangerous. Mystifying.
L runs to us on her way back from Pilates, doing her best impression of an uninjured person but I can see through it. Then again, perhaps I'm wrong because later I'm accosted into a goodnight clinch by the same girl in shorts and a vest which is rather better than sharing a Werther's Original at bedtime. If you don't read Mrs Mills in the Times, you probably have no idea what I'm talking about.
The weather isn't actually too bad and I wouldn't have been damp at all, if it hadn't been for a few lorries 'sharing' the spray.
My cleats too, now appear to be ok. Instead today, I fall down a rather large pothole, that I'm sure wasn't there yesterday. This was on a stretch of road that was totally resurfaced just a year ago but has since been dug up again and left in a right state and full of potholes again.
They say that there are now so many potholes on our roads that it would take more than eleven years to fill them all in. Another problem is that local authorities are now paying out more in compensation for damage and injury from potholes, than they are on repairing them. The government, has of course, set a target to clear the backlog in filling in potholes by 2010. Don't hold your breath.
L's confirms that her old war wound is indeed playing up and although she's been to the gym, she did all of it standing up because she can't sit down. I wonder if she's still standing up now, at work. It's obviously affecting her sanity too because she's having cold toast and Marmite for breakfast, either that or it's some self-inflicted penance for something she's done.
After work I am again the uninvited one and my work colleagues run without me, five miles this time, I wonder if they're training for something. Something that I'm not invited to obviously.
I take Doggo on the park and we wander down to the South Lodge on Derby Road because it is closed for Health & Safety reasons. It's pulled quite a crowd and we expect to see a tree embedded in the Gatehouse but no, it looks like it always does; neglected and in need of urgent attention but not dangerous. Mystifying.
L runs to us on her way back from Pilates, doing her best impression of an uninjured person but I can see through it. Then again, perhaps I'm wrong because later I'm accosted into a goodnight clinch by the same girl in shorts and a vest which is rather better than sharing a Werther's Original at bedtime. If you don't read Mrs Mills in the Times, you probably have no idea what I'm talking about.
Monday, 26 May 2008
Like Lazarus
Such is my Lazarus like recovery that we do a pond and park run this morning. L, who I suspect is trying to outdo me on the injury front, with her old war wound, heads home after 35 minutes but I force a reluctant Doggo to do an extra lap of the park with me.
In the afternoon, L and Daughter head off to a local dog's home to walk some dogs. They leave Doggo with me, which is a relief, kind of, I had suspected that L might try and swap him. Surprisingly, when they return, it is empty handed, although I think they still had a good time.
Doggo and I cut the hedge, which is an interesting experience as it's so windy. Not really a good day to do it but a free afternoon is a free afternoon and I don't get many of them. At least it saves picking up the cuttings, as a lot of them simply blow away. Doggo is very lucky to have any ears left, as he kept dropping his ball at my feet as I was wielding the cutters.
Stockport beat Rochdale in the last of the play-off games, which means that the highest placed team has won through in each of the three divisions; not sure that happens very often.
Another rarity today, must be because it's a bank holiday, is that I watch a DVD at home. Although I like Neil Jordan's films, I probably wouldn't have watched 'The Brave One' had it not been for Jodie Foster's presence. I have always had a platonic fondness for her; we kind of grew up together.
Jodie plays a radio presenter called Erica Bain. One night, she is out walking her dog with her fiancé when three men seize the dog, demanding a reward for its return. When they refuse, they are attacked by two of the men, while a third films the action on a camcorder. Erica is beaten up and is in a coma for three weeks. When she comes round she is told that her fiancé is dead and to her, her life is effectively over, even her dog is missing. The police are not a great help and her way of coping is to buy an unlicensed gun and seek out the men responsible.
When she is witness to a shooting in a shop and is threatened by the killer, she pulls out her gun, kills him, and walks away. Then she comes across some youths terrorizing subway passengers, when they pick on her, she shoots them dead. So it goes on. The police realise a vigilante killer is on the loose but don't know who it is.
One day she is asked to attend a line-out to identify a man the police think is responsible for her fiancé's death. She recognizes him, but doesn't pick him out. Instead she finds him and the others. She manages to kill two of them but she is stopped from killing the third by the detective on the case, Detective Mercer (Terrence Howard). Instead he lets her kill the last one using his gun, leaving her gun at the scene and so framing them as the 'vigilantes'. Hmmm. Dodgy ending but never mind.
It is really just a standard revenge movie, albeit with a female lead. Although it does explore how grief and violence can change a person irrevocably. Erica herself realises that she is a stranger to herself, that she has reinvented herself as someone else.
It's a film that sometimes works and sometimes doesn't. Jodie Foster is good, as ever, but not outstanding.
Naughty, naughty for a Monday, we finish off bottle of red.
In the afternoon, L and Daughter head off to a local dog's home to walk some dogs. They leave Doggo with me, which is a relief, kind of, I had suspected that L might try and swap him. Surprisingly, when they return, it is empty handed, although I think they still had a good time.
Doggo and I cut the hedge, which is an interesting experience as it's so windy. Not really a good day to do it but a free afternoon is a free afternoon and I don't get many of them. At least it saves picking up the cuttings, as a lot of them simply blow away. Doggo is very lucky to have any ears left, as he kept dropping his ball at my feet as I was wielding the cutters.
Stockport beat Rochdale in the last of the play-off games, which means that the highest placed team has won through in each of the three divisions; not sure that happens very often.
Another rarity today, must be because it's a bank holiday, is that I watch a DVD at home. Although I like Neil Jordan's films, I probably wouldn't have watched 'The Brave One' had it not been for Jodie Foster's presence. I have always had a platonic fondness for her; we kind of grew up together.
Jodie plays a radio presenter called Erica Bain. One night, she is out walking her dog with her fiancé when three men seize the dog, demanding a reward for its return. When they refuse, they are attacked by two of the men, while a third films the action on a camcorder. Erica is beaten up and is in a coma for three weeks. When she comes round she is told that her fiancé is dead and to her, her life is effectively over, even her dog is missing. The police are not a great help and her way of coping is to buy an unlicensed gun and seek out the men responsible.
When she is witness to a shooting in a shop and is threatened by the killer, she pulls out her gun, kills him, and walks away. Then she comes across some youths terrorizing subway passengers, when they pick on her, she shoots them dead. So it goes on. The police realise a vigilante killer is on the loose but don't know who it is.
One day she is asked to attend a line-out to identify a man the police think is responsible for her fiancé's death. She recognizes him, but doesn't pick him out. Instead she finds him and the others. She manages to kill two of them but she is stopped from killing the third by the detective on the case, Detective Mercer (Terrence Howard). Instead he lets her kill the last one using his gun, leaving her gun at the scene and so framing them as the 'vigilantes'. Hmmm. Dodgy ending but never mind.
It is really just a standard revenge movie, albeit with a female lead. Although it does explore how grief and violence can change a person irrevocably. Erica herself realises that she is a stranger to herself, that she has reinvented herself as someone else.
It's a film that sometimes works and sometimes doesn't. Jodie Foster is good, as ever, but not outstanding.
Naughty, naughty for a Monday, we finish off bottle of red.
Sunday, 25 May 2008
Pain And Suffering
We're back at the dog show again today and much to my surprise my knee is a lot better. So there's no risk of me slowing Doggo down, ha ha. We don't hit the heights of yesterday but Doggo still does well. Two clears out of three and a 12th place. All performed in a howling gale.
In the afternoon Doncaster defeat Leeds in the League One Play-Off final, so we won't be playing Leeds next season.
There was a fantastic article in the paper before the game, by a Leeds fan who says he loves it in League One, which he describes as a throwback to the 1970s, where he's remembered what football is all about. This year Leeds have actually won matches and even have local players, that he can relate to, in their team. He has no desire to return to the days of aspiring to be the tenth best team in the Premier League, a league that even a club as big as Leeds can now probably no longer win, where most teams have no prospects other than regular thumpings and a battle for survival.
He says he's enjoyed this season every bit as much as when they made it to the Champions League semi-finals but the best day in his football-watching life came when Leeds clinched promotion at Bournemouth in 1990. The league title followed two years later and, sweet as it was, it was not as good.
We are constantly told that the Premier League is the best in the world and that the Champions League is the pinnacle. It is not true. The best league is the one with your team in it. What football's bandwagon jumpers do not understand is that football is all about pain and suffering. It is the struggle that is addictive, not the success.
Full article here
Back home, we are naughty and finish off bottle of white wine.
In the afternoon Doncaster defeat Leeds in the League One Play-Off final, so we won't be playing Leeds next season.
There was a fantastic article in the paper before the game, by a Leeds fan who says he loves it in League One, which he describes as a throwback to the 1970s, where he's remembered what football is all about. This year Leeds have actually won matches and even have local players, that he can relate to, in their team. He has no desire to return to the days of aspiring to be the tenth best team in the Premier League, a league that even a club as big as Leeds can now probably no longer win, where most teams have no prospects other than regular thumpings and a battle for survival.
He says he's enjoyed this season every bit as much as when they made it to the Champions League semi-finals but the best day in his football-watching life came when Leeds clinched promotion at Bournemouth in 1990. The league title followed two years later and, sweet as it was, it was not as good.
We are constantly told that the Premier League is the best in the world and that the Champions League is the pinnacle. It is not true. The best league is the one with your team in it. What football's bandwagon jumpers do not understand is that football is all about pain and suffering. It is the struggle that is addictive, not the success.
Full article here
Back home, we are naughty and finish off bottle of white wine.
Saturday, 24 May 2008
We Would Have Been At City Pulse Had We Known...
Dog show today. The first course we do is very twisty, the sort of course we like, usually, but in my injured state it's really going to test my knee out.
I get through it and we get 15th place which is a good start. We were actually equal 15th place and were due to 'run off' for it but the other person wasn't interested in such a lowly placing, whereas we're grateful for anything we can get these days, so it was ours by default.
Next we have a clear in the pairs competition, our partner, who is my 'new' dog, the one I trained with a few weeks ago, has faults, so we don't get anything.
Then we save the best till last and 7th place on a difficult agility course. A good day. I'm proud of Doggo and I don't often say that.
We are late getting home because my parents, who have come to watch, want to stop for cod and chips. This is horrifying because they're supposed to be watching their cholesterol. Which they claim they are, hmmm, just not very closely.
Championship play-offs today, for some reason moved from their usual place on Bank Holiday Monday. Hull defeat Bristol City. Good luck to them in the Premier League, they're going to need it.
Can either them or Stoke beat Derby's points record? It looks like yet again the bottom of the Premier League is going to be far more exciting than the top. Also well done Phil Brown, their manager, a decent bloke who was unfairly expected to make a good job of managing Derby, at a difficult time and in very difficult circumstances.
I get home, dump Doggo, and head into town with L.
I suppose I ought to give some credit to Nottingham. They do try terribly hard but they always seem to cock things up. The Spring Bank Holiday weekend has been home now for a few years to the Dot-To-Dot music festival. Each year it seems to grow in size, to include more venues, more stages, more bands, and this year more days. For the first time this year, the festival was ran over two days, Saturday and Sunday.
So why this year, did the council try and undermine this roaring success for Nottingham by putting on a free musical festival in the Market Square at the same time?
Now don't get me wrong, a free musical festival like City Pulse is exactly what the council should be putting on but what's wrong with all the other weekends of the year, weekends when there isn't another festival going on in Nottingham. Why should people pay £40 for Dot-To-Dot if elsewhere you've got bands on for free. Ok, so Athlete might not be everyone's cup of tea, we've been there done that and didn't buy the t-shirt. In fact tonight we stayed in the Ropewalk and drank Leffe instead but that's not the point.
Actually we would have been at City Pulse had we known that Ben's Brother had pulled out at the last minute and been replaced by L's favourite, the Delays. She's still seething now. Funnily enough, we both reckoned we could hear the Delays but assumed it was coming from a bar somewhere. So just for L, here's a photo from Saturday,
Photo Klair Wellings - www.klair.net
I get through it and we get 15th place which is a good start. We were actually equal 15th place and were due to 'run off' for it but the other person wasn't interested in such a lowly placing, whereas we're grateful for anything we can get these days, so it was ours by default.
Next we have a clear in the pairs competition, our partner, who is my 'new' dog, the one I trained with a few weeks ago, has faults, so we don't get anything.
Then we save the best till last and 7th place on a difficult agility course. A good day. I'm proud of Doggo and I don't often say that.
We are late getting home because my parents, who have come to watch, want to stop for cod and chips. This is horrifying because they're supposed to be watching their cholesterol. Which they claim they are, hmmm, just not very closely.
Championship play-offs today, for some reason moved from their usual place on Bank Holiday Monday. Hull defeat Bristol City. Good luck to them in the Premier League, they're going to need it.
Can either them or Stoke beat Derby's points record? It looks like yet again the bottom of the Premier League is going to be far more exciting than the top. Also well done Phil Brown, their manager, a decent bloke who was unfairly expected to make a good job of managing Derby, at a difficult time and in very difficult circumstances.
I get home, dump Doggo, and head into town with L.
I suppose I ought to give some credit to Nottingham. They do try terribly hard but they always seem to cock things up. The Spring Bank Holiday weekend has been home now for a few years to the Dot-To-Dot music festival. Each year it seems to grow in size, to include more venues, more stages, more bands, and this year more days. For the first time this year, the festival was ran over two days, Saturday and Sunday.
So why this year, did the council try and undermine this roaring success for Nottingham by putting on a free musical festival in the Market Square at the same time?
