Much the same start to the day, a quality lie-in, followed by a not so quality amble with MD on the park. He wasn't too bad to be fair, just so exuberant.
In the afternoon, I join L at the gym. I whack the treadmill up to 15kph and almost immediately fall off it. Somehow, it seems a lot faster at John Carroll than at the Tennis Centre last week. I slow it down and then gradually ease it back up to speed, and then when I get back to 15kph it doesn't seem too bad. Just as I'm flying, the damn thing cuts out. Apparently this is to stop you hogging the treadmills but there's loads free, so I ctrl-alt-del it and start all over again.
Eventually I've done my planned 5k and I start a warm down, then I think sod it, go for it, and I do another flying kilometre. Then feeling smugger than a collie pup with a stolen loaf of bread in its mouth, I stagger off the contraption and try to recover.
I head to the pool for a swim, only to realise I've forgotten a vital piece of kit. Swimming trunks. I have a shower instead and retreat to the coffee room for a Mocha. L joins me and we have four between us. After which we still have change from the equivalent of just one at Starbucks and also around 1000 calories to play with, not to mention our taste buds still intact.
In the evening, we head off for a Chinese meal, which is to celebrate my Mum’s 80th birthday. This is a bit of a surprise to me, as I was under the misapprehension that she was only 79, very sneaky of her. My father's 80th is coming up later this month.
This are both feeling and looking very spritely since they both went bionic. My Dad has had a replacement hip joint and has now made such a good recovery he's contemplating marathon training. At least I think he's joking, I hope he's joking.
My Mum has had her eye done and can now see without glasses for probably the first time in 50 years. She'll be even better when she's had the other one done in a few weeks time. I hope medical technology is standing by to do a whole host of necessary stuff on me.
We go at 6pm, when the place opens, so that my brother’s kids can go and still get home for an early bedtime. Personally I thought that when we first took L's kids out and they nodded off and we had to eat their food for them, that was the way to go, but each to their own. Also, as L points out, once they're full of Chinese they'll be high as kites, or at least a high as MD, and won't be interested in bedtimes.
It's a good evening but it's a good job we got that gym session in, as it's a very heavy and greasy meal. Beforehand L did ask how far she'd have to run to shed the expected calorie overload. Well I've looked it up and the average cheese meal contains 1436 calories which would take 291 minutes of moderate exercise to burn off. Whether my 30 minutes of frenetic exercise did the trick, I don't know.
Sunday, 31 August 2008
Saturday, 30 August 2008
Magnetic Deer
I have nothing planned this weekend at all, so it's a weekend of lie-ins and chilling out. Well sort of.
The 'chilling' bit lasts until I take the dogs on to the park. MD is very very errant. The wayward one has no one to blame but himself when he ends up spending a lot of time on the lead, that is when he finally stops terrifying a couple of highland terriers. Doggo is hiding behind a tree, pretending to not be with him. I can see him rolling his eyes in despair as he patiently waits for MD to come back to me, so that we can continue Doggo's game of football.
Even on the lead he's causing trouble, barking at the deer as we pass. I read somewhere this week that herds of grazing animals always face the same way. Cattle, and apparently deer, tend to align their bodies in a north-to-south direction, something to do with the Earth's magnetic fields influencing their behaviour. Magnetic deer? Garbage. They're not north-to-south facing, they're deer-to-two-collies facing.
Once back home, MD sleeps all afternoon. I've no idea why the others all say that spending time with MD is like having a piranha in the house. He's a total saint.
L's vowed to make sure she does two gyms, two runs and a swim over the weekend. I shall join her tomorrow but today is my rest day and I torture myself with the football instead.
Now I'm not having a go at teenage boys, that would too easy a target but... on her way out to the gym, L tells Son, who's in the bath, that she's put two fresh clean towels outside the bathroom door for him. I immediately realise that she's omitted a vital piece of information from her sentence, regarding the reason for putting them there. Sure enough ten minutes later he emerges wrapped in a dirty wet towel and steps over the two clean ones, no doubt glad of the advance warning so that he didn't trip over them, before heading upstairs.
In the evening, we get a bit radical. We get the bus over to Derby and then hop onto another one to Burton. This costs the same price as going to Derby using a 'go anywhere' zigzag ticket. We plan a tour around Burton's pub but the first one we choose has Burton Bridge's Porter and the 5.0% Stairway. So, we understandably stay put. Now we'll have to go over again. Oh the hardship.
The 'chilling' bit lasts until I take the dogs on to the park. MD is very very errant. The wayward one has no one to blame but himself when he ends up spending a lot of time on the lead, that is when he finally stops terrifying a couple of highland terriers. Doggo is hiding behind a tree, pretending to not be with him. I can see him rolling his eyes in despair as he patiently waits for MD to come back to me, so that we can continue Doggo's game of football.
Even on the lead he's causing trouble, barking at the deer as we pass. I read somewhere this week that herds of grazing animals always face the same way. Cattle, and apparently deer, tend to align their bodies in a north-to-south direction, something to do with the Earth's magnetic fields influencing their behaviour. Magnetic deer? Garbage. They're not north-to-south facing, they're deer-to-two-collies facing.
Once back home, MD sleeps all afternoon. I've no idea why the others all say that spending time with MD is like having a piranha in the house. He's a total saint.
L's vowed to make sure she does two gyms, two runs and a swim over the weekend. I shall join her tomorrow but today is my rest day and I torture myself with the football instead.
Now I'm not having a go at teenage boys, that would too easy a target but... on her way out to the gym, L tells Son, who's in the bath, that she's put two fresh clean towels outside the bathroom door for him. I immediately realise that she's omitted a vital piece of information from her sentence, regarding the reason for putting them there. Sure enough ten minutes later he emerges wrapped in a dirty wet towel and steps over the two clean ones, no doubt glad of the advance warning so that he didn't trip over them, before heading upstairs.
In the evening, we get a bit radical. We get the bus over to Derby and then hop onto another one to Burton. This costs the same price as going to Derby using a 'go anywhere' zigzag ticket. We plan a tour around Burton's pub but the first one we choose has Burton Bridge's Porter and the 5.0% Stairway. So, we understandably stay put. Now we'll have to go over again. Oh the hardship.
Friday, 29 August 2008
Kudos
It's quite a difficult cycle in this morning because my legs are feeling well knackered, it's either that or it's all the insect bites on them that's making it hard work.
L's been for a morning swim but complains that she's forgot her moisturiser, so now she feels a bit like a wrinkled prune. Girls eh? In any case, a wrinkled prune is better than being a lumpy bitten thing like me.
I'm ravenous when I get to work. They say triathletes have trouble keeping lunch to less than 2000 calories; either that or they're just pigs. I can concur, I started with a bowl of porridge when I arrived and could quite easily have been working my way through the rest of the 2000 calories ever since but I resisted. At least until lunchtime.
By the way, I’ve gone and done it. It was a momentous moment. Yep, I've join the BTA (British Triathlon Association) but only because they have a special offer of half year membership (until end of March) for £17. With three duathlons planned in the next month alone, I though it was worth a punt because I save £3 on each one. I have to do at least three more before the end of March to get my money back but even if I don't... well, just think of the kudos of it.
Prompt overreaction from L. 'OMG! Am I sh****ing a professional triathlete now then?' See the kudos is working already. Although she forgets that I’m a duathlete, which is basically a triathlete with an aversion to water.
I could be passing the triathlete baton back to L. She says she's pondering a 'biggie' event, something like the London Tri again. That would involve training on her trusty steed... She's a triathlete with an aversion to pedalling.
I've even offered to treat her to her event for Christmas, these 'biggies' do tend to be pricey. It would be more exciting than a casserole dish but I could probably stretch to both.
I cycle home swerving around a group of young lads who seem intent on washing my bike and charging me for it. Err no thanks boys. I also breathe a sigh of relief when I see a tandem with an old couple pedalling like the clappers on it. Relief because it's going the other way and I don't have to race them. I give them a cheery wave and they wave back. Not psychos then.
Later, we opt not to do the long pub walk up to Beeston and neither of us can face going to the Plough, where Doggo detests the pub dog. That we can cope with, but we don't have the courage for, is taking noisy MD to face the pub dog without earmuffs. So, we end up down the Rodney, where the Elsie Mo turns out to be pretty decent.
L's been for a morning swim but complains that she's forgot her moisturiser, so now she feels a bit like a wrinkled prune. Girls eh? In any case, a wrinkled prune is better than being a lumpy bitten thing like me.
I'm ravenous when I get to work. They say triathletes have trouble keeping lunch to less than 2000 calories; either that or they're just pigs. I can concur, I started with a bowl of porridge when I arrived and could quite easily have been working my way through the rest of the 2000 calories ever since but I resisted. At least until lunchtime.
By the way, I’ve gone and done it. It was a momentous moment. Yep, I've join the BTA (British Triathlon Association) but only because they have a special offer of half year membership (until end of March) for £17. With three duathlons planned in the next month alone, I though it was worth a punt because I save £3 on each one. I have to do at least three more before the end of March to get my money back but even if I don't... well, just think of the kudos of it.
Prompt overreaction from L. 'OMG! Am I sh****ing a professional triathlete now then?' See the kudos is working already. Although she forgets that I’m a duathlete, which is basically a triathlete with an aversion to water.
I could be passing the triathlete baton back to L. She says she's pondering a 'biggie' event, something like the London Tri again. That would involve training on her trusty steed... She's a triathlete with an aversion to pedalling.
I've even offered to treat her to her event for Christmas, these 'biggies' do tend to be pricey. It would be more exciting than a casserole dish but I could probably stretch to both.
I cycle home swerving around a group of young lads who seem intent on washing my bike and charging me for it. Err no thanks boys. I also breathe a sigh of relief when I see a tandem with an old couple pedalling like the clappers on it. Relief because it's going the other way and I don't have to race them. I give them a cheery wave and they wave back. Not psychos then.
Later, we opt not to do the long pub walk up to Beeston and neither of us can face going to the Plough, where Doggo detests the pub dog. That we can cope with, but we don't have the courage for, is taking noisy MD to face the pub dog without earmuffs. So, we end up down the Rodney, where the Elsie Mo turns out to be pretty decent.
Thursday, 28 August 2008
Every Cloud Has A Silver Lining
I have to make a big decision over transportation methods today due to very tired legs and making sure I have enough energy for tennis tonight. In the end I decide to bus and run, which after getting up late, not my fault, turns into more of a sprint, as I almost miss my connection with the R4.
The run in isn't too bad, I distract my aching legs by having Feeder's new album on at full volume. Good running music.
My bites are maturing nicely. I have one so big on my thigh, gained from cutting the lawn last night, that I can barely get my clothes on over it.
We manage to fit a pub lunch in today, the usual cottage pie and a rather nice porter. Sets me up nicely for tonight's match.
There were some interesting customers on the Red Arrow on the way home. There was this latex and plastic clad thing with red hair that I think was once a girl. She was probably once very attractive until somebody thoughtlessly stapled her mouth together. I assume it must have been the lad who was with her who did it, I'm sure he had his reasons. She probably talks too much.
She was very enamoured with him though, despite getting a good stapling. She sat devotedly twiddling his foot long goatee beard with a far away look in her eye. Young love eh.
Later, I just can't get going in the tennis and easily lose the first set but then just as I was winning the second my opponent collapses in a heap claiming he's injured. To be fair, he does actually look quite bad; it takes him ages to walk from the car to the pub after we have to abandon the game. It results in a longer than planned stay in the pub. As they, every cloud has a silver lining.
The run in isn't too bad, I distract my aching legs by having Feeder's new album on at full volume. Good running music.
My bites are maturing nicely. I have one so big on my thigh, gained from cutting the lawn last night, that I can barely get my clothes on over it.
We manage to fit a pub lunch in today, the usual cottage pie and a rather nice porter. Sets me up nicely for tonight's match.