Now don't get me wrong, a free musical festival like City Pulse is exactly what the council should be putting on but what's wrong with all the other weekends of the year, weekends when there isn't another festival going on in Nottingham. Why should people pay £40 for Dot-To-Dot if elsewhere you've got bands on for free. Ok, so Athlete might not be everyone's cup of tea, we've been there done that and didn't buy the t-shirt. In fact tonight we stayed in the Ropewalk and drank Leffe instead but that's not the point.
Actually we would have been at City Pulse had we known that Ben's Brother had pulled out at the last minute and been replaced by L's favourite, the Delays. She's still seething now. Funnily enough, we both reckoned we could hear the Delays but assumed it was coming from a bar somewhere. So just for L, here's a photo from Saturday,
Photo Klair Wellings - www.klair.net
Friday, 23 May 2008
No Sympathy
Not good news on the knee front. I have trouble getting out of bed and putting my foot on the floor this morning. My knee does not want to bend, so it appears cycling to work may be out of the question. L tortures me by putting a bag of frozen peas on my knee.
Doggo might have to do the dog show all on his own tomorrow, not that me hobbling around will slow him down, speed isn't his thing anyway.
I take the car to work but I still haven't totally ruled out a gentle run/hobble to the pub tonight but L runs to work which seems to imply that the decision may have been taken out of my hands, as she won't be keen to run again tonight. It also enables her to ramp up her exercise units, knowing that I can't fight back. Crafty.
She does confess that she's still not made it up the evil set of steps that are just before she gets to work, there are 92 of them; she's counted them. I shouldn't mention steps because I'm having trouble with them myself this morning and there's only about 15 of them.
Which is why I'm slow replying to her email. It took me 12 minutes to reply, which isn't bad, and it only took that long because I was downstairs making a coffee and climbing those steps is slow progress. So the email must have gone walkabout in cyberspace because ten minutes later she was chasing me by text. She does worry about me.
I don’t get much sympathy from my work colleagues, not even my fellow 'runners'. Instead they offer to take me for a run. Ha ha, very funny. So getting loads of sympathy.
As our plans in the evening are dependent on how far I can hobble, I go to Sainsbury’s at lunchtime and do laps of the supermarket, to test my knee and therefore see how far I can walk tonight. I'm really looking for veggie pate. Just where do you file veggie pate? Clearly not with the other pates.
Our evening plans are in the end governed by the fact that it's raining. So we end up in the Plough again on the Supreme's. L had threatened not to take Doggo with us; he is a pain with his dislike of the pub dog. She said we could have rubbed an empty pork scratchings packet into his nose on our return, just to teach him a lesson. That would have been priceless but we were soft and took him anyway. Once at the pub, he again tries to take a chunk out of the pub dog.
Doggo might have to do the dog show all on his own tomorrow, not that me hobbling around will slow him down, speed isn't his thing anyway.
I take the car to work but I still haven't totally ruled out a gentle run/hobble to the pub tonight but L runs to work which seems to imply that the decision may have been taken out of my hands, as she won't be keen to run again tonight. It also enables her to ramp up her exercise units, knowing that I can't fight back. Crafty.
She does confess that she's still not made it up the evil set of steps that are just before she gets to work, there are 92 of them; she's counted them. I shouldn't mention steps because I'm having trouble with them myself this morning and there's only about 15 of them.
Which is why I'm slow replying to her email. It took me 12 minutes to reply, which isn't bad, and it only took that long because I was downstairs making a coffee and climbing those steps is slow progress. So the email must have gone walkabout in cyberspace because ten minutes later she was chasing me by text. She does worry about me.
I don’t get much sympathy from my work colleagues, not even my fellow 'runners'. Instead they offer to take me for a run. Ha ha, very funny. So getting loads of sympathy.
As our plans in the evening are dependent on how far I can hobble, I go to Sainsbury’s at lunchtime and do laps of the supermarket, to test my knee and therefore see how far I can walk tonight. I'm really looking for veggie pate. Just where do you file veggie pate? Clearly not with the other pates.
Our evening plans are in the end governed by the fact that it's raining. So we end up in the Plough again on the Supreme's. L had threatened not to take Doggo with us; he is a pain with his dislike of the pub dog. She said we could have rubbed an empty pork scratchings packet into his nose on our return, just to teach him a lesson. That would have been priceless but we were soft and took him anyway. Once at the pub, he again tries to take a chunk out of the pub dog.
Thursday, 22 May 2008
Good For The Cholesterol
More pointless research has revealed how men misinterpret women's body language. The survey says, that yes, some men are prone to mistake a mere friendly smile as a green light for something else and in these circumstances a girl should never encourage them by doing something suggestive, such as asking them the time.
However these chaps are, according to the survey, in the minority and in fact most of us wouldn't be able to spot a blatant come-on if it ran us over while driving a steamroller. The girl would have to be waving a big banner or I suppose her undergarments, for us to notice. I've always said this, it's a foreign world, and we need a phrase book.
So if the women I greet with a 'Good Morning', on my run to work, are ignoring me because they are worried that I might misinterpret their response, they have no cause to be. What the men's problem is, I'm not sure.
For some reason I find my run hard today and I'm two minutes slower than last week. L and the dog obviously took too many edges off me last night.
L's been to the gym by bike, no less. She says the gym is quiet today, presumably because it's not ‘singles’ day today. L reckons they all want to 'get it over with' early in the week. Once-a-weekers, who obviously don’t do it every day like L.
After work I jog off to catch the Red Arrow and then on to squash. I ask my opponent whether he's been replacing the games we've missed with treadmill sessions. No, he confesses, he hasn't, but he has been doing a lot of gardening since we last played. Gardening! Very impressive. Now I'm worried, I don’t do gardening, far too strenuous.
In the match, I start well and win the first but then lose three in a row. I'm 10-6 up in the fifth when I rather ambitiously attempt to reach a ball that is going well past me. I get the ball back but not into court and fall sideways landing heavily on my knee. Ouch. Cue much hobbling around and cries of 'oh dear'. After a short break we continue and with me struggling, he pulls the game level at 10-10 but by then my knee is loosening up and I get back in front. I'm 13-10 up when the next players knock on the door and our game is over. Damn.
In the pub, I go for a pint of Archers. Which I always regret, it's always pale. Never mind.
L is late home from work and when I get back, she's on the park with Doggo, I limp across to join them. Kicking his ball proves difficult. It's not looking promising.
L rustles up some late 'slag' food and then I suggest we take a port to bed. L says to make it a 'good one'. The question is whether she means a small one as in 'good for the alcohol units' or a large one as in 'good for the cholesterol'...
However these chaps are, according to the survey, in the minority and in fact most of us wouldn't be able to spot a blatant come-on if it ran us over while driving a steamroller. The girl would have to be waving a big banner or I suppose her undergarments, for us to notice. I've always said this, it's a foreign world, and we need a phrase book.
So if the women I greet with a 'Good Morning', on my run to work, are ignoring me because they are worried that I might misinterpret their response, they have no cause to be. What the men's problem is, I'm not sure.
For some reason I find my run hard today and I'm two minutes slower than last week. L and the dog obviously took too many edges off me last night.
L's been to the gym by bike, no less. She says the gym is quiet today, presumably because it's not ‘singles’ day today. L reckons they all want to 'get it over with' early in the week. Once-a-weekers, who obviously don’t do it every day like L.
After work I jog off to catch the Red Arrow and then on to squash. I ask my opponent whether he's been replacing the games we've missed with treadmill sessions. No, he confesses, he hasn't, but he has been doing a lot of gardening since we last played. Gardening! Very impressive. Now I'm worried, I don’t do gardening, far too strenuous.
In the match, I start well and win the first but then lose three in a row. I'm 10-6 up in the fifth when I rather ambitiously attempt to reach a ball that is going well past me. I get the ball back but not into court and fall sideways landing heavily on my knee. Ouch. Cue much hobbling around and cries of 'oh dear'. After a short break we continue and with me struggling, he pulls the game level at 10-10 but by then my knee is loosening up and I get back in front. I'm 13-10 up when the next players knock on the door and our game is over. Damn.
In the pub, I go for a pint of Archers. Which I always regret, it's always pale. Never mind.
L is late home from work and when I get back, she's on the park with Doggo, I limp across to join them. Kicking his ball proves difficult. It's not looking promising.
L rustles up some late 'slag' food and then I suggest we take a port to bed. L says to make it a 'good one'. The question is whether she means a small one as in 'good for the alcohol units' or a large one as in 'good for the cholesterol'...
Wednesday, 21 May 2008
Cleat Failure
I cover the bed in £10 notes for L, which she scoops up and takes to her dealer in the Rock City box office.
L runs into work, along her canal route, clearly she's still trying to outdo me. I cycle to work and it goes ok despite the fact that I've been having problems with my cleats all week. I think they're worn. If you don't know what cleats are, then I'm sorry but it would take too long to explain, but needless to say this is a potentially embarrassing problem. The last thing a cyclist wants is cleat failure and to topple over at the traffic lights. I performed some surgery on my cleats last night and they're a little better but I still have to be careful what I do with them.
Unlike the other week in the pool, when we had a chap who was losing his shorts, this week there's a girl who looks like she's about to lose her top. This was having the opposite effect, rather than emptying the lane, it was filling up fast; the phrase 'bees round a honey pot' springs to mind. Odd that women claim they don't like men staring at their chests when most of the time they're doing all they can to show them off. Mind you it made lane 1 very quiet, so I moved over into there. Where there's just me, and a chap in rather dubious shorts... oh no... not again.
I skip tonight’s dog training. We have a double header this weekend and I don’t want to overdo it with Doggo. I manage to summon the energy to take him on the park instead.
Afterwards I feel I ought to watch some of the 'big' game. The media seems terribly bothered by it but I've yet to speak to any real people who are interested. The good thing I suppose is that an English team will win no matter what, which is always good; the bad thing is that it's going to be Manchester United or Chelsea. When I say an English team, I mean a team named after a place in England rather than a team of English players, just thought I'd clear that one up.
I catch the last ten minutes and its 1-1, so it goes into extra time. So I go check some emails and come back ten minutes from the end of extra time. It's still 1-1, so it's penalties. Cristiano Ronaldo misses and practically bursts into tears, which is hilarious. Not that I'm favouring Chelsea because it's equally funny when John Terry slips on the wet turf and his effort hits the post. Wouldn't it be good if they could all miss, that would be priceless TV. Ashley Cole scores (bet Cheryl wasn't surprised to hear that) but then Nicolas Anelka cheered us all up by missing. Funnily enough, not even his own team mates went to console him. What it is to be Mr Popular. Unfortunately that meant it was all over and Manchester United had won. Shame.
L runs into work, along her canal route, clearly she's still trying to outdo me. I cycle to work and it goes ok despite the fact that I've been having problems with my cleats all week. I think they're worn. If you don't know what cleats are, then I'm sorry but it would take too long to explain, but needless to say this is a potentially embarrassing problem. The last thing a cyclist wants is cleat failure and to topple over at the traffic lights. I performed some surgery on my cleats last night and they're a little better but I still have to be careful what I do with them.
Unlike the other week in the pool, when we had a chap who was losing his shorts, this week there's a girl who looks like she's about to lose her top. This was having the opposite effect, rather than emptying the lane, it was filling up fast; the phrase 'bees round a honey pot' springs to mind. Odd that women claim they don't like men staring at their chests when most of the time they're doing all they can to show them off. Mind you it made lane 1 very quiet, so I moved over into there. Where there's just me, and a chap in rather dubious shorts... oh no... not again.
I skip tonight’s dog training. We have a double header this weekend and I don’t want to overdo it with Doggo. I manage to summon the energy to take him on the park instead.
Afterwards I feel I ought to watch some of the 'big' game. The media seems terribly bothered by it but I've yet to speak to any real people who are interested. The good thing I suppose is that an English team will win no matter what, which is always good; the bad thing is that it's going to be Manchester United or Chelsea. When I say an English team, I mean a team named after a place in England rather than a team of English players, just thought I'd clear that one up.
I catch the last ten minutes and its 1-1, so it goes into extra time. So I go check some emails and come back ten minutes from the end of extra time. It's still 1-1, so it's penalties. Cristiano Ronaldo misses and practically bursts into tears, which is hilarious. Not that I'm favouring Chelsea because it's equally funny when John Terry slips on the wet turf and his effort hits the post. Wouldn't it be good if they could all miss, that would be priceless TV. Ashley Cole scores (bet Cheryl wasn't surprised to hear that) but then Nicolas Anelka cheered us all up by missing. Funnily enough, not even his own team mates went to console him. What it is to be Mr Popular. Unfortunately that meant it was all over and Manchester United had won. Shame.
Tuesday, 20 May 2008
Friesian Cows, Whatever Next
It's a bit chilly on the legs on the bike this morning, despite it being quite sunny. Still a nice ride though. L's been down the student pick-up joint, sorry, I mean the gym, keeping ahead of me on the exercise score this week.
Oh my. That Petrol Emotion have reformed and are at the Rescue Rooms in August. That’s going to be amazing. I was there for their final gig at Clapham Grand in 1994.
Talking of gigs, L and Daughter are on girl's night out tonight and going gigging without me. However they'll be in the company of Girls Aloud, so I'm not jealous. L tells me of someone else she knows who's going and has bought sparkly ears and a glow-wand specially. Oh no, that says it all. If there's one thing worse than screaming teenagers it's screaming thirty-something's. Still not jealous.
According to the Arena website, support is by Brock Hogan, who according to a Google search is a wrestler related to Hulk Hogan. Sounds intriguing... certainly not jealous. Something to chuck your knickers at I suppose. Not that I'd be allowed to blog it if either of them did.
I bike home and take Doggo on the park while the girls head off to 'party'. On the park, we meet and have a chat with the chap who was running with the silly young collie. His dog turns out to be not half as 'silly' as ours is. Yep, I've been embarrassed by Doggo again.
News from the gig is that Mr Hogan hasn't put in an appearance and instead they get a lycra clad girl band called 'The Saturdays', which sounds more like it but probably isn't.
I collect them from town later and L shows me the skinny 'Girls Aloud' t-shirt that she has purchased. I'm not sure where she pinched the money from, although it was probably cheaper than buying a drink there. It does look rather fantastic, well it would if it didn't have 'Girls Aloud' across the front of it. Hmmm, I suppose it increases the incentive to get her out of it.
I wasn't there but I can still offer you a photo.
Men dressed as friesian cows, whatever next.
Picture courtesy of Hannah Berry - More here
Oh my. That Petrol Emotion have reformed and are at the Rescue Rooms in August. That’s going to be amazing. I was there for their final gig at Clapham Grand in 1994.
Talking of gigs, L and Daughter are on girl's night out tonight and going gigging without me. However they'll be in the company of Girls Aloud, so I'm not jealous. L tells me of someone else she knows who's going and has bought sparkly ears and a glow-wand specially. Oh no, that says it all. If there's one thing worse than screaming teenagers it's screaming thirty-something's. Still not jealous.
According to the Arena website, support is by Brock Hogan, who according to a Google search is a wrestler related to Hulk Hogan. Sounds intriguing... certainly not jealous. Something to chuck your knickers at I suppose. Not that I'd be allowed to blog it if either of them did.
I bike home and take Doggo on the park while the girls head off to 'party'. On the park, we meet and have a chat with the chap who was running with the silly young collie. His dog turns out to be not half as 'silly' as ours is. Yep, I've been embarrassed by Doggo again.
News from the gig is that Mr Hogan hasn't put in an appearance and instead they get a lycra clad girl band called 'The Saturdays', which sounds more like it but probably isn't.
I collect them from town later and L shows me the skinny 'Girls Aloud' t-shirt that she has purchased. I'm not sure where she pinched the money from, although it was probably cheaper than buying a drink there. It does look rather fantastic, well it would if it didn't have 'Girls Aloud' across the front of it. Hmmm, I suppose it increases the incentive to get her out of it.
I wasn't there but I can still offer you a photo.
Men dressed as friesian cows, whatever next.
Picture courtesy of Hannah Berry - More here
Monday, 19 May 2008
Billy No Mates
Probably the only advantage of going in the car on a Monday is that I get to spend an extra half an hour in bed, which is always very welcome.
Daughter has a week of work experience this week, although quite what kind of experience that will be I'm not sure, as she's going back to her primary school and schools are hardly the real world. Mind you I doubt anyone there will be working as hard as she will be this week, and doing a paper round before work, then two more afterwards.
I head off for a go-faster haircut at lunchtime, although it's more to do with needing to be able to see, I need to know what the opposition looks like. I get straight in, so I still manage to get back for a quickie in Sainsbury’s, to source my lunches for the week.
It must be work experience week everywhere because I had some overzealous young work experience lad packing my bags for me. I think I proved a difficult customer for him; I let him do my packing but gave him precise instructions. Well I did need things for home in one bag and things for work in another bag. L says I'm a hard man. Well you have to be.
I really can't keep L out of Rock City at the moment, now she's gone and talked me into going to see the Guillemots. Although she seems concerned that she might be forcing me. Of course not and my decision has everything to do with their poppy recent single ‘Get Over It’ and nothing to do with the fact that I've seen pictures of the delightful Aristazabal Hawkes, now there's a name to conjure with.
Our Aristazabal is a multi-talented girl, who's equally happy bent over the keyboards or with a double bass between her legs. Look forward to it.
As expected, I'm not invited on the post-work run. Billy no mates.
In the evening L bikes to yoga and swims. As well as doing gym this morning, she's done four things today. All I've done is jog round a course with Doggo at dog class.
Daughter has a week of work experience this week, although quite what kind of experience that will be I'm not sure, as she's going back to her primary school and schools are hardly the real world. Mind you I doubt anyone there will be working as hard as she will be this week, and doing a paper round before work, then two more afterwards.
I head off for a go-faster haircut at lunchtime, although it's more to do with needing to be able to see, I need to know what the opposition looks like. I get straight in, so I still manage to get back for a quickie in Sainsbury’s, to source my lunches for the week.
It must be work experience week everywhere because I had some overzealous young work experience lad packing my bags for me. I think I proved a difficult customer for him; I let him do my packing but gave him precise instructions. Well I did need things for home in one bag and things for work in another bag. L says I'm a hard man. Well you have to be.
I really can't keep L out of Rock City at the moment, now she's gone and talked me into going to see the Guillemots. Although she seems concerned that she might be forcing me. Of course not and my decision has everything to do with their poppy recent single ‘Get Over It’ and nothing to do with the fact that I've seen pictures of the delightful Aristazabal Hawkes, now there's a name to conjure with.
Our Aristazabal is a multi-talented girl, who's equally happy bent over the keyboards or with a double bass between her legs. Look forward to it.
As expected, I'm not invited on the post-work run. Billy no mates.
In the evening L bikes to yoga and swims. As well as doing gym this morning, she's done four things today. All I've done is jog round a course with Doggo at dog class.
Sunday, 18 May 2008
Anima Sana In Corpore Sano (Not)
L's very indulgent with me pre-event; I'm not usually allowed that. I can feel a good race coming on.
We head to the village where I grew up for their local 10k. A race, that if I'd been organising it, I would have called the ‘Aston Annihilator’ but for some reason they haven't. To add to the nostalgia not only are my parents there but my best friend from school is there to compete in the fun run with his kids.
Doggo is really really looking forward to the race and does extra laps around the field as he warms up with me, then looks crestfallen when I dump him back in the boot of the car. It's tough being a dog. I head off to offload some weight. 'Sorry mate it's two sheets each' is the instruction passed on to me as cubicle number one changes hands. There's obviously been a rush on. I'm naughty and risk three, it's only five minutes to the start, and I can't believe there's many to come after me.
There's lots of nice lycra about, which is an incentive to dawdle along in the middle of the pack. The big drawback of suddenly discovering how to run fast is that I'm unlikely to get chance to see any of it if I'm upfront.
Once we start, I find the pace incredibly slow and find myself frighteningly well up, 4th in fact. I have my new Asics super-fast shoes on, perhaps that the reason. Did you know that Asics stands for 'Anima Sana In Corpore Sano', which translates as 'a sound mind in a sound body'. Oh dear. How misleading.
I stay 4th for ages despite the fact that I'm finding the mixture of narrow canal towpaths, root riddled paths through woodland and tracks covered in large stones, not easy to run on. Then I realise that I'm acting as pacemaker for about eight others, just as five of them hurtle past me at the 7km point.
I briefly start going after them. As I chase after some young whippersnapper the words of the Courteeners recent single go through my head 'you're not nineteen forever, pull yourselves together', oh go on, please... but I bow to the inevitable and accept 9th place, which is actually rather good.
I get earache from the commentator as I cross the line, as does L on my behalf, because he wants to sign me up for his running club. He must have been mistaken; it couldn't have been me upfront.
We don't get a t-shirt which, as L reckons in previous years they've been rather naff, is perhaps no bad thing. Instead we get a rather dinky paperweight, which doesn't sounds particularly exciting but it's actually rather nice.
Afterwards at home, we bookend the run, by chilling out in the same way as we started the day before L conjures up an excellent Sunday lunch. Then we head into town because Daughter is off to see Hadouken. We're not joining her but we have a drink with her in Cast before heading up to the Poacher. It's well worth the trip. I, for the first time ever, see Fullers ESB 5.5% on a bar in Nottingham. It's wonderful. All four of them. As is the remains of the lemon curd sponge that I sober up with afterwards.
We head to the village where I grew up for their local 10k. A race, that if I'd been organising it, I would have called the ‘Aston Annihilator’ but for some reason they haven't. To add to the nostalgia not only are my parents there but my best friend from school is there to compete in the fun run with his kids.
Doggo is really really looking forward to the race and does extra laps around the field as he warms up with me, then looks crestfallen when I dump him back in the boot of the car. It's tough being a dog. I head off to offload some weight. 'Sorry mate it's two sheets each' is the instruction passed on to me as cubicle number one changes hands. There's obviously been a rush on. I'm naughty and risk three, it's only five minutes to the start, and I can't believe there's many to come after me.
There's lots of nice lycra about, which is an incentive to dawdle along in the middle of the pack. The big drawback of suddenly discovering how to run fast is that I'm unlikely to get chance to see any of it if I'm upfront.
Once we start, I find the pace incredibly slow and find myself frighteningly well up, 4th in fact. I have my new Asics super-fast shoes on, perhaps that the reason. Did you know that Asics stands for 'Anima Sana In Corpore Sano', which translates as 'a sound mind in a sound body'. Oh dear. How misleading.
I stay 4th for ages despite the fact that I'm finding the mixture of narrow canal towpaths, root riddled paths through woodland and tracks covered in large stones, not easy to run on. Then I realise that I'm acting as pacemaker for about eight others, just as five of them hurtle past me at the 7km point.
I briefly start going after them. As I chase after some young whippersnapper the words of the Courteeners recent single go through my head 'you're not nineteen forever, pull yourselves together', oh go on, please... but I bow to the inevitable and accept 9th place, which is actually rather good.
I get earache from the commentator as I cross the line, as does L on my behalf, because he wants to sign me up for his running club. He must have been mistaken; it couldn't have been me upfront.
We don't get a t-shirt which, as L reckons in previous years they've been rather naff, is perhaps no bad thing. Instead we get a rather dinky paperweight, which doesn't sounds particularly exciting but it's actually rather nice.
Afterwards at home, we bookend the run, by chilling out in the same way as we started the day before L conjures up an excellent Sunday lunch. Then we head into town because Daughter is off to see Hadouken. We're not joining her but we have a drink with her in Cast before heading up to the Poacher. It's well worth the trip. I, for the first time ever, see Fullers ESB 5.5% on a bar in Nottingham. It's wonderful. All four of them. As is the remains of the lemon curd sponge that I sober up with afterwards.
Saturday, 17 May 2008
The Difference A Week Makes
Its funny the difference a week makes. It's only a small independent dog show and standards are lower but all the same, it goes very well. Doggo weaves brilliantly, hits all his contacts and we score results of 4th, 4th, 4th and 10th, with one 'elimination' thrown in for a bit of balance. Mind you a run of 4th's means we don't get among the trophies which go to the top three but it does at least bode well for the more serious stuff next weekend. The 'elimination' came in something called the 'stinger', which was more of a 'stinker' really. They'd wrapped a tunnel around one of the other obstacles (the A-frame) and the idea was to keep your dog out of the tunnel. Not many people managed it and we weren't one of them.
Home later for more pre-run pasta and a childhood favourite of lemon curd sponge, L does spoil me, she doesn't even like it.
Planning to be AF, we hit the cinema again and I stick to coffee but just the one this time.
We see a Lebanese film called 'Caramel'. The film takes place in modern-day Beirut, in a beauty salon called Si Belle. The title refers to the caramelized sugar used to wax the salon’s customers. The story follows five women as they cope with various 'life' dilemmas, generally involving romance. Surprisingly for a film based in Beirut, there are no references to war or politics which is some achievement and a positive one.
The owner of the salon is Layal, played by Nadine Labaki, who also wrote and directed the film. Layal is too caught up in an affair with a married man to notice the attention she is getting from a traffic policeman who flirts with her while slapping parking tickets on her car. Who says romance is dead? The 'caramel' also comes in useful for inflicting pain on her lover's wife, when she ends up in the salon.
Meanwhile, her employees at the salon have their own problems. Nisrine is about to get married, but is worried that her husband-to-be will find out that she's been putting it about rather than saving herself for him. She goes to see if a surgeon can fix the problem for her.
There's Rima who has more of interest in women and takes to fondling the hair of a customer she fancies, as she washes it and talks them into getting it cut short.
There's Rose, an elderly seamstress who hopes to find love with a chap called Charles but is thwarted by the slightly demented Lili, who she looks after. Lili's favourite pastime seems to be collecting parking tickets from other people cars.
Finally there's an odd side-story about Jamal, an aging actress, who just seems to be worried about getting old and tries to cling to her youth. Don't we all.
The movie shows that even modern day Beirut still operates under old Islamic laws, it’s just now that western influence means that short skirts and mobile phones are allowed. Layal finds that you cannot book a hotel room unless you are either married or a prostitute, while a couple can easily get harassed by the police just for sitting talking in their car.
L said the storyline was simple and clear but I still got lost, probably because I'm not a girl. There were too many stories going on at once for me and as it was Lebanese, we had those subtitles things again. I do find it hard to follow subtitles and pictures at the same time.
It's certainly a girl's film; all the men in the film were a bit of an afterthought and as a man, I felt very sorry for the old chap, Charles, who got stood up at the end.
It's been likened it to a Lebanese 'Sex In The City', which is perhaps why it mystified me, they could have made quite a good soap opera out of it but thankfully they didn't. It was better made than that and well acted. An interesting but not particularly thrilling insight into a different culture. I found it all a bit depressing because in the end I'm not sure that anyone actually got what they really wanted.