There were some interesting customers on the Red Arrow on the way home. There was this latex and plastic clad thing with red hair that I think was once a girl. She was probably once very attractive until somebody thoughtlessly stapled her mouth together. I assume it must have been the lad who was with her who did it, I'm sure he had his reasons. She probably talks too much.
She was very enamoured with him though, despite getting a good stapling. She sat devotedly twiddling his foot long goatee beard with a far away look in her eye. Young love eh.
Later, I just can't get going in the tennis and easily lose the first set but then just as I was winning the second my opponent collapses in a heap claiming he's injured. To be fair, he does actually look quite bad; it takes him ages to walk from the car to the pub after we have to abandon the game. It results in a longer than planned stay in the pub. As they, every cloud has a silver lining.
Wednesday, 27 August 2008
Dog And Duck
I'm on the bike again, two days in a row. Somebody seems to have been having a party in the middle of the road in Ilkeston. Plastic bottles and beer cans strewn all over the road. Not good for a cyclist, such obstacles can make the journey more interesting than necessary.
L's been out with the boys and she's a bit stressed because one of them, who shall remain nameless, has developed a duck fetish. I think he likes to chase them. Just wait until he brings one home with him. L would not be happy, waiting at the pedestrian crossing with a pup with a duck in its mouth. How embarrassing. Be good for Sunday lunch though.
After work I head to the pool for my usual Wednesday swim. It's very quiet, only one or two people in each lane. Things will change once the two universities start up again, then it'll be hell for a few weeks.
There's a really annoying chap in the changing rooms who is getting changed at one end of the changing rooms but has chosen a locker at the other end. He takes one item of clothing off at a time, walks across to his locker, squeezing past me, even though there's only the two of us in there, places it in his locker and then returns back to his place before taking off his next item. He then repeats this rather laborious process. Most odd.
I get home and cut the grass. It’s a task I've been putting off because when L did it a few weeks ago she told me what a horrific experience it had been. I soon discover why. The noise from MD is amazing. How such a little thing can make so much noise I'm not sure. He viciously attacks the lawnmower, I fear for his safety, his sanity and for the prospect of a ASBO for excessive noise levels. I try tying him up but that doesn't help much, or even at all. He's almost as bad even when I stay down one end of the garden away from him. So in the end I have to put him inside the house but still he makes a racket, God knows what the neighbours think we're doing to him.
To add to this rather traumatic experience I pick up a load of amazing bites whilst I'm cutting the grass, that'll teach me not to do it in shorts.
I cook curry while L watches a film with daughter. When I serve the curry, MD pinches some of the bread. He's not Mr Popular Pup today, even with me.
Later I catch up with the Tour Of Ireland, ITV4 have decided to cover some more cycling which is good. Although there doesn't appear to be much competition in the sprints for Mark Cavendish, who easily wins the first stage.
L does her stretching exercises on her mat in front of the TV whilst I'm watching it, which is very distracting and also very brave with the dogs in the room.
L's been out with the boys and she's a bit stressed because one of them, who shall remain nameless, has developed a duck fetish. I think he likes to chase them. Just wait until he brings one home with him. L would not be happy, waiting at the pedestrian crossing with a pup with a duck in its mouth. How embarrassing. Be good for Sunday lunch though.
After work I head to the pool for my usual Wednesday swim. It's very quiet, only one or two people in each lane. Things will change once the two universities start up again, then it'll be hell for a few weeks.
There's a really annoying chap in the changing rooms who is getting changed at one end of the changing rooms but has chosen a locker at the other end. He takes one item of clothing off at a time, walks across to his locker, squeezing past me, even though there's only the two of us in there, places it in his locker and then returns back to his place before taking off his next item. He then repeats this rather laborious process. Most odd.
I get home and cut the grass. It’s a task I've been putting off because when L did it a few weeks ago she told me what a horrific experience it had been. I soon discover why. The noise from MD is amazing. How such a little thing can make so much noise I'm not sure. He viciously attacks the lawnmower, I fear for his safety, his sanity and for the prospect of a ASBO for excessive noise levels. I try tying him up but that doesn't help much, or even at all. He's almost as bad even when I stay down one end of the garden away from him. So in the end I have to put him inside the house but still he makes a racket, God knows what the neighbours think we're doing to him.
To add to this rather traumatic experience I pick up a load of amazing bites whilst I'm cutting the grass, that'll teach me not to do it in shorts.
I cook curry while L watches a film with daughter. When I serve the curry, MD pinches some of the bread. He's not Mr Popular Pup today, even with me.
Later I catch up with the Tour Of Ireland, ITV4 have decided to cover some more cycling which is good. Although there doesn't appear to be much competition in the sprints for Mark Cavendish, who easily wins the first stage.
L does her stretching exercises on her mat in front of the TV whilst I'm watching it, which is very distracting and also very brave with the dogs in the room.
Tuesday, 26 August 2008
Did He Hang Them On The Wall Above The Fireplace?
I'm on the bike this morning, to work off those bank holiday excesses. The council workers seem to be taking the opposite strategy, sleeping it off, as the park is locked and quite a long queue of dog walkers has formed by the gate. I scan it for L but she must have taken the boys around the University instead. Good call.
The cycling is hard; it's very windy this morning. I get to work and fire off the usual 'Hi, I'm safe and sound' email to L. Of course, as far as she knows, I may have figured out how to send emails remotely from the ditch I’m lying in.
Daughter takes MD on her paper round with her. It's either a case of getting her retaliation in first and wearing him out before he can cause trouble or perhaps she just intends dumping him in a bin somewhere.
I get stuck in a long meeting for most of the day. The people have some down from Perth but have flown to Manchester, so their day's going to be even longer. We get the dubious treat of lunch at Starbucks. Latte's and huge muffins everywhere and that's just the customers.
I get home and kick the dogs around the garden for a bit before we head off for another freebie film at Broadway. Daughter goes to the cinema too, to see Hellboy 2 but I think we get a better deal. This time we do get the times right for 'Elegy'.
'Elegy' is based on Philip Roth's short novel 'The Dying Animal'. Which really makes you wonder why they called it 'Elegy'? Because as film titles go, they don't come any better than 'The Dying Animal' where as an 'elegy' is a poem about mourning or something like that.
David Kepesh (Ben Kingsley) is a professor of literary criticism, and is probably around 60 years old (my sort of age). Lecturing to his class, he assesses War and Peace and explains that you bring yourself to any work of art. You see it through your own eyes, through your own situation, with your prejudices etc but whatever your thoughts on it, the work will live on well beyond your thoughts on it. This is an essential theme of the film.
Kepesh may be a respected college professor but he's also a bit of a lecherous old man (well aren't we all) who lusts after his female students (don't we all). Kepesh though appears to be a bit of a success on this front (the swine) but he thoughtfully never attempts to bed any of his students until the final grades are in, when he throws a cocktail party for them and all previous rules are suspended.
Kepesh knows he's an old git with an aging body but he doesn't want to grow up, his mind he reckons still functions as a teenager. Hang on a sec; I can relate to that sentiment but no one would seriously want to be stuck with the mind of a teenager. Heaven forbid. Mid twenties would do me nicely please.
This term's lucky target for seduction is Consuela Castillo (Penelope Cruz). Consuela is a doe-eyed student considerably younger than Cruz herself is but she scrubs up well for it. In fact, she looks great, even with her kit on, and her acting is pretty good too. I have had no time for any of her previous films. Both L and I thought the much touted 'Volver' was rubbish. As for her so called beauty, it's never done anything for me.
The suave Kepesh successfully woos her with flattery, charm, a bit of theatre and some tinkling on the piano. Which is all very annoying because it works; and he promptly falls head over heels in lust with her. So it's another film about old men's fantasies about getting it on with women thirty years their junior. So let's suspend belief, well maybe not. It's no more unbelievable than an OAP like Max Mosley, entertaining five girls in the middle of the afternoon.
They embark on a passionate relationship but Kepesh is realistic and knows it won't last. Therefore, there's little chemistry between them only sex. Thing is Kepesh doesn't usually care if it lasts or not because he shuns commitment anyway, when one of his students inevitably leaves him for a younger model, he just charms another one.
In fact, to fill any gaps Kepesh has a regular-ish shag lined up, three weekly I believe the arrangement was, with Carolyn, a business woman (Patricia Clarkson). They seem well suited but surprisingly, given their arrangement, she gets annoyed when she realises she's not the only dish on his menu.
This time though, his desire for Consuela clearly destabilises him and his cynical façade begins to crack. His friend, award-winning poet, George (Dennis Hopper), we also get an appearance by Deborah Harry as George's wife, comes out with the nugget that 'beautiful women are invisible' because we don't get beyond the 'beauty barrier'. Like admiring a work of art, we see in another person what we want to see. In his case, Kepesh sees the sexual side of the beautiful Consuela and fails to see the person underneath. Bringing his prejudices into it, just like with War and Peace.
He is so blinded by his infatuation that he starts behaving like the teenager, he says is still in his head. To the point of ducking out of attending functions with Consuela and avoiding meeting her parents. I find this a little hard to believe, surely, he's mature enough to not care whether they disapproved and of course, they would. Why should he care if it all ends in tears when he's convinced it will do so anyway? What will be will be. It's an imperfect relationship but aren't they all? The result of not attending her graduation party is that he doesn't see her for two years.
Kepesh also has an estranged 40-something son Kenny (Peter Sarsgaard), a man married with children, who appears on the scene to tell his father that he has been having an affair. Kepesh is too involved in his own predicament to bother dishing out advice or sympathy. Even though he's done plenty of what his son calls 'serial tomcatting' when he was married to Kenny's mother. He left his son and wife many years ago and Kenny has never quite forgiven him.
Cruz is very free with her flesh throughout the film, and when Consuela reappears, her breasts become even more central to the plot. She tells Kepesh that she has breast cancer and expects to lose one of them in the operation. This upsets her because she feels that she will no longer be beautiful. Does she return to tell to Kepesh because she knew his desire was for her body and not for her? Is her beauty all that matters to her? Will he still want to read War And Peace with the best bits ripped out? Or can Kepesh now see beyond the 'beauty barrier'? It's very un-PC these days not to say 'its ok love it doesn't matter what you look like'.
I can see it coming and he asks him to photograph her breasts. L thought she just wanted to get down and dirty with him again, tut tut she always lowers the tone, but they probably did anyway. What he did with the photos I'm not sure. Were they for her or for him? Are they hanging on his wall above the fireplace?
The ending is inconclusive, we see a couple on the beach. Has Kepesh made a late conversion to true love? I'm not sure.
This film is going to have so many critics because of its subject matter and because of the way it was told, in a slow, pondering character based way. The film takes its time telling its story but I like that approach.
In my opinion, it's a cracking movie that I thoroughly enjoyed. There are sublime performances by Kingsley, Cruz’s nipples, and even a pretty good one from Penelope herself. Never thought I'd say that.
The cycling is hard; it's very windy this morning. I get to work and fire off the usual 'Hi, I'm safe and sound' email to L. Of course, as far as she knows, I may have figured out how to send emails remotely from the ditch I’m lying in.
Daughter takes MD on her paper round with her. It's either a case of getting her retaliation in first and wearing him out before he can cause trouble or perhaps she just intends dumping him in a bin somewhere.
I get stuck in a long meeting for most of the day. The people have some down from Perth but have flown to Manchester, so their day's going to be even longer. We get the dubious treat of lunch at Starbucks. Latte's and huge muffins everywhere and that's just the customers.
I get home and kick the dogs around the garden for a bit before we head off for another freebie film at Broadway. Daughter goes to the cinema too, to see Hellboy 2 but I think we get a better deal. This time we do get the times right for 'Elegy'.
'Elegy' is based on Philip Roth's short novel 'The Dying Animal'. Which really makes you wonder why they called it 'Elegy'? Because as film titles go, they don't come any better than 'The Dying Animal' where as an 'elegy' is a poem about mourning or something like that.