Home later for more pre-run pasta and a childhood favourite of lemon curd sponge, L does spoil me, she doesn't even like it.
Planning to be AF, we hit the cinema again and I stick to coffee but just the one this time.
We see a Lebanese film called 'Caramel'. The film takes place in modern-day Beirut, in a beauty salon called Si Belle. The title refers to the caramelized sugar used to wax the salon’s customers. The story follows five women as they cope with various 'life' dilemmas, generally involving romance. Surprisingly for a film based in Beirut, there are no references to war or politics which is some achievement and a positive one.
The owner of the salon is Layal, played by Nadine Labaki, who also wrote and directed the film. Layal is too caught up in an affair with a married man to notice the attention she is getting from a traffic policeman who flirts with her while slapping parking tickets on her car. Who says romance is dead? The 'caramel' also comes in useful for inflicting pain on her lover's wife, when she ends up in the salon.
Meanwhile, her employees at the salon have their own problems. Nisrine is about to get married, but is worried that her husband-to-be will find out that she's been putting it about rather than saving herself for him. She goes to see if a surgeon can fix the problem for her.
There's Rima who has more of interest in women and takes to fondling the hair of a customer she fancies, as she washes it and talks them into getting it cut short.
There's Rose, an elderly seamstress who hopes to find love with a chap called Charles but is thwarted by the slightly demented Lili, who she looks after. Lili's favourite pastime seems to be collecting parking tickets from other people cars.
Finally there's an odd side-story about Jamal, an aging actress, who just seems to be worried about getting old and tries to cling to her youth. Don't we all.
The movie shows that even modern day Beirut still operates under old Islamic laws, it’s just now that western influence means that short skirts and mobile phones are allowed. Layal finds that you cannot book a hotel room unless you are either married or a prostitute, while a couple can easily get harassed by the police just for sitting talking in their car.
L said the storyline was simple and clear but I still got lost, probably because I'm not a girl. There were too many stories going on at once for me and as it was Lebanese, we had those subtitles things again. I do find it hard to follow subtitles and pictures at the same time.
It's certainly a girl's film; all the men in the film were a bit of an afterthought and as a man, I felt very sorry for the old chap, Charles, who got stood up at the end.
It's been likened it to a Lebanese 'Sex In The City', which is perhaps why it mystified me, they could have made quite a good soap opera out of it but thankfully they didn't. It was better made than that and well acted. An interesting but not particularly thrilling insight into a different culture. I found it all a bit depressing because in the end I'm not sure that anyone actually got what they really wanted.
Friday, 16 May 2008
Avoiding Decapitation
I must be doing something right, fitness wise, because I'm capable of cycling in this morning and in a reasonable time too. The old legs are stiff after yesterdays world record time but not too bad.
Deathly silence greets me in the office. I fear I may be suddenly unpopular. The chap I ran with looks ok, well better than he did last night but says he has no intention of ever running that fast again. Another colleague just keeps shaking his head in disbelief. He says he'll never ever run with me. Another says she’s not running with any of us if she's going to be tailing in 10 minutes later after we’re all gone home. So I can't see me being invited on another run, any time soon. So, unfortunately, it's probably back to squash next week.
I get an email from 'Derby City Coucil- comitted to being an excellent Council', who's commitment to being an excellent council clearly does not extend to be committed to excellent spelling. They email me to invite me on '5 Miles To Fabulous'. It's a bike ride for women and accompanied children only. Which sounds like another pointless venture to me but if anyone's interested, here's a link.
I cycle home and after consulting the map, have another go at finding the cycle path through Spondon. I think I find it, although it's not signposted, obviously. The route sends me down a couple of footpaths that have some of those decapitation devices that are meant to deter cyclists. You know the ones, that if you don't get off your bike and crawl under them, they take your arm clean off at the shoulder.
More problems with cyclists back in Wollaton. I get stuck behind a couple of oldies (about my age), who are cycling along in the middle of the road, it's a minor road, with earphones on. They hadn't a clue that I was behind them struggling to get past. Doubt they would have noticed if I was a ten tonne lorry either.
After catching up with L and disposing of my lycra, we head off down the local, where Doggo again tries to savage the pub dog and we hit the Supremes. Back home for Jools, where the rather wonderful Glasvegas are among the guests. We have tickets for when they come to Derby next month. L's fallen for another of my recommendations and she even uses their music for her core stability sessions in the gym. Whatever they may be.
Deathly silence greets me in the office. I fear I may be suddenly unpopular. The chap I ran with looks ok, well better than he did last night but says he has no intention of ever running that fast again. Another colleague just keeps shaking his head in disbelief. He says he'll never ever run with me. Another says she’s not running with any of us if she's going to be tailing in 10 minutes later after we’re all gone home. So I can't see me being invited on another run, any time soon. So, unfortunately, it's probably back to squash next week.
I get an email from 'Derby City Coucil- comitted to being an excellent Council', who's commitment to being an excellent council clearly does not extend to be committed to excellent spelling. They email me to invite me on '5 Miles To Fabulous'. It's a bike ride for women and accompanied children only. Which sounds like another pointless venture to me but if anyone's interested, here's a link.
I cycle home and after consulting the map, have another go at finding the cycle path through Spondon. I think I find it, although it's not signposted, obviously. The route sends me down a couple of footpaths that have some of those decapitation devices that are meant to deter cyclists. You know the ones, that if you don't get off your bike and crawl under them, they take your arm clean off at the shoulder.
More problems with cyclists back in Wollaton. I get stuck behind a couple of oldies (about my age), who are cycling along in the middle of the road, it's a minor road, with earphones on. They hadn't a clue that I was behind them struggling to get past. Doubt they would have noticed if I was a ten tonne lorry either.
After catching up with L and disposing of my lycra, we head off down the local, where Doggo again tries to savage the pub dog and we hit the Supremes. Back home for Jools, where the rather wonderful Glasvegas are among the guests. We have tickets for when they come to Derby next month. L's fallen for another of my recommendations and she even uses their music for her core stability sessions in the gym. Whatever they may be.
Thursday, 15 May 2008
Run/Giant Yorkshire/Run
Lying in bed last night, after our early-ish night, L burst out laughing, which is not what a chap usually likes to hear, after a bit of passion but she says she was just thinking of Thursday's blog. Which she reckons will inevitably feature me commenting on a duathlon of Run/Cottage Pie/Run. I think she's writing my script for me.
She's referring to the fact that not only am I running into work this morning but that I also intend to join our company 'training run' tonight, where I've been invited as chief pacemaker. She tells me to try not to intimidate them. I think it’s too late for that. One of them has suspiciously arranged to be in Scotland today.
Today it's pub day as well, so in between these runs it's going to be cottage pie and a pint.
My run in goes well, I didn’t feel particularly fit but I must have been because I broke the 29-minute barrier this morning, that’s 24 seconds quicker than last week. So not exactly saving myself for tonight.
As regards the pub, L tells me to be sensible and have something light. So I do as I'm told and have Giant Yorkshire pudding filled with Irish Stew instead. Ok, so it's not that much lighter but the cottage pie was off. I wash it down with an 'Idle Dog' which is quite funny really; I have one of them at home.
After my misfortune at Caythorpe, I have some sympathy for Britain's David Millar who suffered a snapped chain while in the leading group with less than a kilometre to go in stage five of the Giro d'Italia. He didn't quite have the self-control that I did and he threw his bike into a ditch in frustration. Believe me I was tempted.
Ok so here goes, Run/Giant Yorkshire/Run, part three. Exiting T2 (transition), which is our upstairs toilet, we set off on our run. Another colleague has bottled out, excuses of a gum circuits session, while another one has simply disappeared. So there are just two of us. I go off a little too fast and have to ease up when I hear him spluttering, I don't want to lose him, or kill him. Surprisingly it goes well, at least for me; my lunch isn't about to reappear and my legs feel ok. I blast around the 6km in 24.01, my colleague staggers home thirty seconds behind, a whopping two and a half minutes quicker than his previous best. The bar has been well and truly lifted. He staggers around the car park, gasping what I think is his thanks. Someone rushes out the office with a pint of water for him.
It's a good pace, 4 minute kilometres e.g. sub 40 minute 10k pace, the holy grail. I did think I was taking it easy.
I don't fancy jogging into town but I'm running late to catch the Red Arrow, so needs must. Doesn't work though, I'm a little late and miss it but had it been on time it would have passed me, no sign of it, must have gone early again. I get the R4 instead.
Get home and Daughter is out, having finished her papers in super-quick time, she will be so fit. She's headed off to Pizza Hut, ah perhaps not so fit then.
After I get home we take Doggo across the park and end up at the Rodney. I'm thrilled to see Marston's Merrie Monk on the bar, their classic strong mild which they have briefly brought back. Although at 4.5% I'm sure it isn't as strong as it used to be but I was still really looking forward to it. Unfortunately the bar staff served me something pale, cloudy and with hops floating in it. It tasted like Directors on a bad day, it certainly wasn't a mild and it certainly wasn't Merrie Monk. Naturally the staff swore it was, it might as well have been dog beer.
Ah yes, Pets at Home are selling beef flavoured beer for dogs called Kwispelbier, which translates as 'tail wagging beer'. So man's best friend can now become his best drinking buddy as well.
I can’t see our old fool liking it but who knows, he’s a weird creature. Wonder how many of the owners have had a swig themselves. It's non-alcoholic, so it would make an interesting AF night.
Traumatised by the Merrie Monk debacle, we move along to the Willoughby where they don't have any beer at all, so we head home. Not a good night. So we crack open a large bottle of Leffe to drown our sorrows with and to wait up for Daughter, who naturally has no credit on her mobile, so can't keep us informed. It makes a change us waiting up for her.
To cap it all, Leeds sneak another last minute goal to win in the playoff game. Damn.
She's referring to the fact that not only am I running into work this morning but that I also intend to join our company 'training run' tonight, where I've been invited as chief pacemaker. She tells me to try not to intimidate them. I think it’s too late for that. One of them has suspiciously arranged to be in Scotland today.
Today it's pub day as well, so in between these runs it's going to be cottage pie and a pint.
My run in goes well, I didn’t feel particularly fit but I must have been because I broke the 29-minute barrier this morning, that’s 24 seconds quicker than last week. So not exactly saving myself for tonight.
As regards the pub, L tells me to be sensible and have something light. So I do as I'm told and have Giant Yorkshire pudding filled with Irish Stew instead. Ok, so it's not that much lighter but the cottage pie was off. I wash it down with an 'Idle Dog' which is quite funny really; I have one of them at home.
After my misfortune at Caythorpe, I have some sympathy for Britain's David Millar who suffered a snapped chain while in the leading group with less than a kilometre to go in stage five of the Giro d'Italia. He didn't quite have the self-control that I did and he threw his bike into a ditch in frustration. Believe me I was tempted.
Ok so here goes, Run/Giant Yorkshire/Run, part three. Exiting T2 (transition), which is our upstairs toilet, we set off on our run. Another colleague has bottled out, excuses of a gum circuits session, while another one has simply disappeared. So there are just two of us. I go off a little too fast and have to ease up when I hear him spluttering, I don't want to lose him, or kill him. Surprisingly it goes well, at least for me; my lunch isn't about to reappear and my legs feel ok. I blast around the 6km in 24.01, my colleague staggers home thirty seconds behind, a whopping two and a half minutes quicker than his previous best. The bar has been well and truly lifted. He staggers around the car park, gasping what I think is his thanks. Someone rushes out the office with a pint of water for him.
It's a good pace, 4 minute kilometres e.g. sub 40 minute 10k pace, the holy grail. I did think I was taking it easy.
I don't fancy jogging into town but I'm running late to catch the Red Arrow, so needs must. Doesn't work though, I'm a little late and miss it but had it been on time it would have passed me, no sign of it, must have gone early again. I get the R4 instead.
Get home and Daughter is out, having finished her papers in super-quick time, she will be so fit. She's headed off to Pizza Hut, ah perhaps not so fit then.
After I get home we take Doggo across the park and end up at the Rodney. I'm thrilled to see Marston's Merrie Monk on the bar, their classic strong mild which they have briefly brought back. Although at 4.5% I'm sure it isn't as strong as it used to be but I was still really looking forward to it. Unfortunately the bar staff served me something pale, cloudy and with hops floating in it. It tasted like Directors on a bad day, it certainly wasn't a mild and it certainly wasn't Merrie Monk. Naturally the staff swore it was, it might as well have been dog beer.
Ah yes, Pets at Home are selling beef flavoured beer for dogs called Kwispelbier, which translates as 'tail wagging beer'. So man's best friend can now become his best drinking buddy as well.
I can’t see our old fool liking it but who knows, he’s a weird creature. Wonder how many of the owners have had a swig themselves. It's non-alcoholic, so it would make an interesting AF night.
Traumatised by the Merrie Monk debacle, we move along to the Willoughby where they don't have any beer at all, so we head home. Not a good night. So we crack open a large bottle of Leffe to drown our sorrows with and to wait up for Daughter, who naturally has no credit on her mobile, so can't keep us informed. It makes a change us waiting up for her.
To cap it all, Leeds sneak another last minute goal to win in the playoff game. Damn.
Wednesday, 14 May 2008
Life Is Generally Quicker Without A Dog
It's a bit chillier today but it's still a good bike in. L runs in to work, along the route we trialled at the weekend, presumably it was quicker without a dog in tow. Life is generally quicker when the dog is left at home.
Men, of course, are drawn to women's bottoms but a man in Venice has gone a bit too far and has been arrested for 'admiring' them. Police in St Mark's Square become suspicious when they realised he was only following women with short skirts. Gosh, if that's the only criteria for getting arrested then we're all in trouble. Would he have been ok if he'd followed women with long skirts as well?
Anyhow, it turns out he had a camera concealed in his holdall and Police later recovered more than 3,000 images of women's bottoms from his house, which is more than enough for anybody.
L tells me how her grandparents saved up a small amount of money every week on behalf of their grandchildren. L says she spent hers on contact lens while her brother put a payment down on a motorbike. This conjures up an image of Son atop a gleaming motorcycle, which didn’t seem right but then the image cleared and it was Daughter pulling a wheelie and powering off down the street doing her paper round... it doesn't bear thinking about.
Talking of Daughter, she's done an English exam today, in which she had to describe her home. She said it was scruffy in a nice way with added dog hairs, I think that's a compliment; I don't think she dared describe the state of her own room.
L's back at the evil yoga again this evening. She was contemplating doing a swim first, which I wouldn’t recommend because I’m intending to go myself tonight, so it’s bound to be totally manic.
Actually when I get there, the pool is fairly quiet, well two or three to a lane. The only problem I have is with two girls, one in my lane, one in the next lane, who insist on having a chat across the lane ropes as they swim along. Generally though, it's a decent swim and I get a bit carried away. Usually I get out at around 6.45 when the student psychos arrive but tonight they don't and it's 6.55 before I realise I've overran. The psychos are not even in the changing rooms.
I see L walking up to the leisure centre on my way home, so she obviously took my advice about the pool, wrong though it was, and I stop for a quick snog.
At dog class they compliment Doggo on his weaves and contacts, reckoning he'll do well when the team events come around. Ha, they won't say that when they see him cock it all up this weekend. Not only is life quicker without a dog, it's also a whole lot simpler.
Men, of course, are drawn to women's bottoms but a man in Venice has gone a bit too far and has been arrested for 'admiring' them. Police in St Mark's Square become suspicious when they realised he was only following women with short skirts. Gosh, if that's the only criteria for getting arrested then we're all in trouble. Would he have been ok if he'd followed women with long skirts as well?
Anyhow, it turns out he had a camera concealed in his holdall and Police later recovered more than 3,000 images of women's bottoms from his house, which is more than enough for anybody.
L tells me how her grandparents saved up a small amount of money every week on behalf of their grandchildren. L says she spent hers on contact lens while her brother put a payment down on a motorbike. This conjures up an image of Son atop a gleaming motorcycle, which didn’t seem right but then the image cleared and it was Daughter pulling a wheelie and powering off down the street doing her paper round... it doesn't bear thinking about.
Talking of Daughter, she's done an English exam today, in which she had to describe her home. She said it was scruffy in a nice way with added dog hairs, I think that's a compliment; I don't think she dared describe the state of her own room.
L's back at the evil yoga again this evening. She was contemplating doing a swim first, which I wouldn’t recommend because I’m intending to go myself tonight, so it’s bound to be totally manic.
Actually when I get there, the pool is fairly quiet, well two or three to a lane. The only problem I have is with two girls, one in my lane, one in the next lane, who insist on having a chat across the lane ropes as they swim along. Generally though, it's a decent swim and I get a bit carried away. Usually I get out at around 6.45 when the student psychos arrive but tonight they don't and it's 6.55 before I realise I've overran. The psychos are not even in the changing rooms.
I see L walking up to the leisure centre on my way home, so she obviously took my advice about the pool, wrong though it was, and I stop for a quick snog.
At dog class they compliment Doggo on his weaves and contacts, reckoning he'll do well when the team events come around. Ha, they won't say that when they see him cock it all up this weekend. Not only is life quicker without a dog, it's also a whole lot simpler.
Tuesday, 13 May 2008
Profound Thinking
A correspondent from BBC Radio Derby recently cycled from Derby to Nottingham via the National Cycle Route 6 to see whether it was practical and enjoyable. Cycle Route 6 starts out as a grit track alongside the River Derwent, which is the way I run to work, then uses roads and other tracks as it meanders its way to Nottingham. The journey, of what they described as approximately 25-30km, took them around five hours, including a lunch stop in Breaston. So they weren't exactly tanking it but then again it isn't really a route than is made for fast cycling. Even so, they concluded, it is practical and enjoyable but... I conclude, and my point is that, at five hours it's not really a go-er as a commuter route, unless you want to leave home at 4am to get to work and not arrive home again until 9pm.
Which is why we commuter cyclists are on the road dicing with death, that is until someone comes up with a viable alternative. The 22km takes me under 51 minutes this morning, which is another new best time, knocking a minute off last weeks previous best. I'm at work absolutely ages before anyone else. I've made a few adjustments to my gears which are now working a lot better.
I try out that new 1% milk on my porridge this morning and couldn’t tell the difference but hopefully it's good for me.
Everyone's on their bikes today. L cycles to work and Daughter's done her papers on her bike, which she says was the most exhausting thing she's ever done in her life. It's a very heavy bike but just think how fit she'll be if she keeps it up.
Her exam today was 'Ok-ish', which apparently is not quite as good as yesterday's 'not bad'. Why can’t they just give marks out of ten like we do for films. Son doesn't have an exam today but was spending the day revising. Blimey, we have a new Son.
I take Doggo on the park, where we get to have a laugh at a chap out running with his young collie. The chap doesn't look like a runner because he has pristine white kit and matching legs. I think he's just trying to wear his dog out. The dog however is still at the age where it thinks biting the lead is a pretty cool idea, so chap and dog keep getting caught up in it and having to stop to untangle themselves. Then he sees Doggo and thinks playing with Doggo's ball looks fun too. I can't see them getting much running in but the chap will sleep well tonight.
Further round the park we bump into an old chap, who mutters to us, asking whether we've seen his terrier, who he says he's lost in the long grass. Turns out he's having a laugh and having a dig about the length of the grass which the council likes to cut as infrequently as possible, presumably to save money. He does have a point; it's totally exhausting trying to kick Doggo's ball in such deep undergrowth.
We get back and are greeted to some profound thinking from Daughter as she emerges from the bathroom, launching a diatribe about the Pope and condoms. What has she been mulling over in there.
Which is why we commuter cyclists are on the road dicing with death, that is until someone comes up with a viable alternative. The 22km takes me under 51 minutes this morning, which is another new best time, knocking a minute off last weeks previous best. I'm at work absolutely ages before anyone else. I've made a few adjustments to my gears which are now working a lot better.
I try out that new 1% milk on my porridge this morning and couldn’t tell the difference but hopefully it's good for me.
Everyone's on their bikes today. L cycles to work and Daughter's done her papers on her bike, which she says was the most exhausting thing she's ever done in her life. It's a very heavy bike but just think how fit she'll be if she keeps it up.
Her exam today was 'Ok-ish', which apparently is not quite as good as yesterday's 'not bad'. Why can’t they just give marks out of ten like we do for films. Son doesn't have an exam today but was spending the day revising. Blimey, we have a new Son.
I take Doggo on the park, where we get to have a laugh at a chap out running with his young collie. The chap doesn't look like a runner because he has pristine white kit and matching legs. I think he's just trying to wear his dog out. The dog however is still at the age where it thinks biting the lead is a pretty cool idea, so chap and dog keep getting caught up in it and having to stop to untangle themselves. Then he sees Doggo and thinks playing with Doggo's ball looks fun too. I can't see them getting much running in but the chap will sleep well tonight.
Further round the park we bump into an old chap, who mutters to us, asking whether we've seen his terrier, who he says he's lost in the long grass. Turns out he's having a laugh and having a dig about the length of the grass which the council likes to cut as infrequently as possible, presumably to save money. He does have a point; it's totally exhausting trying to kick Doggo's ball in such deep undergrowth.
We get back and are greeted to some profound thinking from Daughter as she emerges from the bathroom, launching a diatribe about the Pope and condoms. What has she been mulling over in there.
Monday, 12 May 2008
Exams
Exams all round this morning. Son is up early(ish) for his and even gives me an intelligible ‘good morning’, so perhaps he got an early night for once. I drop Daughter off at school on the way to work.
11.30 Son is home and back from his exam. It seems to have gone well. He says he answered every question. Correctly I hope.
11.50 Daughter is back from hers. It 'wasn't bad' which presumably is better than 'was bad' but not as good as 'was good'.
We have a new kettle. £4.50 from Sainsbury’s Basics range. Which is where they sell all the tomatoes that weren't round enough to be classed as real tomatoes. Makes you wonder what's wrong with the kettle, we haven't found out yet.
At dog class we dabble with a hellishly difficult course. Which takes us so long to set up, walk and discuss, that we have barely enough time to do a couple of runs on it.
The A52 closed so I have to take the long way home which means I get plenty of chance to listen to the League One play-off game. The 'underdogs' have won all the play-off games so far, so can Leeds break the sequence tonight? Err no. 2-0 down to Carlisle and heading for another season of games against Cheltenham, Leyton Orient etc etc; the jammy gits snatch a goal back five minutes into injury time. Makes for an interesting second leg on Thursday.
We're too late back to collect L from the 'evil' yoga, where L's had a hard night. She tells me all about it, as I offer my assistance with an impromptu warm down.
11.30 Son is home and back from his exam. It seems to have gone well. He says he answered every question. Correctly I hope.
11.50 Daughter is back from hers. It 'wasn't bad' which presumably is better than 'was bad' but not as good as 'was good'.
We have a new kettle. £4.50 from Sainsbury’s Basics range. Which is where they sell all the tomatoes that weren't round enough to be classed as real tomatoes. Makes you wonder what's wrong with the kettle, we haven't found out yet.
At dog class we dabble with a hellishly difficult course. Which takes us so long to set up, walk and discuss, that we have barely enough time to do a couple of runs on it.
The A52 closed so I have to take the long way home which means I get plenty of chance to listen to the League One play-off game. The 'underdogs' have won all the play-off games so far, so can Leeds break the sequence tonight? Err no. 2-0 down to Carlisle and heading for another season of games against Cheltenham, Leyton Orient etc etc; the jammy gits snatch a goal back five minutes into injury time. Makes for an interesting second leg on Thursday.
We're too late back to collect L from the 'evil' yoga, where L's had a hard night. She tells me all about it, as I offer my assistance with an impromptu warm down.
Sunday, 11 May 2008
Grounddog Day
I stand corrected. I didn't take home a girl in heels last night at all. As L points out, the one I took home had flip-flops on. Must have swapped girls mid evening. It happens I suppose or perhaps L swapped her shoes to walk home.
Groundhog day for Doggo, or should that be Grounddog day, as we run along the canal again to L's work because this is where we abandoned the car last night.
At lunchtime Daughter departs to the 'Give It A Name' festival in Sheffield with a friend and her friend's father. Two teenage girls and 14 bands, only 2 of which I've heard of, over nine hours, he's a brave man.
I go off to finally bury the corpse that is Derby's Premier League season. Cue another thumping, to a poor Reading side, who also bite the relegation bullet. Possibly the worst performance of the season, although there’s been so many, it’s difficult to be sure. Afterwards the club wanted the players to do a lap of ‘appreciation’ to thank the fans for their loyal support but the supporters wouldn’t let them. The fans made it very clear that they don’t want any of those players to take the pitch next season.
The club also scandalously abandoned the player of the season award, I know it's been a bad year but you just can't go around scrapping awards like that.
In the evening we head to Broadway and feast on Jambalaya as its Cajun night, drink mango juice, oh and I have three coffees. Well, we had one each and you get a free refill but L didn't want hers, so... At least there's no chance of me dozing off during the film.
Despite all that liquid I'm not nipping in and out of the cinema, unlike the weak bladdered students are. I bet these are the same folks who can't stand still at gigs.
'Persepolis' is the film version of Marjane Satrapi's autobiographical graphic novels and recounts her life up to the age of 24. It’s filmed in the same style as the novels and is therefore an animation in 2D, mainly black-and-white. None of your big budget CGI here. Satrapi even co-directed. It is made in French and as usual I found the subtitles a little fast at first but I soon got the hang of them.
Marjane is the daughter of a fairly well off couple in Teheran. Persepolis is what the ancient Greeks call Teheran. The film is, if nothing else, a good history lesson. We learn how the Shah first came to power, with the British government's role in manipulating the situation for the sake of oil depicted as a puppet show. Her family are supportive of the revolutionaries fighting against the Shah's regime but unfortunately rather than the hoped for revolution, once the Shah is deposed he is replaced by the fanatical religious regime that is still in power today.
As she grows up she becomes an avid collector of Western culture, particularly of music and collects bootleg heavy metal and punk. Everything changes though when her uncle is executed by the regime and bombs destroy her neighbourhood as the country gets embroiled in the seven-year long Iran-Iraq war.
She is a precocious child and as she gets older, her parents worry about her outspokenness, as she protests against the regime at school and in other public places. So, for her own good, her parents send her away to complete her education.
She spends her teenage years in Vienna, where she befriends a group of misfit students and enjoys the usual tribulations of being a teenager. She doesn't though feel that she fits in and returns home, where the regime is getting ever more repressive, and where all the women must wear the veil.
The 'star' of the film/cartoon is probably her wise old Grandmother, who has seen it all. She coaches Marjane in life; tells her to always have integrity, not to compromise and to never give in. She is the moral voice of the film.