David Kepesh (Ben Kingsley) is a professor of literary criticism, and is probably around 60 years old (my sort of age). Lecturing to his class, he assesses War and Peace and explains that you bring yourself to any work of art. You see it through your own eyes, through your own situation, with your prejudices etc but whatever your thoughts on it, the work will live on well beyond your thoughts on it. This is an essential theme of the film.
Kepesh may be a respected college professor but he's also a bit of a lecherous old man (well aren't we all) who lusts after his female students (don't we all). Kepesh though appears to be a bit of a success on this front (the swine) but he thoughtfully never attempts to bed any of his students until the final grades are in, when he throws a cocktail party for them and all previous rules are suspended.
Kepesh knows he's an old git with an aging body but he doesn't want to grow up, his mind he reckons still functions as a teenager. Hang on a sec; I can relate to that sentiment but no one would seriously want to be stuck with the mind of a teenager. Heaven forbid. Mid twenties would do me nicely please.
This term's lucky target for seduction is Consuela Castillo (Penelope Cruz). Consuela is a doe-eyed student considerably younger than Cruz herself is but she scrubs up well for it. In fact, she looks great, even with her kit on, and her acting is pretty good too. I have had no time for any of her previous films. Both L and I thought the much touted 'Volver' was rubbish. As for her so called beauty, it's never done anything for me.
The suave Kepesh successfully woos her with flattery, charm, a bit of theatre and some tinkling on the piano. Which is all very annoying because it works; and he promptly falls head over heels in lust with her. So it's another film about old men's fantasies about getting it on with women thirty years their junior. So let's suspend belief, well maybe not. It's no more unbelievable than an OAP like Max Mosley, entertaining five girls in the middle of the afternoon.
They embark on a passionate relationship but Kepesh is realistic and knows it won't last. Therefore, there's little chemistry between them only sex. Thing is Kepesh doesn't usually care if it lasts or not because he shuns commitment anyway, when one of his students inevitably leaves him for a younger model, he just charms another one.
In fact, to fill any gaps Kepesh has a regular-ish shag lined up, three weekly I believe the arrangement was, with Carolyn, a business woman (Patricia Clarkson). They seem well suited but surprisingly, given their arrangement, she gets annoyed when she realises she's not the only dish on his menu.
This time though, his desire for Consuela clearly destabilises him and his cynical façade begins to crack. His friend, award-winning poet, George (Dennis Hopper), we also get an appearance by Deborah Harry as George's wife, comes out with the nugget that 'beautiful women are invisible' because we don't get beyond the 'beauty barrier'. Like admiring a work of art, we see in another person what we want to see. In his case, Kepesh sees the sexual side of the beautiful Consuela and fails to see the person underneath. Bringing his prejudices into it, just like with War and Peace.
He is so blinded by his infatuation that he starts behaving like the teenager, he says is still in his head. To the point of ducking out of attending functions with Consuela and avoiding meeting her parents. I find this a little hard to believe, surely, he's mature enough to not care whether they disapproved and of course, they would. Why should he care if it all ends in tears when he's convinced it will do so anyway? What will be will be. It's an imperfect relationship but aren't they all? The result of not attending her graduation party is that he doesn't see her for two years.
Kepesh also has an estranged 40-something son Kenny (Peter Sarsgaard), a man married with children, who appears on the scene to tell his father that he has been having an affair. Kepesh is too involved in his own predicament to bother dishing out advice or sympathy. Even though he's done plenty of what his son calls 'serial tomcatting' when he was married to Kenny's mother. He left his son and wife many years ago and Kenny has never quite forgiven him.
Cruz is very free with her flesh throughout the film, and when Consuela reappears, her breasts become even more central to the plot. She tells Kepesh that she has breast cancer and expects to lose one of them in the operation. This upsets her because she feels that she will no longer be beautiful. Does she return to tell to Kepesh because she knew his desire was for her body and not for her? Is her beauty all that matters to her? Will he still want to read War And Peace with the best bits ripped out? Or can Kepesh now see beyond the 'beauty barrier'? It's very un-PC these days not to say 'its ok love it doesn't matter what you look like'.
I can see it coming and he asks him to photograph her breasts. L thought she just wanted to get down and dirty with him again, tut tut she always lowers the tone, but they probably did anyway. What he did with the photos I'm not sure. Were they for her or for him? Are they hanging on his wall above the fireplace?
The ending is inconclusive, we see a couple on the beach. Has Kepesh made a late conversion to true love? I'm not sure.
This film is going to have so many critics because of its subject matter and because of the way it was told, in a slow, pondering character based way. The film takes its time telling its story but I like that approach.
In my opinion, it's a cracking movie that I thoroughly enjoyed. There are sublime performances by Kingsley, Cruz’s nipples, and even a pretty good one from Penelope herself. Never thought I'd say that.
Monday, 25 August 2008
Two Rights Do Make A Left
Again, the guy that L brought home last night sneaks out at some unearthly hour, to a dog show again.
At the show, as there was yesterday, there are three easy courses and one that is just so us. Everyone is threatening to do unspeakable things to the judge who set it. We love it when that happens; it means we have a chance. After just a cursory glance at the other three courses, I walk, re-walk and then re-walk again this beautiful swine of a course. I try it from different angles and then when it starts, I sit watching how other handlers do it. Generally badly. Which is good because I am in love with this course.
We find out that our best yesterday was only 8th but no matter, today's another day and this course is just so beautiful. I go off to warm Doggo up on one of the other inferior courses. Again all four events start at 8.30am but I want to run the beautiful one next, so that Doggo's still fresh. Unfortunately it doesn't quite work out like that because they're not ready for us. So we do one of the others, which doesn't go great because Doggo misses out one of the jumps.
Then we get to do the difficult one but on jump number two, it all goes pear shaped and disaster strikes. I stand on Doggo's left and he usually turns towards me, I even call left but the plonker turns right. Of course, I should have just let him go right and picked him up the other side but I make the mistake of calling him back left, running the risk of him jumping number two twice. Two wrongs don't make a right, although in this case two rights would have made a left, if you know what I mean. All the shame, phew, we get away with it. The rest is flawless, legendary stuff, even the twelve weaves. So I'm thoroughly hacked off now, if we hadn't lost those couple of seconds on jump two, we could be nursing another photo frame or a mug and coaster set. Oh, the thrill of the quality prizes on offer.
As it happens, we get second, which is pretty incredible really. Although we're still 2.5 seconds off first, so we might not have won even without the mistake.
They are quicker with the results today, so again I get away early and get to spend some quality time in the afternoon with L.
Later, we even go for a run together, a gentle one, that takes thirty minutes but only feels like five. It’s so different when you're not flogging yourself into the ground. Bliss. Dog free too.
The Olympics are now over but what an amazing games. I've been gripped by the Olympics since Montreal 1976, when I was 9, always in hope of us doing well and sometimes we've done ok but I've never witnessed anything like this one. A truly fantastic two weeks. The BBC's coverage has been ok as well, obviously at times well dumbed down and there's been some bizarre commentary on Radio 5, such as Alison Curbishley (the runner) commentating on the badminton and Steve Backley (Javelin) commentating on the judo. Cost cutting I suppose.
The downside of our successful games is that I can't get tickets for the
World Cup cycling in Manchester in October, it's sold out. Can't ever remember that happening before. Oh well, suppose I should be happy that some new people are showing an interest.
At the show, as there was yesterday, there are three easy courses and one that is just so us. Everyone is threatening to do unspeakable things to the judge who set it. We love it when that happens; it means we have a chance. After just a cursory glance at the other three courses, I walk, re-walk and then re-walk again this beautiful swine of a course. I try it from different angles and then when it starts, I sit watching how other handlers do it. Generally badly. Which is good because I am in love with this course.
We find out that our best yesterday was only 8th but no matter, today's another day and this course is just so beautiful. I go off to warm Doggo up on one of the other inferior courses. Again all four events start at 8.30am but I want to run the beautiful one next, so that Doggo's still fresh. Unfortunately it doesn't quite work out like that because they're not ready for us. So we do one of the others, which doesn't go great because Doggo misses out one of the jumps.
Then we get to do the difficult one but on jump number two, it all goes pear shaped and disaster strikes. I stand on Doggo's left and he usually turns towards me, I even call left but the plonker turns right. Of course, I should have just let him go right and picked him up the other side but I make the mistake of calling him back left, running the risk of him jumping number two twice. Two wrongs don't make a right, although in this case two rights would have made a left, if you know what I mean. All the shame, phew, we get away with it. The rest is flawless, legendary stuff, even the twelve weaves. So I'm thoroughly hacked off now, if we hadn't lost those couple of seconds on jump two, we could be nursing another photo frame or a mug and coaster set. Oh, the thrill of the quality prizes on offer.
As it happens, we get second, which is pretty incredible really. Although we're still 2.5 seconds off first, so we might not have won even without the mistake.
They are quicker with the results today, so again I get away early and get to spend some quality time in the afternoon with L.
Later, we even go for a run together, a gentle one, that takes thirty minutes but only feels like five. It’s so different when you're not flogging yourself into the ground. Bliss. Dog free too.
The Olympics are now over but what an amazing games. I've been gripped by the Olympics since Montreal 1976, when I was 9, always in hope of us doing well and sometimes we've done ok but I've never witnessed anything like this one. A truly fantastic two weeks. The BBC's coverage has been ok as well, obviously at times well dumbed down and there's been some bizarre commentary on Radio 5, such as Alison Curbishley (the runner) commentating on the badminton and Steve Backley (Javelin) commentating on the judo. Cost cutting I suppose.
The downside of our successful games is that I can't get tickets for the
World Cup cycling in Manchester in October, it's sold out. Can't ever remember that happening before. Oh well, suppose I should be happy that some new people are showing an interest.
Sunday, 24 August 2008
Don't Let Your Dog Swim In The Lake
L doesn't have much luck with last night's conquest; he sneaks out at some unearthly hour, to a dog show. He also has a bad head. Why? I was only drinking Mild.
Three easy courses and one difficult one today. The difficult one has right hand weaves which naturally we mess up. The other courses go ok but they're too fast for us, so we're not hopeful of any good placings. We do find out that we've come 4th in the Dog Of The Year league. Which is not too shabby.
The fearless one, MD, again takes himself off for a swim and dives head first into the lake. Daughter asks later why I didn't video it on my camera. Hmmm, I was too busy getting ready to wade into save the reckless little scroat. As it happens he does near perfect doggie paddle back to the bank and looks thoroughly pleased with himself.
There are signs up saying 'please don't let your dog swim in the lake' and I have to walk this dripping wet thing, with a 'that was so much fun' look on his face, back to the car.
The advantage of today is that all four events started simultaneously at 8.30am in four different rings. We're all done by 10.30 and it only took that long because we took our time.
Then I hang on for three hours waiting for the results whilst they run some finals that we haven't qualified for. In the end I get sick of waiting and I go home to the girl that I abandoned this morning. She's out at the gym but I manage to corner her when she returns.
Later we head into town, to the cinema to see a film called 'Elegy' but we get the times wrong and end up seeing 'Somers Town' instead. Which we did also want to see.
Through our membership of Broadway we have some free tickets and also some BOGOF drinks vouchers, so it's a good night all round and cheap.
The film is sponsored by Eurostar and was originally conceived as a plug to mark the train service's move to the new St Pancras International station but when they asked Shane Meadows to make it, I think he got carried away.
What they got was another typical gritty Meadows' coming-of-age story that looks small budget and is shot almost completely in black and white.
Tomo, played by Thomas Turgoose, the star of Meadow's 'This Is England' has runaway from Nottingham and ends up in London, or more precisely the district of Somers Town, the area between Euston and St Pancras.
Tomo isn't as tough as he seems to think he is and within minutes of cracking open his first illegal lager, he gets mugged by the local lads, as well as getting a good kicking. Typical Meadows stuff.
Tommo refuses a sensible offer of a train ticket and instead meets the shy reserved Marek (Piotr Jagiello), a Polish immigrant, who is his polar opposite. Marek spends his days taking photographs and trying to occupy himself while his father works as a builder on the new station.