Things don't work out back home either, she gets married, but it is a mistake. Eventually her parents again persuade her to leave. She goes to France, where she has remained ever since.
The story is always interesting and often darkly humorous, while the approach to telling it is original, if a bit quirky. I think the simplistic animation re-emphasises that the story is told from a child's point of view and works well. Although the situation is simplified you still come away feeling educated. It's never sentimental and doesn't preach. You also come away feeling that you've got to know Marjane Satrapi. Highly recommended.
Groundhog day for Doggo, or should that be Grounddog day, as we run along the canal again to L's work because this is where we abandoned the car last night.
At lunchtime Daughter departs to the 'Give It A Name' festival in Sheffield with a friend and her friend's father. Two teenage girls and 14 bands, only 2 of which I've heard of, over nine hours, he's a brave man.
I go off to finally bury the corpse that is Derby's Premier League season. Cue another thumping, to a poor Reading side, who also bite the relegation bullet. Possibly the worst performance of the season, although there’s been so many, it’s difficult to be sure. Afterwards the club wanted the players to do a lap of ‘appreciation’ to thank the fans for their loyal support but the supporters wouldn’t let them. The fans made it very clear that they don’t want any of those players to take the pitch next season.
The club also scandalously abandoned the player of the season award, I know it's been a bad year but you just can't go around scrapping awards like that.
In the evening we head to Broadway and feast on Jambalaya as its Cajun night, drink mango juice, oh and I have three coffees. Well, we had one each and you get a free refill but L didn't want hers, so... At least there's no chance of me dozing off during the film.
Despite all that liquid I'm not nipping in and out of the cinema, unlike the weak bladdered students are. I bet these are the same folks who can't stand still at gigs.
'Persepolis' is the film version of Marjane Satrapi's autobiographical graphic novels and recounts her life up to the age of 24. It’s filmed in the same style as the novels and is therefore an animation in 2D, mainly black-and-white. None of your big budget CGI here. Satrapi even co-directed. It is made in French and as usual I found the subtitles a little fast at first but I soon got the hang of them.
Marjane is the daughter of a fairly well off couple in Teheran. Persepolis is what the ancient Greeks call Teheran. The film is, if nothing else, a good history lesson. We learn how the Shah first came to power, with the British government's role in manipulating the situation for the sake of oil depicted as a puppet show. Her family are supportive of the revolutionaries fighting against the Shah's regime but unfortunately rather than the hoped for revolution, once the Shah is deposed he is replaced by the fanatical religious regime that is still in power today.
As she grows up she becomes an avid collector of Western culture, particularly of music and collects bootleg heavy metal and punk. Everything changes though when her uncle is executed by the regime and bombs destroy her neighbourhood as the country gets embroiled in the seven-year long Iran-Iraq war.
She is a precocious child and as she gets older, her parents worry about her outspokenness, as she protests against the regime at school and in other public places. So, for her own good, her parents send her away to complete her education.
She spends her teenage years in Vienna, where she befriends a group of misfit students and enjoys the usual tribulations of being a teenager. She doesn't though feel that she fits in and returns home, where the regime is getting ever more repressive, and where all the women must wear the veil.
The 'star' of the film/cartoon is probably her wise old Grandmother, who has seen it all. She coaches Marjane in life; tells her to always have integrity, not to compromise and to never give in. She is the moral voice of the film.
Things don't work out back home either, she gets married, but it is a mistake. Eventually her parents again persuade her to leave. She goes to France, where she has remained ever since.
The story is always interesting and often darkly humorous, while the approach to telling it is original, if a bit quirky. I think the simplistic animation re-emphasises that the story is told from a child's point of view and works well. Although the situation is simplified you still come away feeling educated. It's never sentimental and doesn't preach. You also come away feeling that you've got to know Marjane Satrapi. Highly recommended.
Saturday, 10 May 2008
Passion And Energy
We’re up pretty early for a Saturday for saying we haven't got anything 'silly' planned; we're out the house before Daughter has finished delivering her papers although on a Saturday her three rounds do take several hours. This is despite L getting her own back after I might have inadvertently taken advantage of her slightly drunken state last night. Not that we're competitive.
We go for a run down along the canal to L’s work. We are trialling the route, as L is thinking of making this her morning run. It goes well but it's hot and it completely destroys Doggo. Not that this is difficult.
I have a lazy afternoon, reading papers, blogging and cooking up something nice while Daughter takes L to the cinema as another part of her ongoing birthday. Apparently seeing James McAvoy counts as a treat, each to their own.
In the evening its 'delicious' Delays time again. We drive up to Sheffield, which takes only around 45 minutes in all. The Delays are playing at the Leadmill, which is one of my favourite venues. You can usually park more or less outside and so it proves tonight. It's a good job because L's in heels and a skirt.
We just catch the dying seconds of the first band but catch all of main support, Rotherham band The Tivoli, who have brought their own fervent following with them. The band have been together for quite a few years, despite a few line-up changes, and finally have a debut album due to be released. They are competent musicians and good though they are in parts, I feel they're trying too hard to be U2 or something like. They prove that they are well capable of a Dylan-esque rock out but everything seems to go on a bit too long. There are no three-minute gems here, only six-minute epics. If they can teach their songs to know when to finish, then they might be onto something.
Even after the Tivoli faithful have moved on, there's still a pretty large crowd for the main event, although the Leadmill is still far from full. There's a real mix of ages, some people who don't even look 14, some who look much older than me. Size wise the Leadmill is a step up from the Social, where we saw them in March. It's good to see bands in small intimate venues but the Social is possibly too small, they'll at least have room to move around on stage here. We're fairly near the front and L is worried about crowd surfers but I think she'll be safe tonight. In any case we've left Daughter at home.
Again The Delays road crew takes ages setting up, fiddling with equipment and it's a different chap this time, so it must be in their job description. The PA is again playing 'Raspberry Beret', so that again appears to be the signal for the band to get ready.
Southampton's finest take the stage and play 'Girls On Fire' which is also the opener to their new album 'Everything's The Rush'. Second up is their often forgotten single 'Lost In A Melody' from 2004. A track they released between their first two albums and which didn't appear on either.
The band are soon into their stride in front of an appreciative crowd and treat us to what they describe as 'festival practice' by playing 'Hideaway' and getting everyone singing, clapping and arm waving. It's good to see such an enthusiastic crowd. Recent single 'Hooray' follows and despite the fact that it's a hot sweaty night, the crowd bounce along in time. Gravity defying in the case of some of the girls present.
Naturally there's a lot from the new album tonight which seems to boast 'bigger' and happier tunes than the previous 'You See Colours'. Of the stuff we heard in March, 'Touchdown', a song they say they originally wrote as a jingle for foreign radio or something, sounds more joyful this time and 'Pieces' too improves on second listen. Other new tracks such as 'Your Friends Are False' also come over well, although it's hard to spot any 'big' singles among them.
Among the old stuff, it was good to hear 'Wanderlust' played and when they followed it with 'Nearer Than Heaven' the Leadmill was really rocking. L even accuses me of joining in, catching me at a weak moment.
Again they close with 'Valentine', and the place is well ... bouncing.
After the roadie chap reappears for a bit more fiddling, they return to play the same encore as before 'Panic Attacks' followed by 'You And Me'.
Another good gig. Greg, Aaron and the rest of the band seemed really up for it, on good form and revelling in the extra space of the Leadmill. It was a performance with plenty of passion and energy. Possibly the best way to describe a night with the Delays is 'a happy night' but talking of passion and energy, I get to go home with a girl in heels and a skirt.
Well actually, first we head back to Nottingham, we'd saved up our alcohol units and manage to get to the Ropewalk not long after 11pm. They're open until 1am, so now we can get a few drinks at a relaxing rate which we wouldn't have been able to do before the supposedly unpopular '24 hour' opening was introduced.
We go for a run down along the canal to L’s work. We are trialling the route, as L is thinking of making this her morning run. It goes well but it's hot and it completely destroys Doggo. Not that this is difficult.
I have a lazy afternoon, reading papers, blogging and cooking up something nice while Daughter takes L to the cinema as another part of her ongoing birthday. Apparently seeing James McAvoy counts as a treat, each to their own.
In the evening its 'delicious' Delays time again. We drive up to Sheffield, which takes only around 45 minutes in all. The Delays are playing at the Leadmill, which is one of my favourite venues. You can usually park more or less outside and so it proves tonight. It's a good job because L's in heels and a skirt.
We just catch the dying seconds of the first band but catch all of main support, Rotherham band The Tivoli, who have brought their own fervent following with them. The band have been together for quite a few years, despite a few line-up changes, and finally have a debut album due to be released. They are competent musicians and good though they are in parts, I feel they're trying too hard to be U2 or something like. They prove that they are well capable of a Dylan-esque rock out but everything seems to go on a bit too long. There are no three-minute gems here, only six-minute epics. If they can teach their songs to know when to finish, then they might be onto something.
Even after the Tivoli faithful have moved on, there's still a pretty large crowd for the main event, although the Leadmill is still far from full. There's a real mix of ages, some people who don't even look 14, some who look much older than me. Size wise the Leadmill is a step up from the Social, where we saw them in March. It's good to see bands in small intimate venues but the Social is possibly too small, they'll at least have room to move around on stage here. We're fairly near the front and L is worried about crowd surfers but I think she'll be safe tonight. In any case we've left Daughter at home.
Again The Delays road crew takes ages setting up, fiddling with equipment and it's a different chap this time, so it must be in their job description. The PA is again playing 'Raspberry Beret', so that again appears to be the signal for the band to get ready.
Southampton's finest take the stage and play 'Girls On Fire' which is also the opener to their new album 'Everything's The Rush'. Second up is their often forgotten single 'Lost In A Melody' from 2004. A track they released between their first two albums and which didn't appear on either.
The band are soon into their stride in front of an appreciative crowd and treat us to what they describe as 'festival practice' by playing 'Hideaway' and getting everyone singing, clapping and arm waving. It's good to see such an enthusiastic crowd. Recent single 'Hooray' follows and despite the fact that it's a hot sweaty night, the crowd bounce along in time. Gravity defying in the case of some of the girls present.
Naturally there's a lot from the new album tonight which seems to boast 'bigger' and happier tunes than the previous 'You See Colours'. Of the stuff we heard in March, 'Touchdown', a song they say they originally wrote as a jingle for foreign radio or something, sounds more joyful this time and 'Pieces' too improves on second listen. Other new tracks such as 'Your Friends Are False' also come over well, although it's hard to spot any 'big' singles among them.
Among the old stuff, it was good to hear 'Wanderlust' played and when they followed it with 'Nearer Than Heaven' the Leadmill was really rocking. L even accuses me of joining in, catching me at a weak moment.
Again they close with 'Valentine', and the place is well ... bouncing.
After the roadie chap reappears for a bit more fiddling, they return to play the same encore as before 'Panic Attacks' followed by 'You And Me'.
Another good gig. Greg, Aaron and the rest of the band seemed really up for it, on good form and revelling in the extra space of the Leadmill. It was a performance with plenty of passion and energy. Possibly the best way to describe a night with the Delays is 'a happy night' but talking of passion and energy, I get to go home with a girl in heels and a skirt.
Well actually, first we head back to Nottingham, we'd saved up our alcohol units and manage to get to the Ropewalk not long after 11pm. They're open until 1am, so now we can get a few drinks at a relaxing rate which we wouldn't have been able to do before the supposedly unpopular '24 hour' opening was introduced.
Friday, 9 May 2008
Mr Fix-It
I'm still putting a brave face on this running lark as I 'mango' over to Borrowash and run into work. It's a good run, sunny and pleasant apart from being ignored by my fellow athletes. I try out my new gold-plated trainers for the first time, £81 you know; thankfully no one tries to mug me for them. They turn out to be a mixed blessing. They're a bit weird, with hardly any padding under the toes, I feel like I'm leaning forwards all the time and on the verge of tipping over. Perhaps this is what wearing high-heels feels like. I think they'll take some getting used to. Time was good though, so perhaps they work.
I get a phone call from Derby Highways Department. A few months ago, fuelled by the success of getting my own white lines painted around the Asda roundabout, I raised another query with them to see if they could get the lines repainted on the 'advance cycle zone' at the traffic lights in Spondon. They ring to tell me that they'll be done next week. Just call me Mr Fix-It
Doggo drags L to the park to meet me off the bus. As the same time that L is being rapidly propelled towards the park. I'm being rapidly propelled along the A52 by another psycho driver.
In the evening we bus up to Ilkeston and join some impressive beer bellies at the Ilkeston Beer Festival. We have six halves each. There are lots of 5% porters and stouts but nothing very revolutionary. L has the best two beers, both paler ones. Our trusty Supreme and one from Hoskins.
We get home and the Fratellis are on Jools, so we decide the best option is to retire to bed.
I get a phone call from Derby Highways Department. A few months ago, fuelled by the success of getting my own white lines painted around the Asda roundabout, I raised another query with them to see if they could get the lines repainted on the 'advance cycle zone' at the traffic lights in Spondon. They ring to tell me that they'll be done next week. Just call me Mr Fix-It
Doggo drags L to the park to meet me off the bus. As the same time that L is being rapidly propelled towards the park. I'm being rapidly propelled along the A52 by another psycho driver.
In the evening we bus up to Ilkeston and join some impressive beer bellies at the Ilkeston Beer Festival. We have six halves each. There are lots of 5% porters and stouts but nothing very revolutionary. L has the best two beers, both paler ones. Our trusty Supreme and one from Hoskins.