Somehow, despite Tomo stealing Marek's photos, they form an unlikely friendship. Most of Marek's photos are of the love of his life, a sexy French waitress called Maria, who he barely knows. Tomo quickly shares his appreciation of her. Although Maria is clearly a lot older and wiser than both of them and well out of their leagues.
Tomo has nowhere to stay and hides out in Marek's bedroom, surviving on scraps from his meals. It is all kept secret from Marek's father, Tomo is even persuaded to do his number two's in a plastic bag so as not to be discovered. That is until the boys get riotously drunk and are found out anyway.
Tomo also has nothing to wear but stealing clothes from the local launderette doesn't help and leaves Tomo dressed as (in his words) a 'female golfer'. Poor old Marek meanwhile is given a knock-off 'Terry Henry' Arsenal shirt by the local wide boy, a chap called Graham, who keeps him money in his thong.
The film meanders to no conclusion in particular and ends with Maria back in Paris and the boys in pursuit, via Eurostar and the film bursts into colour.
As usual with Meadows, a pleasant thought provoking tale. Not one of his best but still very watchable.
Three easy courses and one difficult one today. The difficult one has right hand weaves which naturally we mess up. The other courses go ok but they're too fast for us, so we're not hopeful of any good placings. We do find out that we've come 4th in the Dog Of The Year league. Which is not too shabby.
The fearless one, MD, again takes himself off for a swim and dives head first into the lake. Daughter asks later why I didn't video it on my camera. Hmmm, I was too busy getting ready to wade into save the reckless little scroat. As it happens he does near perfect doggie paddle back to the bank and looks thoroughly pleased with himself.
There are signs up saying 'please don't let your dog swim in the lake' and I have to walk this dripping wet thing, with a 'that was so much fun' look on his face, back to the car.
The advantage of today is that all four events started simultaneously at 8.30am in four different rings. We're all done by 10.30 and it only took that long because we took our time.
Then I hang on for three hours waiting for the results whilst they run some finals that we haven't qualified for. In the end I get sick of waiting and I go home to the girl that I abandoned this morning. She's out at the gym but I manage to corner her when she returns.
Later we head into town, to the cinema to see a film called 'Elegy' but we get the times wrong and end up seeing 'Somers Town' instead. Which we did also want to see.
Through our membership of Broadway we have some free tickets and also some BOGOF drinks vouchers, so it's a good night all round and cheap.
The film is sponsored by Eurostar and was originally conceived as a plug to mark the train service's move to the new St Pancras International station but when they asked Shane Meadows to make it, I think he got carried away.
What they got was another typical gritty Meadows' coming-of-age story that looks small budget and is shot almost completely in black and white.
Tomo, played by Thomas Turgoose, the star of Meadow's 'This Is England' has runaway from Nottingham and ends up in London, or more precisely the district of Somers Town, the area between Euston and St Pancras.
Tomo isn't as tough as he seems to think he is and within minutes of cracking open his first illegal lager, he gets mugged by the local lads, as well as getting a good kicking. Typical Meadows stuff.
Tommo refuses a sensible offer of a train ticket and instead meets the shy reserved Marek (Piotr Jagiello), a Polish immigrant, who is his polar opposite. Marek spends his days taking photographs and trying to occupy himself while his father works as a builder on the new station.
Somehow, despite Tomo stealing Marek's photos, they form an unlikely friendship. Most of Marek's photos are of the love of his life, a sexy French waitress called Maria, who he barely knows. Tomo quickly shares his appreciation of her. Although Maria is clearly a lot older and wiser than both of them and well out of their leagues.
Tomo has nowhere to stay and hides out in Marek's bedroom, surviving on scraps from his meals. It is all kept secret from Marek's father, Tomo is even persuaded to do his number two's in a plastic bag so as not to be discovered. That is until the boys get riotously drunk and are found out anyway.
Tomo also has nothing to wear but stealing clothes from the local launderette doesn't help and leaves Tomo dressed as (in his words) a 'female golfer'. Poor old Marek meanwhile is given a knock-off 'Terry Henry' Arsenal shirt by the local wide boy, a chap called Graham, who keeps him money in his thong.
The film meanders to no conclusion in particular and ends with Maria back in Paris and the boys in pursuit, via Eurostar and the film bursts into colour.
As usual with Meadows, a pleasant thought provoking tale. Not one of his best but still very watchable.
Saturday, 23 August 2008
The 2012 Rowing Team Might Have To Do Without Me
L is pleased that, for once, the guy she brought home last night is still there with her in the morning and hasn't sneaked out of the house at some unearthly hour. Probably to a dog show.
So it's a nice relaxing Saturday lie-in, then I spoil it by taking the dogs out before heading off for another embarrassing afternoon at the football. Perhaps the team can't get into the football yet either, like me they're still engrossed in the Olympics. I can even get into our Fantasy League yet.
Where it matters, James DeGale wins our 19th gold in a bad-tempered middleweight Boxing final.
Equally bad-tempered is the taekwondo, where Britain's Sarah Stevenson loses her quarterfinal to China's Chen Zhong because the judges seemed reluctant to give her the points she was entitled to. They controversially missed a final-round kick to the head (it's a nice friendly sport) which would have been enough to win.
A successful appeal eventually got the verdict reversed. Stevenson fought on to clinch a bronze.
The biggest drama came when the Cuban, former Olympic Gold Medalist Angel Valodia Matos, was disqualified for taking longer than the allowed one minute to return to action after an injury. He shoved the referee and then kicked him in the head, drawing blood from the mouth. Nice.
He then attacked the Swedish judge before spitting on the floor and being escorted out of the arena. Both Matos and his coach have been handed a lifetime ban.
A bit more friendly was the kayaking where Tim Brabants added to his medal collection by clinching bronze in the 500m event.
L bemoans the fact that she's not managed to do any fitness stuff in all day so, instead of our planned cinema trip, I treat my girl to a night out at the gym. We head over to the tennis centre which is the only leisure centre that is open late. Gyms aren't really my thing but I do like a quick 2000m on the rowing machine and that is what I have in mind but in the end opt to do 5km on the treadmill. Half way through the session, I hit on a brilliant but simple idea. I don't know how I haven't thought of it before. I set the treadmill to the pace that I need to improve my 10k time. I set it to 15kpm, which is 40 minute pace and it's frighteningly fast or so it seems. It's too fast for my water bottle which totters off the side of the treadmill where I've left it. It falls onto the belt and rockets between my legs, off the end and across the gym floor, splattering water as it goes. I ignore it; I'm certainly not stopping. Eventually some young girl, well L, is good enough to hand it back to me.
After my treadmill session, I'm in no fit state for 2000m on the rowing machine but I do manage half that, slowly. So the 2012 rowing team might have to do without me.
We head off for a pint or three. We start in the Johnsons Arms but Black Sheep is the best they have, so we pop our head in the Wheatsheaves where we never stay and we don't again. It has almost exactly the same beer range as the Johnsons. We head townwards and almost end up in Nottingham's own Taekwondo arena, known as the Market Square, but we stop just short at the Hand & Heart where I end up drinking Burton Bridge Mild, which, surprisingly, is very nice.
So it's a nice relaxing Saturday lie-in, then I spoil it by taking the dogs out before heading off for another embarrassing afternoon at the football. Perhaps the team can't get into the football yet either, like me they're still engrossed in the Olympics. I can even get into our Fantasy League yet.
Where it matters, James DeGale wins our 19th gold in a bad-tempered middleweight Boxing final.
Equally bad-tempered is the taekwondo, where Britain's Sarah Stevenson loses her quarterfinal to China's Chen Zhong because the judges seemed reluctant to give her the points she was entitled to. They controversially missed a final-round kick to the head (it's a nice friendly sport) which would have been enough to win.
A successful appeal eventually got the verdict reversed. Stevenson fought on to clinch a bronze.
The biggest drama came when the Cuban, former Olympic Gold Medalist Angel Valodia Matos, was disqualified for taking longer than the allowed one minute to return to action after an injury. He shoved the referee and then kicked him in the head, drawing blood from the mouth. Nice.
He then attacked the Swedish judge before spitting on the floor and being escorted out of the arena. Both Matos and his coach have been handed a lifetime ban.
A bit more friendly was the kayaking where Tim Brabants added to his medal collection by clinching bronze in the 500m event.
L bemoans the fact that she's not managed to do any fitness stuff in all day so, instead of our planned cinema trip, I treat my girl to a night out at the gym. We head over to the tennis centre which is the only leisure centre that is open late. Gyms aren't really my thing but I do like a quick 2000m on the rowing machine and that is what I have in mind but in the end opt to do 5km on the treadmill. Half way through the session, I hit on a brilliant but simple idea. I don't know how I haven't thought of it before. I set the treadmill to the pace that I need to improve my 10k time. I set it to 15kpm, which is 40 minute pace and it's frighteningly fast or so it seems. It's too fast for my water bottle which totters off the side of the treadmill where I've left it. It falls onto the belt and rockets between my legs, off the end and across the gym floor, splattering water as it goes. I ignore it; I'm certainly not stopping. Eventually some young girl, well L, is good enough to hand it back to me.
After my treadmill session, I'm in no fit state for 2000m on the rowing machine but I do manage half that, slowly. So the 2012 rowing team might have to do without me.
We head off for a pint or three. We start in the Johnsons Arms but Black Sheep is the best they have, so we pop our head in the Wheatsheaves where we never stay and we don't again. It has almost exactly the same beer range as the Johnsons. We head townwards and almost end up in Nottingham's own Taekwondo arena, known as the Market Square, but we stop just short at the Hand & Heart where I end up drinking Burton Bridge Mild, which, surprisingly, is very nice.
Friday, 22 August 2008
Good Job It's A Docile One
I cycled in this morning and the weather was a real pain, it just couldn't make up its mind whether to rain or not. It was also a frustrating ride because I could see a chap up the road on his bike but I couldn't catch him. I managed to close the gap on him a bit but that was all. He was also barely pedalling up the hills, so he must have been pushing a really big gear.
Of course had I caught him that would then have presented the age-old problem of whether to go past him or not. Once you pass someone, you have to stay ahead which can often use more energy than the catching does. I get to work creased and have to have extra porridge to get my strength back.
In the Olympics, there's another medal for Nottingham's National Water Sports Centre at Holme Pierrepont; canoeist Tim Brabants powers to gold in the final of the men's K1 1000m. Which is our 18th gold. It's a shame the Water Sports Centre is rumoured to be closing once the new one for 2012 is built down south.
Dave Brailsford's GB cycling team have already shown what good organisation and planning can do for the team in the velodrome but how about this. His team have rebuilt the Beijing BMX track in Manchester, so that Shanaze Reade could practice on it. What's more it's available for the youth of Manchester to use. Unfortunately, Reade falls off when lying in the silver medal position, refusing to settle for second best.
So Shanaze fell but Heather Fell, didn't. In fact, she got a silver in the modern pentathlon. She may not have won but she's still worth a photo.
Meanwhile British boxers Tony Jeffries and David Price pick up bronze medals.
I cycle the long route home, warning L so that she doesn't call 999 when I'm not home at the usual time. She suggests meeting me at the Victoria, just so that I have to sit there all night in my cycling shorts. Hmmm. Interesting idea but can you imagine the stress of having to walk two dogs all the way to Beeston on her own. Lots of alcohol units.
So I head home and we walk them over together. MD copes very well with the walk but is well gobby in the pub, picking on an Alsatian four times his size. Good job it's a docile one.
Of course had I caught him that would then have presented the age-old problem of whether to go past him or not. Once you pass someone, you have to stay ahead which can often use more energy than the catching does. I get to work creased and have to have extra porridge to get my strength back.
In the Olympics, there's another medal for Nottingham's National Water Sports Centre at Holme Pierrepont; canoeist Tim Brabants powers to gold in the final of the men's K1 1000m. Which is our 18th gold. It's a shame the Water Sports Centre is rumoured to be closing once the new one for 2012 is built down south.
Dave Brailsford's GB cycling team have already shown what good organisation and planning can do for the team in the velodrome but how about this. His team have rebuilt the Beijing BMX track in Manchester, so that Shanaze Reade could practice on it. What's more it's available for the youth of Manchester to use. Unfortunately, Reade falls off when lying in the silver medal position, refusing to settle for second best.
So Shanaze fell but Heather Fell, didn't. In fact, she got a silver in the modern pentathlon. She may not have won but she's still worth a photo.
Meanwhile British boxers Tony Jeffries and David Price pick up bronze medals.
I cycle the long route home, warning L so that she doesn't call 999 when I'm not home at the usual time. She suggests meeting me at the Victoria, just so that I have to sit there all night in my cycling shorts. Hmmm. Interesting idea but can you imagine the stress of having to walk two dogs all the way to Beeston on her own. Lots of alcohol units.
So I head home and we walk them over together. MD copes very well with the walk but is well gobby in the pub, picking on an Alsatian four times his size. Good job it's a docile one.
Thursday, 21 August 2008
I Know All About Poverty...
We both skip the deathly early 7am cardio this morning, so get chance to have lie-in instead. I consider replacing the session by doing the bus and run option to work but in the end take the car, so that I can be back in time to take Doggo on the park tonight.
I shall bike tomorrow instead, that is if L can pick up some White Lightning for me. She says it sounds like a tramp's breakfast or as the Sun says Amy Winehouse's breakfast. It's a bit embarrassing that my beloved is admitting to have read the Sun. By the way, White Lightning is bike chain lube, not the cider stuff.
Last year I took part in Blog Action Day where everyone had to blog on the same subject. Last year it was the Environment, this year it's the much trickier subject of Poverty. On the surface of it, I know all about poverty... two kids, two dogs etc etc. I could go on about how I'm always broke and hows L's even worse than me but I'm not sure that's what they want. I've got until October 15th to think of something profound.
In Beijing, we're back on the gold trail. Sailors Iain Percy and Andrew Simpson win Britain's 17th in the Star class, whilst David Davies picks up a silver in the 10km swim and Phillips Idowu's the same in the triple jump.
A horrendous storm rattles the windows at work. Ideal tennis weather. Although I have a game tonight, the rain is probably just for Daughters benefit, she should be out on her paper round about now and it always rains for her. I just hope she hurries up, so that it has time to fine up for my game.
I get home and take the dogs on the park but they are so disobedient on the lead that it takes us nearly fifteen minutes to get there. By which time, it's almost time to come back.
I get to tennis with seconds to spare. Since I beat my opponent a few weeks ago, we have to play to his rules or else we'll end up back playing squash and I prefer tennis. The rules are we have to use his balls which don't bounce very much, I have to serve like at least a 13 year old as opposed to an 8 year old and I'm not allowed to drop the ball gently over the net because he thinks I'm miss hitting it. I'm not, it's the only clever shot I can play. All my other good shots have gone out of the window since they shortened the courts and overstrung the racquets, or that's how it seems.
It's actually a very entertaining game because I was trailing 5-1 in the first set but then I have a bit of a renaissance, which snowballs quite nicely as he loses his rag and suddenly after five games in a row, I'm 6-5 up. Doesn't last, I lose on a tiebreak. I lose the second 6-3 and we're tied at 2-2 in the third when bad light stops play. We're too tight to pay for lights.
I shall bike tomorrow instead, that is if L can pick up some White Lightning for me. She says it sounds like a tramp's breakfast or as the Sun says Amy Winehouse's breakfast. It's a bit embarrassing that my beloved is admitting to have read the Sun. By the way, White Lightning is bike chain lube, not the cider stuff.
Last year I took part in Blog Action Day where everyone had to blog on the same subject. Last year it was the Environment, this year it's the much trickier subject of Poverty. On the surface of it, I know all about poverty... two kids, two dogs etc etc. I could go on about how I'm always broke and hows L's even worse than me but I'm not sure that's what they want. I've got until October 15th to think of something profound.
In Beijing, we're back on the gold trail. Sailors Iain Percy and Andrew Simpson win Britain's 17th in the Star class, whilst David Davies picks up a silver in the 10km swim and Phillips Idowu's the same in the triple jump.
A horrendous storm rattles the windows at work. Ideal tennis weather. Although I have a game tonight, the rain is probably just for Daughters benefit, she should be out on her paper round about now and it always rains for her. I just hope she hurries up, so that it has time to fine up for my game.
I get home and take the dogs on the park but they are so disobedient on the lead that it takes us nearly fifteen minutes to get there. By which time, it's almost time to come back.
I get to tennis with seconds to spare. Since I beat my opponent a few weeks ago, we have to play to his rules or else we'll end up back playing squash and I prefer tennis. The rules are we have to use his balls which don't bounce very much, I have to serve like at least a 13 year old as opposed to an 8 year old and I'm not allowed to drop the ball gently over the net because he thinks I'm miss hitting it. I'm not, it's the only clever shot I can play. All my other good shots have gone out of the window since they shortened the courts and overstrung the racquets, or that's how it seems.
It's actually a very entertaining game because I was trailing 5-1 in the first set but then I have a bit of a renaissance, which snowballs quite nicely as he loses his rag and suddenly after five games in a row, I'm 6-5 up. Doesn't last, I lose on a tiebreak. I lose the second 6-3 and we're tied at 2-2 in the third when bad light stops play. We're too tight to pay for lights.
Wednesday, 20 August 2008
Bit Of Sport
Dramatic stuff in the open water 10k as Britain's Keri-Anne Payne and Cassie Patten are overhauled in the last few metres, having led for most of the race. Patten even collided with a buoy at one point or more likely she barged into it. It's not exactly a friendly sport. Leg pulling to slow swimmers down is endemic. Still a good effort from the Stockport club-mates who took silver and bronze.
Then Windsurfer Bryony Shaw and hurdler Natasha Danvers both clinch bronzes but what's going on? No gold's today.
Odd though it may seem, not everyone's been glued to the Olympics. In Oldham, at a offices of a company who supplies services to the council, whilst their work colleagues were occupied, presumably surreptitiously watching the Olympics coverage over the internet like the rest of us, a couple of employees decided to take the opportunity for a bit of sport of their own.
Unfortunately, they'd forgotten to put the blinds down on the office windows and a crowd of about twenty onlookers gathered to watch. Twenty minutes later a Community Support Officer had to go inside and pull them apart. Suppose it all explains why you can never get anyone to answer the phone when you ring the council.
In the evening, work takes us all Quad biking, which is good fun in a muddy and wet sort of way. Someone manages to land the whole thing in a bush, which is quite funny but only because it wasn't me. Afterwards we retire to the pub where we get food laid on. I avoid the chips this time but can't resist the cheeseboard, the consequence of which is of course at least one more session back on the bike before the end of the week.
Then Windsurfer Bryony Shaw and hurdler Natasha Danvers both clinch bronzes but what's going on? No gold's today.
Odd though it may seem, not everyone's been glued to the Olympics. In Oldham, at a offices of a company who supplies services to the council, whilst their work colleagues were occupied, presumably surreptitiously watching the Olympics coverage over the internet like the rest of us, a couple of employees decided to take the opportunity for a bit of sport of their own.
Unfortunately, they'd forgotten to put the blinds down on the office windows and a crowd of about twenty onlookers gathered to watch. Twenty minutes later a Community Support Officer had to go inside and pull them apart. Suppose it all explains why you can never get anyone to answer the phone when you ring the council.
In the evening, work takes us all Quad biking, which is good fun in a muddy and wet sort of way. Someone manages to land the whole thing in a bush, which is quite funny but only because it wasn't me. Afterwards we retire to the pub where we get food laid on. I avoid the chips this time but can't resist the cheeseboard, the consequence of which is of course at least one more session back on the bike before the end of the week.
Tuesday, 19 August 2008
Don't Wear Lacy Ankle Socks
Back at work today and back on the bike. It's a necessity really, because although it's been a brilliant weekend away and we've had some excellent meals out, it's not exactly been healthy stuff. Five a day? err no, well not of the green and fruity variety. Chips three days in a row, along with countless desserts, cheeseboards, ice creams and too much rather nice wine. It's not really the way to maintain my position at the top of the anti-fat league.
It's wet out on the roads, although not actually raining whilst I'm cycling but it is very windy and gives my legs a good work out. First portion of chips can now be chalked off.
L emails to say it's awful being back at work but she's not looking at the bright side. Such as not having an over exuberant puppy attached to her trouser leg.
Talking of MD, he had a great time on holiday, yapping at everything that moved and many things that didn't. One thing that certainly did move was the eight-year-old girl he chased across the beach on the last day. She was very quick for a youngster, definitely potential 2012 material. When we'd finally extracted our highly-strung young collie from around her ankles, L gave the girl a very good lecture on how to deal with a 'ferocious' four-month-old puppy, basically stand still, oh and don't wear lacy ankle socks. He seems quite taken with them. He's so human.
MD's swimming hasn't really come on though; he seemed reluctant to venture into the sea although Daughter did give him a thorough dousing on day one.
Daughter nearly ended up bivvying, unintentionally, when her tent started to fall apart. It was subjected to too much of the highly romantic early morning wind and rain, not that L and I noticed in our superior tent. What do you mean why are we giving Daughter the dodgy tent? Isn't that what all responsible parents do?
We can't really complain about the tent, it's done good service. We purchased it for our trip to Iceland 11 years ago and it's done sterling service across some rough terrain in the hills of England, Scotland and Wales.
L's off out at lunchtime to attempt to win us the lottery with the pound she has left. Hmmm, yes it did turn out rather expensive, for saying we were doing things on the cheap, in true credit crunch style, by camping. So, if she wins, we'll be able to get a new tent and then Daughter can have our old one!
Luckily, each day the rain gave way to nice sunny afternoons and evenings; that is after the morning peace had been broken by a gobby puppy. Who then handed the baton over to the stroppy older dog in the evenings, who growled at all the other dogs.
I'm not allowed to mention whether anyone had any fainting fits, particularly those into bags of chips.
So, a good weekend, although things didn't start out quite as well as we'd hoped because we didn't depart as early as we intended. We spent the morning trying to get Son onto a new A Level course. Seemingly, according to the examination board, technical and scientific disciplines are not his boat after all and it's a life of literature, law and sociology that beckons instead. We hope. Second time lucky.
After work, I cycle to the pool. So that's the second portion of chips dealt with, now all that is left is to take issue with Friday night's Battered Haddock in the pool.
It's been another good day in Beijing. Gold medal number thirteen arrives in sailing courtesy of Paul Goodison in the Laser.
Then it's back to the track where it's so easy for Vicky Pendleton in the Women's Sprint and number fourteen arrives. That's seven golds in cycling and now she has to bake Hugh Porter a sponge cake. Apparently, cycling and taking her clothes off aren't the only thing she's good at.
Then Chris Hoy beat Jason Kenny to Gold number fifteen in the Men's Sprint.
Even Athletics is finally onto the medal table. Germaine Mason, albeit a Jamaican defector, takes unexpected silver in the high jump. This tees things up nicely for Christine Ohuruogu. Whom we all thought would probably get a medal of some sort but probably only she believed that Gold number sixteen who have her name on it.
Back from my swim, L's at Sainsbury's so I take the 'boys' and go meet her. First, we all wander along the canal towpath where MD again tries to drown himself. Luckily, I've kept him on the lead so that I can reel him back in. Perhaps I should invest in a life jacket for him.
It's wet out on the roads, although not actually raining whilst I'm cycling but it is very windy and gives my legs a good work out. First portion of chips can now be chalked off.
L emails to say it's awful being back at work but she's not looking at the bright side. Such as not having an over exuberant puppy attached to her trouser leg.
Talking of MD, he had a great time on holiday, yapping at everything that moved and many things that didn't. One thing that certainly did move was the eight-year-old girl he chased across the beach on the last day. She was very quick for a youngster, definitely potential 2012 material. When we'd finally extracted our highly-strung young collie from around her ankles, L gave the girl a very good lecture on how to deal with a 'ferocious' four-month-old puppy, basically stand still, oh and don't wear lacy ankle socks. He seems quite taken with them. He's so human.