We get home and the Fratellis are on Jools, so we decide the best option is to retire to bed.
Thursday, 8 May 2008
Me, Daughter and The Marsupials
It's L's birthday today, so I treat her to a 6am run around the pond. It's what any girl would want for her birthday. Although before we go, she does suggest that she ought to drape herself over me and try to talk me out of it but I am merciless.
It's a bit of a come down going by car to work but I feel I ought to get back as early as possible to give Doggo a good time before his dumping tonight. It's even more of a come down when I arrive at work. A work colleague has cycled the 10 miles into work on his MTB and then done a 5km run around Pride Park. Sounds like he’s duathlon training to me, I best watch my back. I'm feeling well outdone. Then there's L who's slotted in a triathlon of run-bike-gym this morning. She opted not to go to the pool for another round of applause.
I drive home and L is out with Daughter on her monumental paper round, so I take Doggo on the park.
Later, we all, yes all the family, all four of us but not Doggo head to Cast to celebrate L's birthday. L told Son a few weeks ago that he was taking her out to the cinema on her birthday, at the time he begrudgingly agreed, I recall that there was a lot of tutting involved but now he seems quite jovial about it all. I have a 'pass out' to go to the Wombats with Daughter.
It's a warm evening and pleasant enough to sit outside. We avail ourselves of the 'smalls', that's snacks by the way, and in my case a pint of Bass, which isn't terribly exciting.
It doesn't look as if L is going to win our bet. She reckons she can talk Son into helping out at the College's Open Day, for which he'd have to wear one of their bright red 'helpers' t-shirt. I tell her she has no chance and have offered her a free meal out at a posh restaurant of her choosing if she could persuade him. From Son's reaction tonight, I reckon my money's safe but I'd love to be proved wrong.
At 8:15 we go our separate ways. Daughter and I arrive nice and early at Rock City to catch the support band but find the stage already having lots of Wombats signs draped around it and furry creatures arranged on top of the amps. Not all of which look like Wombats, in fact one looks like the Loch Ness Monster. Anyhow, disappointingly it appears we've missed seeing Nottingham's own synth-pop duo 'I was a cub scout' (or is that 'Iwasacubscout', I'm never sure).
The earliest I can recall a main band hitting the stage at Rock City is 9pm; tonight at round 8.50pm the background music is suddenly turned up. One minute we're grooving gently to MGMT the next its 'Karma Chameleon' for which the assembled masses go mental. This appears to be the final warm-up act.
The barbershop style acapella of 'Tales Of Girls, Boys And Marsupials' heralds the arrival of the band and leads us into (the needlessly re-released) 'Kill the Director'. It sounds good, fast, and vibrant as the band hurl themselves into it and the crowd respond with equal amounts of hurling. It’s the first of many songs about 'a gender I'll never understand', so says singer and lyricist Matthew Murphy. Their album 'A Guide to Love, Loss and Desperation' is basically Murphy's singing blog, the 'rough guide' to being dumped by women. Sweet Louise is up next, on the school bus ('School Uniforms'), whatever happened to her.
The Wombats are a three-piece from Liverpool. As well as Matthew Murphy, there's drummer Dan Haggis and bass player Tord Øverland-Knudsen, a Norwegian who, a bit like fellow Scandinavian and honorary Scouser Jan Molby, made his home in the city. Both are very adept with the 'Wooo-oooh-oooh' backing vocals but they all appear to be in a hurry to get somewhere and the Wombats blow through Rock City like a hurricane.
At first Murphy's voice doesn't sound that strong, perhaps he's losing it after so much touring or perhaps he's just being drowned out by the fervent crowd, who bellow every word back at him. Thankfully they seem to turn his voice up louder as the gig goes on, hence we get a storming rendition of debut single 'Lost In The Post' where his girl has 'gone where all the letters we write to Santa go'. The poor chap has had even less luck in love than me.
His women and his humiliations come and go, thick and fast. Laura (lost in the forest), Suzanne the GP (she gives you pills and all sorts) and Patricia the stripper, 'this ones about falling in love with a whore.' 'Tricia' goes down exceptionally well tonight, it I can say that, as does a totally rampant 'Moving To New York', with Tord hammering out it's bass line.
I had feared that tonight's crowd would be another bunch of screaming teenage girls, like the Hoosiers, like Scouting For Girls, but thankfully it's not. It's actually a good mix of people who have come to pay homage and go mad in the mosh pit. Murphy asks the crowd if they've got enough water, well they did, but they all keep throwing it up in the air. Please don't give them any more.
I see several people trying to crowd surf right from the back of the floor to the stage. I've not seen that attempted for many a year. Ouch! I've also never seen anyone manage it, they usually end like that poor chap did, falling on his head.
As they launch into 'Little Miss Pipedream', 'she gets hammered and goes home with other guys' and finish off with Murphy's tale of dancing drunkenly on a table with his girlfriend to 'Love Will Tear Us Apart' aka 'Lets Dance To Joy Division'. It's good but it's all a bit predictable, there are no surprises. So far we've had 11 of the 13 tracks off the album and just one other track, a new song, 'How To Pack Your Bags And Leave', and nothing else.
They return for the encore and as expected play the two missing numbers. Disappointingly there's no Norwegian rendition of ‘Postman Pat’, none of their cranky cover versions (Leona Lewis, Take That, Bryan Adams etc) and nothing from the multitude of clever b-sides that they've produced. Not even the excellent 'Derail and Crash', a particular favourite of mine and there's no giant inflatable wombat either. Douglas where are you? One small mercy I suppose.
An absolutely stonking 'My First Wedding', Murphy's tale of knocking off the bride, not that he's bitter about it, 'She'll steal your mind first and then your car'. Well I suppose it is Liverpool.
Then finally there's 'Backfire At The Disco', or how not to behave on a first date. Ah I remember it all so well. The song prompts a near-riot, the dance floor becoming one seething mass.
So maybe it's all a bit childish and as you'd expect the band don't take themselves too seriously but Murphy's autobiographical observations on life are genius, all held together by a sharp, catchy sound. The Wombats bring a refreshing touch of humour into a music scene that can sometimes take itself a little too seriously. For sure it's another case of it's going to be a difficult second album and to make matters worse Murphy has apparently now got a steady girlfriend. You're going to have to get her to dump you mate or else what are you going to write about next.
As you may have gathered, L's not a fan, which is why she's isn't here tonight but then she probably can't relate to the songs like I can. She's never been smacked in the face by a girl at a disco, well as far as I know.
It's just a shame it's was all over in around an hour and we're back at Cast, long before L and Son. Another half-an-hour on stage and half-a-dozen more songs and it would have been right up there as one of the gigs of the year. Instead I have to amuse myself with another Bass, which still isn't very exciting. I've resisted buying a 'Wombats' t-shirt, despite the fact that there was a really cool one with a Wombat wearing shades on it, I was sorely tempted but L said she's disown me if I bought one. Oh well.
Did it backfire at Rock City, certainly not.
It's a bit of a come down going by car to work but I feel I ought to get back as early as possible to give Doggo a good time before his dumping tonight. It's even more of a come down when I arrive at work. A work colleague has cycled the 10 miles into work on his MTB and then done a 5km run around Pride Park. Sounds like he’s duathlon training to me, I best watch my back. I'm feeling well outdone. Then there's L who's slotted in a triathlon of run-bike-gym this morning. She opted not to go to the pool for another round of applause.
I drive home and L is out with Daughter on her monumental paper round, so I take Doggo on the park.
Later, we all, yes all the family, all four of us but not Doggo head to Cast to celebrate L's birthday. L told Son a few weeks ago that he was taking her out to the cinema on her birthday, at the time he begrudgingly agreed, I recall that there was a lot of tutting involved but now he seems quite jovial about it all. I have a 'pass out' to go to the Wombats with Daughter.
It's a warm evening and pleasant enough to sit outside. We avail ourselves of the 'smalls', that's snacks by the way, and in my case a pint of Bass, which isn't terribly exciting.
It doesn't look as if L is going to win our bet. She reckons she can talk Son into helping out at the College's Open Day, for which he'd have to wear one of their bright red 'helpers' t-shirt. I tell her she has no chance and have offered her a free meal out at a posh restaurant of her choosing if she could persuade him. From Son's reaction tonight, I reckon my money's safe but I'd love to be proved wrong.
At 8:15 we go our separate ways. Daughter and I arrive nice and early at Rock City to catch the support band but find the stage already having lots of Wombats signs draped around it and furry creatures arranged on top of the amps. Not all of which look like Wombats, in fact one looks like the Loch Ness Monster. Anyhow, disappointingly it appears we've missed seeing Nottingham's own synth-pop duo 'I was a cub scout' (or is that 'Iwasacubscout', I'm never sure).
The earliest I can recall a main band hitting the stage at Rock City is 9pm; tonight at round 8.50pm the background music is suddenly turned up. One minute we're grooving gently to MGMT the next its 'Karma Chameleon' for which the assembled masses go mental. This appears to be the final warm-up act.
The barbershop style acapella of 'Tales Of Girls, Boys And Marsupials' heralds the arrival of the band and leads us into (the needlessly re-released) 'Kill the Director'. It sounds good, fast, and vibrant as the band hurl themselves into it and the crowd respond with equal amounts of hurling. It’s the first of many songs about 'a gender I'll never understand', so says singer and lyricist Matthew Murphy. Their album 'A Guide to Love, Loss and Desperation' is basically Murphy's singing blog, the 'rough guide' to being dumped by women. Sweet Louise is up next, on the school bus ('School Uniforms'), whatever happened to her.
The Wombats are a three-piece from Liverpool. As well as Matthew Murphy, there's drummer Dan Haggis and bass player Tord Øverland-Knudsen, a Norwegian who, a bit like fellow Scandinavian and honorary Scouser Jan Molby, made his home in the city. Both are very adept with the 'Wooo-oooh-oooh' backing vocals but they all appear to be in a hurry to get somewhere and the Wombats blow through Rock City like a hurricane.
At first Murphy's voice doesn't sound that strong, perhaps he's losing it after so much touring or perhaps he's just being drowned out by the fervent crowd, who bellow every word back at him. Thankfully they seem to turn his voice up louder as the gig goes on, hence we get a storming rendition of debut single 'Lost In The Post' where his girl has 'gone where all the letters we write to Santa go'. The poor chap has had even less luck in love than me.
His women and his humiliations come and go, thick and fast. Laura (lost in the forest), Suzanne the GP (she gives you pills and all sorts) and Patricia the stripper, 'this ones about falling in love with a whore.' 'Tricia' goes down exceptionally well tonight, it I can say that, as does a totally rampant 'Moving To New York', with Tord hammering out it's bass line.
I had feared that tonight's crowd would be another bunch of screaming teenage girls, like the Hoosiers, like Scouting For Girls, but thankfully it's not. It's actually a good mix of people who have come to pay homage and go mad in the mosh pit. Murphy asks the crowd if they've got enough water, well they did, but they all keep throwing it up in the air. Please don't give them any more.
I see several people trying to crowd surf right from the back of the floor to the stage. I've not seen that attempted for many a year. Ouch! I've also never seen anyone manage it, they usually end like that poor chap did, falling on his head.
As they launch into 'Little Miss Pipedream', 'she gets hammered and goes home with other guys' and finish off with Murphy's tale of dancing drunkenly on a table with his girlfriend to 'Love Will Tear Us Apart' aka 'Lets Dance To Joy Division'. It's good but it's all a bit predictable, there are no surprises. So far we've had 11 of the 13 tracks off the album and just one other track, a new song, 'How To Pack Your Bags And Leave', and nothing else.
They return for the encore and as expected play the two missing numbers. Disappointingly there's no Norwegian rendition of ‘Postman Pat’, none of their cranky cover versions (Leona Lewis, Take That, Bryan Adams etc) and nothing from the multitude of clever b-sides that they've produced. Not even the excellent 'Derail and Crash', a particular favourite of mine and there's no giant inflatable wombat either. Douglas where are you? One small mercy I suppose.
An absolutely stonking 'My First Wedding', Murphy's tale of knocking off the bride, not that he's bitter about it, 'She'll steal your mind first and then your car'. Well I suppose it is Liverpool.
Then finally there's 'Backfire At The Disco', or how not to behave on a first date. Ah I remember it all so well. The song prompts a near-riot, the dance floor becoming one seething mass.
So maybe it's all a bit childish and as you'd expect the band don't take themselves too seriously but Murphy's autobiographical observations on life are genius, all held together by a sharp, catchy sound. The Wombats bring a refreshing touch of humour into a music scene that can sometimes take itself a little too seriously. For sure it's another case of it's going to be a difficult second album and to make matters worse Murphy has apparently now got a steady girlfriend. You're going to have to get her to dump you mate or else what are you going to write about next.
As you may have gathered, L's not a fan, which is why she's isn't here tonight but then she probably can't relate to the songs like I can. She's never been smacked in the face by a girl at a disco, well as far as I know.
It's just a shame it's was all over in around an hour and we're back at Cast, long before L and Son. Another half-an-hour on stage and half-a-dozen more songs and it would have been right up there as one of the gigs of the year. Instead I have to amuse myself with another Bass, which still isn't very exciting. I've resisted buying a 'Wombats' t-shirt, despite the fact that there was a really cool one with a Wombat wearing shades on it, I was sorely tempted but L said she's disown me if I bought one. Oh well.
Did it backfire at Rock City, certainly not.