MD's swimming hasn't really come on though; he seemed reluctant to venture into the sea although Daughter did give him a thorough dousing on day one.
Daughter nearly ended up bivvying, unintentionally, when her tent started to fall apart. It was subjected to too much of the highly romantic early morning wind and rain, not that L and I noticed in our superior tent. What do you mean why are we giving Daughter the dodgy tent? Isn't that what all responsible parents do?
We can't really complain about the tent, it's done good service. We purchased it for our trip to Iceland 11 years ago and it's done sterling service across some rough terrain in the hills of England, Scotland and Wales.
L's off out at lunchtime to attempt to win us the lottery with the pound she has left. Hmmm, yes it did turn out rather expensive, for saying we were doing things on the cheap, in true credit crunch style, by camping. So, if she wins, we'll be able to get a new tent and then Daughter can have our old one!
Luckily, each day the rain gave way to nice sunny afternoons and evenings; that is after the morning peace had been broken by a gobby puppy. Who then handed the baton over to the stroppy older dog in the evenings, who growled at all the other dogs.
I'm not allowed to mention whether anyone had any fainting fits, particularly those into bags of chips.
So, a good weekend, although things didn't start out quite as well as we'd hoped because we didn't depart as early as we intended. We spent the morning trying to get Son onto a new A Level course. Seemingly, according to the examination board, technical and scientific disciplines are not his boat after all and it's a life of literature, law and sociology that beckons instead. We hope. Second time lucky.
After work, I cycle to the pool. So that's the second portion of chips dealt with, now all that is left is to take issue with Friday night's Battered Haddock in the pool.
It's been another good day in Beijing. Gold medal number thirteen arrives in sailing courtesy of Paul Goodison in the Laser.
Then it's back to the track where it's so easy for Vicky Pendleton in the Women's Sprint and number fourteen arrives. That's seven golds in cycling and now she has to bake Hugh Porter a sponge cake. Apparently, cycling and taking her clothes off aren't the only thing she's good at.
Then Chris Hoy beat Jason Kenny to Gold number fifteen in the Men's Sprint.
Even Athletics is finally onto the medal table. Germaine Mason, albeit a Jamaican defector, takes unexpected silver in the high jump. This tees things up nicely for Christine Ohuruogu. Whom we all thought would probably get a medal of some sort but probably only she believed that Gold number sixteen who have her name on it.
Back from my swim, L's at Sainsbury's so I take the 'boys' and go meet her. First, we all wander along the canal towpath where MD again tries to drown himself. Luckily, I've kept him on the lead so that I can reel him back in. Perhaps I should invest in a life jacket for him.
Monday, 18 August 2008
Olympic Update
Where to start?
It's all happened whilst I've been away. On Friday the cyclists took to the track at the Laoshan Velodrome and the GB team of Jamie Staff, Chris Hoy and Jason Kenny took gold in the team sprint.
Then on Saturday Rebecca Adlington did it again with victory in the women's 800m freestyle final.
The fifth gold arrived from Rowing when Tom James, Steve Williams, Pete Reed and Andy Hodge won the men's four.
The women's double sculls of Elise Laverick and Anna Bebington added a bronze, as did Matthew Wells and Steve Rowbotham in the men's double sculls.
Gold number six belonged to Bradley Wiggins, who won the 4000m individual pursuit.
Number seven again came from the velodrome with Chris Hoy winning the men's keirin ahead of Ross Edgar who took silver.
A bonus came with Chris Newton earning a bronze in the points race.
Britain were denied two sailing golds on Saturday when the races were postponed but when they were finally held on the Sunday the two delayed races both brought gold. First the Yngling crew of Sarah Ayton, Sarah Webb and Pippa Wilson.
Then Ben Ainslie triumphs in the Finn class.
For gold number ten it was back to the rowing with Zac Purchase and Mark Hunter in the lightweight sculls.
There was also a silver for the women's quad sculls team and a silver also for the men's eight.
The daily cycling gold arrives. Gold number eleven, as Rebecca Romero becomes the first British woman to medal in two sports as she beats fellow Brit Wendy Houvenaghel in the pursuit final.
Also Louis Smith wins bronze in the men's pommel horse event to hand Great Britain their first Olympics gymnastics medal in 80 years.
Number twelve comes on Monday back on the track. Geraint Thomas, Bradley Wiggins, Paul Manning and Ed Clancy smash the world record as Britain claim gold in the men's team pursuit.
In sailing, Joe Glanfield and Nick Rogers pick up a silver in the men's 470 class.
Meanwhile has any noticed that the football season has started? No thought not.
It's all happened whilst I've been away. On Friday the cyclists took to the track at the Laoshan Velodrome and the GB team of Jamie Staff, Chris Hoy and Jason Kenny took gold in the team sprint.
Then on Saturday Rebecca Adlington did it again with victory in the women's 800m freestyle final.
The fifth gold arrived from Rowing when Tom James, Steve Williams, Pete Reed and Andy Hodge won the men's four.
The women's double sculls of Elise Laverick and Anna Bebington added a bronze, as did Matthew Wells and Steve Rowbotham in the men's double sculls.
Gold number six belonged to Bradley Wiggins, who won the 4000m individual pursuit.
Number seven again came from the velodrome with Chris Hoy winning the men's keirin ahead of Ross Edgar who took silver.
A bonus came with Chris Newton earning a bronze in the points race.
Britain were denied two sailing golds on Saturday when the races were postponed but when they were finally held on the Sunday the two delayed races both brought gold. First the Yngling crew of Sarah Ayton, Sarah Webb and Pippa Wilson.
Then Ben Ainslie triumphs in the Finn class.
For gold number ten it was back to the rowing with Zac Purchase and Mark Hunter in the lightweight sculls.
There was also a silver for the women's quad sculls team and a silver also for the men's eight.
The daily cycling gold arrives. Gold number eleven, as Rebecca Romero becomes the first British woman to medal in two sports as she beats fellow Brit Wendy Houvenaghel in the pursuit final.
Also Louis Smith wins bronze in the men's pommel horse event to hand Great Britain their first Olympics gymnastics medal in 80 years.
Number twelve comes on Monday back on the track. Geraint Thomas, Bradley Wiggins, Paul Manning and Ed Clancy smash the world record as Britain claim gold in the men's team pursuit.
In sailing, Joe Glanfield and Nick Rogers pick up a silver in the men's 470 class.
Meanwhile has any noticed that the football season has started? No thought not.
Friday, 15 August 2008
Thursday, 14 August 2008
As If It's A Normal Day
I have the next five days off work so would you believe that I'm up at 6am going to a pre-work Cardio Tennis session as if it's a normal day. Barmy. The session is good but not quite as hectic as last weeks and I prefer hectic but it's still good fun.
Then its home to take the dogs out. L joins us and we extend it via the library so L can get some more sleazy talking books out.
Finally with the dogs knackered and falling asleep we finally manage to get some quality time to ourselves.
As I said yesterday we have a five day break off work but first, this afternoon we’re due to accompany Son to get his AS results, of which we're not terribly optimistic. Then in the evening I'm playing proper tennis and I hope to get a new racquet first. One that won't make my arm ache and will hopefully keep the ball in court.
Then hopefully first thing Friday, we're off away camping for a long weekend, so I'm taking a short blog break.
Back soon.
Then its home to take the dogs out. L joins us and we extend it via the library so L can get some more sleazy talking books out.
Finally with the dogs knackered and falling asleep we finally manage to get some quality time to ourselves.
As I said yesterday we have a five day break off work but first, this afternoon we’re due to accompany Son to get his AS results, of which we're not terribly optimistic. Then in the evening I'm playing proper tennis and I hope to get a new racquet first. One that won't make my arm ache and will hopefully keep the ball in court.
Then hopefully first thing Friday, we're off away camping for a long weekend, so I'm taking a short blog break.
Back soon.
Wednesday, 13 August 2008
As It's The Weekend...
The weather relents and I have a very good cycle in. A very fast one too, I had to get a move on though because L made me late but it was worth it.
Impressive though my ride is, it's not a patch on that done by Emma Pooley, who wins a silver medal in the individual time trial in Beijing. It's a just reward for Pooley, who worked hard to help Nicole Cook win gold in the road race on Sunday. The medal was seemingly a surprise to everyone except her coaches and herself, who saw that the course suited her hill-climbing abilities and launched 'Project Pooley' to try to get her a medal. They built a special small-framed bike with special handlebars made climbing. Then they gave her videos of the course, which she could watch repeatedly at home, so that she could learn it inside and out. Even this wasn't enough with Pooley out there in China practising on the course in the depths of winter when snow lay on the ground. I'm surprised the Chinese even let her in to do that.
The organisers had so little faith in her that they sent her off fifth, with all the favourites going much later. This apparently left her 'a shade miffed' and probably helped motivate her.
Pooley will no doubt get her five minutes on the evening highlights programme on TV, whereas some American swimmer, who may or may not get eight gold medals, will get his usual daily twenty-minute slot. What is it to us what the American's do? I'm sure plenty of top athletes over the years could have achieved huge medal hauls if the IOC were good enough to give them eight opportunities to do so. It must really annoy some of the other sports who are having events cut out of the programme to make room for new events. There are 34 swimming medals up for grabs at this Olympics. Athletics tops this with 47 but at least they have track and field, which includes a mix of disciplines: - running, jumping, throwing etc. Third most medalled events are shooting and weightlifting, each a long way behind with 15.
It starts raining again but thankfully stops before I head home and I manage to get to the pool without getting wet. I do a quick 30 lengths then head home to take the two dogs out onto the park. The park has now started locking its gates at 8.30, which is a bit ridiculous for August.
I cook a curry and as it's the weekend (neither of us are in work on Thursday or Friday) we have a glass of wine with it.
Impressive though my ride is, it's not a patch on that done by Emma Pooley, who wins a silver medal in the individual time trial in Beijing. It's a just reward for Pooley, who worked hard to help Nicole Cook win gold in the road race on Sunday. The medal was seemingly a surprise to everyone except her coaches and herself, who saw that the course suited her hill-climbing abilities and launched 'Project Pooley' to try to get her a medal. They built a special small-framed bike with special handlebars made climbing. Then they gave her videos of the course, which she could watch repeatedly at home, so that she could learn it inside and out. Even this wasn't enough with Pooley out there in China practising on the course in the depths of winter when snow lay on the ground. I'm surprised the Chinese even let her in to do that.
The organisers had so little faith in her that they sent her off fifth, with all the favourites going much later. This apparently left her 'a shade miffed' and probably helped motivate her.
Pooley will no doubt get her five minutes on the evening highlights programme on TV, whereas some American swimmer, who may or may not get eight gold medals, will get his usual daily twenty-minute slot. What is it to us what the American's do? I'm sure plenty of top athletes over the years could have achieved huge medal hauls if the IOC were good enough to give them eight opportunities to do so. It must really annoy some of the other sports who are having events cut out of the programme to make room for new events. There are 34 swimming medals up for grabs at this Olympics. Athletics tops this with 47 but at least they have track and field, which includes a mix of disciplines: - running, jumping, throwing etc. Third most medalled events are shooting and weightlifting, each a long way behind with 15.
It starts raining again but thankfully stops before I head home and I manage to get to the pool without getting wet. I do a quick 30 lengths then head home to take the two dogs out onto the park. The park has now started locking its gates at 8.30, which is a bit ridiculous for August.
I cook a curry and as it's the weekend (neither of us are in work on Thursday or Friday) we have a glass of wine with it.
Tuesday, 12 August 2008
A Sexy Bunch?
I wake up to the sound of heavy rain. Good intentions are quickly consigned to the bin, along with MD who has his head in it, chewing the wickerwork.
So no biking. I pick up a paper and it's all the more galling to see the headline 'Survival of the fittest'.
It's another article about the fact that running on a regular basis slows the effects of ageing. People who run are half as likely to die prematurely or develop disabilities. On average, if disabilities do occur they usually appear 16 years later. 16 years! That's a massive difference, well worth running for.
There is also no evidence that runners are more likely to suffer osteoarthritis or need more knee replacements than non-runners. It doesn't however say anything about cyclists...
I love the Olympics. At work, we're positively gripped to the canoeing, yes the canoeing. This is the white water stuff around the weaves poles, which must be a lot easier without a dog. A collie-less David Florence grabs a silver in the C1.
Later, the horsies get a couple of bronzes in the three-day eventing. L describes them as a sexy bunch. That's the men, not the horses, she points out. Although not sure if she means the Brits or not. Has she got the hots for William 'Foxy' Pitt, he's the only man in our team.
None of this, though, is as gripping as the badminton, where there isn't even a medal on offer yet. Gail Emms and Nathan Robertson overturn a 17-12 deficit in the third and deciding game against the Chinese second seeds. They bounce back to win 21-19. Fantastic stuff. So un-Andy Murray. I'm sat in Sainsbury's car park listening to the conclusion of it. Bizarrely, I was the only one high-fiving the shop assistants once I got inside.
Enthused by Derby only conceding one goal on Saturday, I finally bite the bullet and get a ticket for the cup game against Lincoln tonight. To be fair, Derby are much much better and play some good football. They dominate the first half and have countless chances but in true Derby style cannot score. Straight after half time, in true Derby style, they concede a soft goal and morale collapses. The game drifts until Derby somehow scrape an equaliser eight minutes from time. This buoys them up and although they don't manage the winner in normal time, they prevail 3-1 after extra time, thanks to a hat-trick from our new hero Nathan 'Duke' Ellington.
We hope that this a turning point.
So no biking. I pick up a paper and it's all the more galling to see the headline 'Survival of the fittest'.
It's another article about the fact that running on a regular basis slows the effects of ageing. People who run are half as likely to die prematurely or develop disabilities. On average, if disabilities do occur they usually appear 16 years later. 16 years! That's a massive difference, well worth running for.
There is also no evidence that runners are more likely to suffer osteoarthritis or need more knee replacements than non-runners. It doesn't however say anything about cyclists...
I love the Olympics. At work, we're positively gripped to the canoeing, yes the canoeing. This is the white water stuff around the weaves poles, which must be a lot easier without a dog. A collie-less David Florence grabs a silver in the C1.
Later, the horsies get a couple of bronzes in the three-day eventing. L describes them as a sexy bunch. That's the men, not the horses, she points out. Although not sure if she means the Brits or not. Has she got the hots for William 'Foxy' Pitt, he's the only man in our team.
None of this, though, is as gripping as the badminton, where there isn't even a medal on offer yet. Gail Emms and Nathan Robertson overturn a 17-12 deficit in the third and deciding game against the Chinese second seeds. They bounce back to win 21-19. Fantastic stuff. So un-Andy Murray. I'm sat in Sainsbury's car park listening to the conclusion of it. Bizarrely, I was the only one high-fiving the shop assistants once I got inside.
Enthused by Derby only conceding one goal on Saturday, I finally bite the bullet and get a ticket for the cup game against Lincoln tonight. To be fair, Derby are much much better and play some good football. They dominate the first half and have countless chances but in true Derby style cannot score. Straight after half time, in true Derby style, they concede a soft goal and morale collapses. The game drifts until Derby somehow scrape an equaliser eight minutes from time. This buoys them up and although they don't manage the winner in normal time, they prevail 3-1 after extra time, thanks to a hat-trick from our new hero Nathan 'Duke' Ellington.
We hope that this a turning point.
Monday, 11 August 2008
Good Intentions
I start the week full of good intentions. I'm only in work for three days this week and I intend to bike all three days. So a quick warm-up and then onto the bike.
The roads are quiet and it's quite an easy cycle. I have a better morning than L, who renders herself blind in one eye by ripping a contact lens at the swimming pool. She reckons she walked into a parking meter on the way into work, Doggo's been doing that for years.
News filters through that Daughter is a bit hacked off with number two dog, so much so that she's 'walked his legs off' on the park. It worked because apparently he's now asleep.
Britain take their second gold of the Olympics as Rebecca Adlington makes a sensational late surge to come from miles back to win the 400m freestyle in the pool by just seven 100ths of a second, with team-mate Jo Jackson claiming bronze. She becomes Britain's first female Olympic swimming champion for 48 years. Her time of 4:03.22 is less than half my time for the same distance in a triathlon and probably about how long my transition takes me.
In the evening, I take Doggo and MD on the park. MD tries plunging into lake, like he did at the weekend. This time I have him on the lead, so I let him keep doing it until he's had enough. Anything to help him wear himself out.
The roads are quiet and it's quite an easy cycle. I have a better morning than L, who renders herself blind in one eye by ripping a contact lens at the swimming pool. She reckons she walked into a parking meter on the way into work, Doggo's been doing that for years.
News filters through that Daughter is a bit hacked off with number two dog, so much so that she's 'walked his legs off' on the park. It worked because apparently he's now asleep.
Britain take their second gold of the Olympics as Rebecca Adlington makes a sensational late surge to come from miles back to win the 400m freestyle in the pool by just seven 100ths of a second, with team-mate Jo Jackson claiming bronze. She becomes Britain's first female Olympic swimming champion for 48 years. Her time of 4:03.22 is less than half my time for the same distance in a triathlon and probably about how long my transition takes me.
In the evening, I take Doggo and MD on the park. MD tries plunging into lake, like he did at the weekend. This time I have him on the lead, so I let him keep doing it until he's had enough. Anything to help him wear himself out.
Sunday, 10 August 2008
All Good Family Fun
Up at Chesterfield today for one of the lesser dog events. The dog that doesn't weave gets 4th place in 'Wicked Weaves' event, in which he has to do three sets of twelve weaves. Amazing. We then get 4th in both the jumping and agility events.
They tend to dish out photo frames as prizes here and L says we need something to display a photo of MD. I would have thought the preferred method of displaying a photo of MD would be a dartboard but obviously his little self must be in vogue at the moment and we might therefore be keeping him. Probably because he's with me and not at home.
Finally in the last event, we do the deed, break our run of 4th's, get second place and the promised photo frame. Whether Doggo will like his prize being used for the little one, I'm not sure.
Overall MD has a great day. Whilst we were out for a walk between events, MD attempted to join Doggo in a stream, where he was stood having a drink. MD launched himself off the bank and belly flopped into the water, which was about chest deep on Doggo, and promptly disappeared from view. Just as I was about to wade in and administer Doggie mouth to mouth he emerged like a bouncing bomb, coming towards me and seemingly eager to do it all over again. I restrain him; he's so unlike Doggo, totally fearless. Chalk and cheese.
I am the only one clustered around the radio as Nicole Cooke shows plenty of guts and desire to win Britain's first gold medal of the Olympics on the treacherously wet roads around Beijing.
Terrific stuff from her but road racing is very much a team sport and all credit too to her two teammates, who haven't really been given the credit they deserve. Sharon Laws and particularly Emma Pooley who were prominent near the front for most of the race. They set the pace and took the sting out of some of Cooke's rivals. Cooke meanwhile was able to save her legs until the last climb when she made her move.
Home for a bit of R&R with L and to pop the cork on a celebratory bottle of Rose. The two dogs and I are well knackered but whereas they crash for the night, I manage to drift in and out of consciousness as we watch a dodgy DVD that L has acquired.
She has got hold of a DVD of the Magic Toyshop. Not that it's available on DVD but she's found a site that transfers videos to DVDs. I’m not sure about the legality of doing this but that's their problem, not ours.
The story concerns 15-year-old Melanie and starts interestingly with her preening herself naked in front of a mirror. Later though, when the climbing the apple tree naked scene comes in, it's done fully clothed. These people do take liberties with vital plot elements when they convert books to the screen.
After her parents are killed in a plane crash, Melanie, along with her younger brother and sister, are sent to live with their Uncle Philip (Tom Bell) and his family. This family consists of his mute Irish wife and her brothers, Francie and Finn. He rules authoritarian like over all of them, although once his back is turned; they indulge in forbidden pleasures, such as dancing and drinking.
He is also a toymaker and owns a toyshop. He puts on surreal and often violent plays with his life like puppets that his family have to watch. He soon gets Melanie to take part in these productions alongside the puppets. He asserts his dominance over his wife by making her wear a silver collar whilst she watches the shows. L tells me, that in the book, this isn't the only time he gets her to wear it.
Finn develops a 'thing' about Melanie and in particular her long dark hair. Although he doesn't repeat the cool chat up line from the book:- 'You've got lovely hair Melanie, black as a pint of Guinness; black as an Ethiopian's armpit.' That'll work down your local pub.
Finn likes her hair down and doesn't like it in the braids she seems to prefer but she's probably just doing it to be a tease. They go on to develop a relationship of sorts, helped or possibly hindered by her Uncle who gets Finn to rehearse the part of a swan puppet that will molest Melanie in his next play.
Many strange and surreal events go on, things that I often lose track of and which often hint at things that only reading the book can explain. Thankfully, I have L on hand to explain these to me. Through these happenings, Melanie discovers more about her adopted family including their incestuous secrets and that her aunt isn't mute after all.
It all ends happily with the Uncle being depicted as a dummy and being burned on Guy Fawkes Night.
The story is totally bizarre and all terribly immoral, perverse and wonderfully un-politically correct. Which may be why it's been so hard to get hold of. It was made by the Granada TV network and screened on television before having a limited theatrical release. It is also, from what I can gather from my limited exposure to her books, very typical of Angela Carter, who wrote the original book and wrote the screenplay of the film.
All good family fun.
They tend to dish out photo frames as prizes here and L says we need something to display a photo of MD. I would have thought the preferred method of displaying a photo of MD would be a dartboard but obviously his little self must be in vogue at the moment and we might therefore be keeping him. Probably because he's with me and not at home.
Finally in the last event, we do the deed, break our run of 4th's, get second place and the promised photo frame. Whether Doggo will like his prize being used for the little one, I'm not sure.
Overall MD has a great day. Whilst we were out for a walk between events, MD attempted to join Doggo in a stream, where he was stood having a drink. MD launched himself off the bank and belly flopped into the water, which was about chest deep on Doggo, and promptly disappeared from view. Just as I was about to wade in and administer Doggie mouth to mouth he emerged like a bouncing bomb, coming towards me and seemingly eager to do it all over again. I restrain him; he's so unlike Doggo, totally fearless. Chalk and cheese.
I am the only one clustered around the radio as Nicole Cooke shows plenty of guts and desire to win Britain's first gold medal of the Olympics on the treacherously wet roads around Beijing.
Terrific stuff from her but road racing is very much a team sport and all credit too to her two teammates, who haven't really been given the credit they deserve. Sharon Laws and particularly Emma Pooley who were prominent near the front for most of the race. They set the pace and took the sting out of some of Cooke's rivals. Cooke meanwhile was able to save her legs until the last climb when she made her move.
Home for a bit of R&R with L and to pop the cork on a celebratory bottle of Rose. The two dogs and I are well knackered but whereas they crash for the night, I manage to drift in and out of consciousness as we watch a dodgy DVD that L has acquired.
She has got hold of a DVD of the Magic Toyshop. Not that it's available on DVD but she's found a site that transfers videos to DVDs. I’m not sure about the legality of doing this but that's their problem, not ours.
The story concerns 15-year-old Melanie and starts interestingly with her preening herself naked in front of a mirror. Later though, when the climbing the apple tree naked scene comes in, it's done fully clothed. These people do take liberties with vital plot elements when they convert books to the screen.
After her parents are killed in a plane crash, Melanie, along with her younger brother and sister, are sent to live with their Uncle Philip (Tom Bell) and his family. This family consists of his mute Irish wife and her brothers, Francie and Finn. He rules authoritarian like over all of them, although once his back is turned; they indulge in forbidden pleasures, such as dancing and drinking.