Wednesday, 7 May 2008
Moving To The Dark Side...
Buoyed by yesterday's ride, I take the Ilkeston route again.
L is at the pool where it's been so long since she put in an appearance that the lifeguards give her a round of applause, so she tells me. Really? How cool. Humour within a city council establishment, whatever next.
In another slow news day, the headline a 'Third of staff hungover at their desks' catches my attention. Blimey. Naturally I jumped to the obvious conclusion that this was a daily problem and that a third of staff were turning up with a hangover every day, which would genuinely be quite shocking but no. It's actually a third of employees have admitted to going to work with a hangover a least once in their lives. Big deal. There's clearly a lot of lying going on. Do they mean to say that there are people out there who have never been to work with a hangover? Not even after the Xmas party? Hmmm... I don't think so.
Speak now... or forever hold your peace, my agent tells me, as she's poised to post off a couple of 10k entry forms on my behalf. I’m in denial. Whatever will be, will be.
I do however have to recompense her for the entry fees. I offer her cash, which she seems disappointed with, saying I must be getting old, she was convinced I would offer to pay by 'other means'. Double or quits later perhaps.
I cycle to the pool. It’s mad. Five people in lane two, four in lane one but all evil looking. So I slip into lane two but it's too uncomfortably packed to swim in there. Everyone in lane one seems to have stopped for a chat and one of the guys in there, seeing my frustration, urges me to move across, so I dive under the ropes. It's a bit like moving to the dark side...
L is at the pool where it's been so long since she put in an appearance that the lifeguards give her a round of applause, so she tells me. Really? How cool. Humour within a city council establishment, whatever next.
In another slow news day, the headline a 'Third of staff hungover at their desks' catches my attention. Blimey. Naturally I jumped to the obvious conclusion that this was a daily problem and that a third of staff were turning up with a hangover every day, which would genuinely be quite shocking but no. It's actually a third of employees have admitted to going to work with a hangover a least once in their lives. Big deal. There's clearly a lot of lying going on. Do they mean to say that there are people out there who have never been to work with a hangover? Not even after the Xmas party? Hmmm... I don't think so.
Speak now... or forever hold your peace, my agent tells me, as she's poised to post off a couple of 10k entry forms on my behalf. I’m in denial. Whatever will be, will be.
I do however have to recompense her for the entry fees. I offer her cash, which she seems disappointed with, saying I must be getting old, she was convinced I would offer to pay by 'other means'. Double or quits later perhaps.
I cycle to the pool. It’s mad. Five people in lane two, four in lane one but all evil looking. So I slip into lane two but it's too uncomfortably packed to swim in there. Everyone in lane one seems to have stopped for a chat and one of the guys in there, seeing my frustration, urges me to move across, so I dive under the ropes. It's a bit like moving to the dark side...
Tuesday, 6 May 2008
Good News About 'The Hill'
Like a lot of people at this time of the year I'm getting my summer clothes out of the wardrobe. In my case: - Summer socks, lightweight gloves, lycra cycling shorts, my new yellow 'Clumber' t-shirt, which is un-wearable at other times. Yep I'm on the bike today. Inspired by the sun I head up Ilkeston way and tackle the hills, for the first time since I was training for Hathersage last July. It's an excellent ride and no punctures. I knock two minutes off my best, so I must have been feeling fit.
There's some good news today about 'the hill'. Apparently the young are struggling to make it up the green side and the oldies are now clambering back over from the rocky side. Yep it's survey time. Apparently twice as many over 55's eat their 'five portions a day' and get sweaty doing the correct amount of exercise than the under 34's do. Consequently the young suffer twice as many colds, headaches and other ailments than do their elders. So it looks like the phrase 'over the hill’ may be redundant because the old folks are all going to be powering their way back over it, knocking off a couple of triathlons on the way. What the survey fails to mention is what the all important 34-55 age group are up to!
After cycling home, I elect not to take Doggo on the park, as it's hot and he's panting before we even leave. I destroy him in the garden instead.
Then my mate comes round and takes me out for a posh meal at Pizza Hut. I'm not kidding. Our local Pizza Hut has had a refit and gone all posh, well kind of. Regrettably the menu hasn't changed much, they still don't sell any beer and the food certainly hasn't improved. They do have a new selection of speciality pizzas for £13.49, such as a Mediterranean Meats Deluxe, which we quite fancy. It consists of Pepperoni, something called Spanish-inspired (note not actually Spanish) chorizo, smoked bacon and ham slices. Ok, so it isn't terribly Mediterranean.
The thing is we managed to recreate this delicacy under their five toppings for £12.99 option. So not only did we save 50p, every penny counts you know, we also got to add green peppers for free. So I think they've made a bit of a slip up with their menu.
Afterwards Salem Porter is on in Langtry's. Very nice, thank you very much. Entertainment is provided by a chap who arrives with two girls in tow and then astounds us by rifling through both their handbags while they're in the toilets. Its ok he tells us, when he see us looking, one of them is his girlfriend. In fact when they return, and he is still doing so, neither girl looks bothered. Open relationships eh!
There's some good news today about 'the hill'. Apparently the young are struggling to make it up the green side and the oldies are now clambering back over from the rocky side. Yep it's survey time. Apparently twice as many over 55's eat their 'five portions a day' and get sweaty doing the correct amount of exercise than the under 34's do. Consequently the young suffer twice as many colds, headaches and other ailments than do their elders. So it looks like the phrase 'over the hill’ may be redundant because the old folks are all going to be powering their way back over it, knocking off a couple of triathlons on the way. What the survey fails to mention is what the all important 34-55 age group are up to!
After cycling home, I elect not to take Doggo on the park, as it's hot and he's panting before we even leave. I destroy him in the garden instead.
Then my mate comes round and takes me out for a posh meal at Pizza Hut. I'm not kidding. Our local Pizza Hut has had a refit and gone all posh, well kind of. Regrettably the menu hasn't changed much, they still don't sell any beer and the food certainly hasn't improved. They do have a new selection of speciality pizzas for £13.49, such as a Mediterranean Meats Deluxe, which we quite fancy. It consists of Pepperoni, something called Spanish-inspired (note not actually Spanish) chorizo, smoked bacon and ham slices. Ok, so it isn't terribly Mediterranean.
The thing is we managed to recreate this delicacy under their five toppings for £12.99 option. So not only did we save 50p, every penny counts you know, we also got to add green peppers for free. So I think they've made a bit of a slip up with their menu.
Afterwards Salem Porter is on in Langtry's. Very nice, thank you very much. Entertainment is provided by a chap who arrives with two girls in tow and then astounds us by rifling through both their handbags while they're in the toilets. Its ok he tells us, when he see us looking, one of them is his girlfriend. In fact when they return, and he is still doing so, neither girl looks bothered. Open relationships eh!
Monday, 5 May 2008
The Day Of The Streakers
I take Doggo on park which is packed. I suppose because it's sunny for a change and it's also the May Day Bank Holiday. We pass an abandoned rugby ball on the park; that is until two figures run out of one of the houses and chase after it. There then follows a game where the lad tackles the girl, who has retrieved the ball, around the waist, drags her to the ground, lies on top of her, for longer than is strictly necessary before taking the ball off her and running off with it. Seconds later he inconceivably fumbles the ball conceding possession back to her. You can see the disappointment on his face, 'damn' he thinks 'now I have to tackle and lie on top of her again' and so it goes on.
In the afternoon I do a bit of homework with Son. Hopefully he'll get reasonable marks for his Pascal, now that I've given him a hand with it. It's a fascinating project that I would love to have really got my teeth into but I do love a challenge, even if the youth of today don't.
Due to being busy with my/our homework I only catch fleeting glimpses of the women's FA Cup final. Where a negative, defensive Leeds team are being outplayed by a classier Arsenal side. A negative, defensive Leeds team? Hmmm it seems some things do cross the gender divide after all.
So I also miss the streaker, a Yorkshire lass with a lot of front. Not quite what the women's game wanted publicity wise, as it tries to get itself taken more seriously.
You don't get to see too many streakers these days, mind you there was one in the snooker too.
Later we head to Broadway and stay AF but there's no mango juice. Luckily they have other daring juices and I can safely say that papaya is the new mango.
Tonight's film 'Joy Division' is the second of two films focusing on the life and times of the influential Manchester band. Whilst not quite as entertaining as last year's 'Control' mainly because it lacks a big enough dose of Curtis, which was brilliant added by Sam Riley in 'Control'. As much as director Grant Gee would, I'm sure, have liked to interview Curtis, this was clearly not possible. It is still though an interesting and informative film, particularly for a fan like me.
It also lacks a contribution from Deborah Curtis, perhaps contractually bound not to appear, as it was her book that 'Control' was made from. It does though benefit from the insight of Curtis's lover Annik Honoré, who appears to be the only person who noticed, before the event, that Ian Curtis' lyrics were effectively his suicide note.
Grant Gee gets intelligent input from the three surviving members of the band along with other key people from the period such as Tony Wilson and Paul Morley. Regrettably contributions were also not possible from manager Rob Gretton and producer Martin Hannett both, and I did not realise this, are no longer with us. It's a good job they made this film when they were still enough people around to interview. Tony Wilson died not long after it was made.
Hannett, who developed their sound, was often acknowledged as the 5th member. There was a great quote from him, that the band were "a gift to a producer, because they didn't have a clue".
The film includes, as well as interviews, old footage, and new photos of 'Things That are Not There', important Manchester locations also no longer with us.
The film follows the band from their inception through to their eventual success and Curtis' decline with epilepsy and the severe mood swings caused by his medication. By 1980, Curtis had already attempted to commit suicide once but had failed. The band didn't seem surprised he'd tried again just shocked he'd succeeded.
The best parts of the film are of course the precious live footage and the excellent music. We also learn the origins of the famous album covers and the concern in the ranks after Curtis' suicide when they realise that the still unreleased 'Closer' has a tomb on the cover.
Within weeks of his death, their live favourite 'Love Will Tear Us Apart' was released and went top 10, giving the band their first hit. The album with the tomb on the cover soon followed. Popularity arrived at last.
At the end we see a recent performance by New Order, with the three remaining members playing 'Shadowplay'. This is overlaid on a clip of Joy Division playing the same song. Surprisingly it works quite well.
Joy Division are now more popular than they've ever been. Immortalised even, if ironically, by bands such as... the Wombats but that's another story, for another day, well perhaps Thursday when Liverpool's Marsupials hit Rock City.
In the afternoon I do a bit of homework with Son. Hopefully he'll get reasonable marks for his Pascal, now that I've given him a hand with it. It's a fascinating project that I would love to have really got my teeth into but I do love a challenge, even if the youth of today don't.
Due to being busy with my/our homework I only catch fleeting glimpses of the women's FA Cup final. Where a negative, defensive Leeds team are being outplayed by a classier Arsenal side. A negative, defensive Leeds team? Hmmm it seems some things do cross the gender divide after all.
So I also miss the streaker, a Yorkshire lass with a lot of front. Not quite what the women's game wanted publicity wise, as it tries to get itself taken more seriously.
You don't get to see too many streakers these days, mind you there was one in the snooker too.
Later we head to Broadway and stay AF but there's no mango juice. Luckily they have other daring juices and I can safely say that papaya is the new mango.
Tonight's film 'Joy Division' is the second of two films focusing on the life and times of the influential Manchester band. Whilst not quite as entertaining as last year's 'Control' mainly because it lacks a big enough dose of Curtis, which was brilliant added by Sam Riley in 'Control'. As much as director Grant Gee would, I'm sure, have liked to interview Curtis, this was clearly not possible. It is still though an interesting and informative film, particularly for a fan like me.
It also lacks a contribution from Deborah Curtis, perhaps contractually bound not to appear, as it was her book that 'Control' was made from. It does though benefit from the insight of Curtis's lover Annik Honoré, who appears to be the only person who noticed, before the event, that Ian Curtis' lyrics were effectively his suicide note.
Grant Gee gets intelligent input from the three surviving members of the band along with other key people from the period such as Tony Wilson and Paul Morley. Regrettably contributions were also not possible from manager Rob Gretton and producer Martin Hannett both, and I did not realise this, are no longer with us. It's a good job they made this film when they were still enough people around to interview. Tony Wilson died not long after it was made.
Hannett, who developed their sound, was often acknowledged as the 5th member. There was a great quote from him, that the band were "a gift to a producer, because they didn't have a clue".
The film includes, as well as interviews, old footage, and new photos of 'Things That are Not There', important Manchester locations also no longer with us.
The film follows the band from their inception through to their eventual success and Curtis' decline with epilepsy and the severe mood swings caused by his medication. By 1980, Curtis had already attempted to commit suicide once but had failed. The band didn't seem surprised he'd tried again just shocked he'd succeeded.
The best parts of the film are of course the precious live footage and the excellent music. We also learn the origins of the famous album covers and the concern in the ranks after Curtis' suicide when they realise that the still unreleased 'Closer' has a tomb on the cover.
Within weeks of his death, their live favourite 'Love Will Tear Us Apart' was released and went top 10, giving the band their first hit. The album with the tomb on the cover soon followed. Popularity arrived at last.
At the end we see a recent performance by New Order, with the three remaining members playing 'Shadowplay'. This is overlaid on a clip of Joy Division playing the same song. Surprisingly it works quite well.
Joy Division are now more popular than they've ever been. Immortalised even, if ironically, by bands such as... the Wombats but that's another story, for another day, well perhaps Thursday when Liverpool's Marsupials hit Rock City.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