He is also a toymaker and owns a toyshop. He puts on surreal and often violent plays with his life like puppets that his family have to watch. He soon gets Melanie to take part in these productions alongside the puppets. He asserts his dominance over his wife by making her wear a silver collar whilst she watches the shows. L tells me, that in the book, this isn't the only time he gets her to wear it.
Finn develops a 'thing' about Melanie and in particular her long dark hair. Although he doesn't repeat the cool chat up line from the book:- 'You've got lovely hair Melanie, black as a pint of Guinness; black as an Ethiopian's armpit.' That'll work down your local pub.
Finn likes her hair down and doesn't like it in the braids she seems to prefer but she's probably just doing it to be a tease. They go on to develop a relationship of sorts, helped or possibly hindered by her Uncle who gets Finn to rehearse the part of a swan puppet that will molest Melanie in his next play.
Many strange and surreal events go on, things that I often lose track of and which often hint at things that only reading the book can explain. Thankfully, I have L on hand to explain these to me. Through these happenings, Melanie discovers more about her adopted family including their incestuous secrets and that her aunt isn't mute after all.
It all ends happily with the Uncle being depicted as a dummy and being burned on Guy Fawkes Night.
The story is totally bizarre and all terribly immoral, perverse and wonderfully un-politically correct. Which may be why it's been so hard to get hold of. It was made by the Granada TV network and screened on television before having a limited theatrical release. It is also, from what I can gather from my limited exposure to her books, very typical of Angela Carter, who wrote the original book and wrote the screenplay of the film.
All good family fun.
Saturday, 9 August 2008
Same Old Story
Blimey, a Saturday where I don't have to get up at 6am. Bliss. We even manage to get to our local farm shop to stock up supplies.
I had intended to walk the dogs but it's chucking it down. Doggo has never liked the rain but I'm MD wouldn't care less what it's doing outside. I, however, have the casting vote, so we don't bother.
Depressingly it's the first day of the new football season and expectations have never been so low. Therefore, it's no surprise that it's the same old story at Derby, who lose 1-0 to freshly promoted Doncaster.
Spare a thought though, for the real business of the coming season where Luton, Rotherham and Bournemouth will surely share the two relegation places from the Football League between them. Rotherham and Bournemouth have both been deducted 17 points for breaking rules on exiting administration, while Luton will start next season on an unprecedented minus 30 points.
The Hatters were deducted 10 points by the FA for paying agents via a third party and a further 20 points for failing to satisfy the League's insolvency rules. All this gives Luton an extraordinarily difficult task in trying to avoid relegation for the third season in a row.
In the evening we head out to Scruffys, the nice one in the Lace Market, not the pink one on Derby Road. Where we have a meal with some friends. My mate says he doesn't intend driving, because he wants a few beers. I enthusiastically try and talk him into the bus. After all the bus does run from more or less outside his house and will drop him in the centre of Nottingham. All in about 30 minutes and for a couple of quid but naturally to no avail, he talks his partner into driving instead.
Afterwards they come home to visit MD, he's such a popular pup, sometimes.
I had intended to walk the dogs but it's chucking it down. Doggo has never liked the rain but I'm MD wouldn't care less what it's doing outside. I, however, have the casting vote, so we don't bother.
Depressingly it's the first day of the new football season and expectations have never been so low. Therefore, it's no surprise that it's the same old story at Derby, who lose 1-0 to freshly promoted Doncaster.
Spare a thought though, for the real business of the coming season where Luton, Rotherham and Bournemouth will surely share the two relegation places from the Football League between them. Rotherham and Bournemouth have both been deducted 17 points for breaking rules on exiting administration, while Luton will start next season on an unprecedented minus 30 points.
The Hatters were deducted 10 points by the FA for paying agents via a third party and a further 20 points for failing to satisfy the League's insolvency rules. All this gives Luton an extraordinarily difficult task in trying to avoid relegation for the third season in a row.
In the evening we head out to Scruffys, the nice one in the Lace Market, not the pink one on Derby Road. Where we have a meal with some friends. My mate says he doesn't intend driving, because he wants a few beers. I enthusiastically try and talk him into the bus. After all the bus does run from more or less outside his house and will drop him in the centre of Nottingham. All in about 30 minutes and for a couple of quid but naturally to no avail, he talks his partner into driving instead.
Afterwards they come home to visit MD, he's such a popular pup, sometimes.
Friday, 8 August 2008
The Big Picture
L's off work today, so I get some quality time first thing and then it's the turn of the 'bloody' pup, whom she cuddles on the bed. I'm sure I saw her kiss him; she's so inconsistent.
Barack Obama says that it's important to have time during the day when all you're do is think. Without that, he says, 'you lose the big picture'. Too many people, he says, skim the surface of life seldom reflecting on what any of it means... perhaps L is right, when I run, I should look at the view.
I'm on the Red Arrow and I put down my paper, pause my Ipod and 'reflect'. The rest of the passengers are staring fixatedly at their mobile phones, games gadgets, books, newspapers etc oblivious to the 'big picture' outside. Well ok, it's only the A52 but all the same, it has to be better than texting ROFL, GR8, etc to your mates.
I've had an email from the organisers of tonight's 10k, asking if 'all my training is complete and you're up for taking the University course apart with a personal best'. Hmmm, no. It'll more than likely take me apart.
After a fairly uneventful day at work, I get the Red Arrow again and then walk to the University. L joins me later with the dogs. I tie them to a tree, just the dogs not L. Doggo needs to be lashed down because he gets so excited. MD though, seems oblivious to everything that is going on.
Last year I recorded 41:23 and my target this time is to break 41:00, which is a minute outside my PB but it is a hilly course. I start near the front but let the nutters go on ahead and restrict myself to a sensible and steady pace, which rather than being sensible turns out to be totally pedestrian. My first kilometre is a tardy 4:16. Doesn't bode well but at least I'm enjoying it... I think. All the same I best get a move on. My times do improve so perhaps it was just the fact that almost the entire first kilometre was uphill. Plus I've also been taking L and Baracks's advice and admiring the big picture. A little.
The organisers have a cruel trick up their sleeves; they have moved the finish area. Apparently, the main University field is undergoing work to create a large play area. Is that wise, a play area among a student zone? Who thought of that one?
Anyhow, somehow, it now seems further to the finish and it's down a track so you can't see where the line is. Someone out sprints me on the run in, crosses the line and vomits. Serves him right. Was it really worth it?
I find a quiet corner for a lie down before staggering off to find the boys and my girl.
Afterwards we retire to the Stick and Pitcher pub with the two dogs. Where I learn that I haven't won anything, not even in the raffle for spot prizes.
We get home just after Son, who's been out at a BBQ and knocking back the cans of cider, apparently. He doesn't totter upstairs, so it couldn't have been that heavy a night.
Barack Obama says that it's important to have time during the day when all you're do is think. Without that, he says, 'you lose the big picture'. Too many people, he says, skim the surface of life seldom reflecting on what any of it means... perhaps L is right, when I run, I should look at the view.
I'm on the Red Arrow and I put down my paper, pause my Ipod and 'reflect'. The rest of the passengers are staring fixatedly at their mobile phones, games gadgets, books, newspapers etc oblivious to the 'big picture' outside. Well ok, it's only the A52 but all the same, it has to be better than texting ROFL, GR8, etc to your mates.
I've had an email from the organisers of tonight's 10k, asking if 'all my training is complete and you're up for taking the University course apart with a personal best'. Hmmm, no. It'll more than likely take me apart.
After a fairly uneventful day at work, I get the Red Arrow again and then walk to the University. L joins me later with the dogs. I tie them to a tree, just the dogs not L. Doggo needs to be lashed down because he gets so excited. MD though, seems oblivious to everything that is going on.
Last year I recorded 41:23 and my target this time is to break 41:00, which is a minute outside my PB but it is a hilly course. I start near the front but let the nutters go on ahead and restrict myself to a sensible and steady pace, which rather than being sensible turns out to be totally pedestrian. My first kilometre is a tardy 4:16. Doesn't bode well but at least I'm enjoying it... I think. All the same I best get a move on. My times do improve so perhaps it was just the fact that almost the entire first kilometre was uphill. Plus I've also been taking L and Baracks's advice and admiring the big picture. A little.
The organisers have a cruel trick up their sleeves; they have moved the finish area. Apparently, the main University field is undergoing work to create a large play area. Is that wise, a play area among a student zone? Who thought of that one?
Anyhow, somehow, it now seems further to the finish and it's down a track so you can't see where the line is. Someone out sprints me on the run in, crosses the line and vomits. Serves him right. Was it really worth it?
I find a quiet corner for a lie down before staggering off to find the boys and my girl.
Afterwards we retire to the Stick and Pitcher pub with the two dogs. Where I learn that I haven't won anything, not even in the raffle for spot prizes.
We get home just after Son, who's been out at a BBQ and knocking back the cans of cider, apparently. He doesn't totter upstairs, so it couldn't have been that heavy a night.
Thursday, 7 August 2008
Serving Like An 8 Year Old (And Proud Of It)
Would you believe it, another early start. No wonder when asked on the Biobank survey yesterday whether she was a morning or an evening person, L went for the morning option.
She's up at 5.30 and out with the dogs. Then at 7am she's off to Cardio tennis and today she persuades me to join her. We spend an hour hitting tennis balls and trying to remain in the 'zone', as defined by the heart rate monitor we are supplied with. I drop below my zone as soon as I stop exercising, which is apparently a good sign and means I'm fit!
The session was actually very good and excellent for practising your shots, which is what I need after last weeks tennis match when I struggled to keep the ball in court.
The chap explained that there were 'no rules' to the tennis part, so you're allowed to do stuff like letting the ball bounce twice etc. None of the lads in the group believed he actually meant this and we all continued hammering the balls back across the net after one bounce and as hard as we could, as if Roger Federer was across the other side of the net.
The girl in the group, L, took him at his word and then she complains she's rubbish at tennis! I’m sure her racquet skills would rapidly improve if she concentrated as much on the tennis part of the session as she does on the cardio part.
Afterwards I'm totally knackered. I think he deliberately tried to make it hard for me and made me run more than the others. I still make work on time, because there's no traffic. When I get there, I'm absolutely starving, so it must have been a good workout.
While I'm in the pub at lunch time, refuelling with Steak and Kidney pie,
neither of us have cottage pie which I think is a first, and sipping Pooh Beer from Church End, L is back at the leisure centre doing Bodyball.
She intends to carry the session on at home, where she now has her own gym ball, if the puppy and his teeth will permit it. I can just see it now, the ball deflating, with MD still attached to it.
In the evening it's proper tennis and my practice session doesn't help one bit. This morning they gave me a decent lightweight racquet. Now I'm back using L's racquet, which is a bit like trying to hit the ball across the net with a breeze block. At 5-1 down, I'm considering jacking it all in.
Things improve though and as I get the hang of things; my opponent starts to fall apart. I record a famous 5-7 6-1 6-3 victory. Although he accused me of using underhand tactics and serving like an 8 year old. Just because my serving is a bit rusty and I've opted for accurate but gentle serves that don't carry nicely to the back of the court for him. Well he'll just have to stand closer.
That's nothing to what I had to put up with. Balls smashed in frustration in all directions, often at head height, even racquets flying over the net towards me. He's not a gallant loser.
Back home the pup is walking the lonely streets, having been banished for digging in Daughter's vegetable patch. Oh dear. He's not popular, again.
She's up at 5.30 and out with the dogs. Then at 7am she's off to Cardio tennis and today she persuades me to join her. We spend an hour hitting tennis balls and trying to remain in the 'zone', as defined by the heart rate monitor we are supplied with. I drop below my zone as soon as I stop exercising, which is apparently a good sign and means I'm fit!
The session was actually very good and excellent for practising your shots, which is what I need after last weeks tennis match when I struggled to keep the ball in court.
The chap explained that there were 'no rules' to the tennis part, so you're allowed to do stuff like letting the ball bounce twice etc. None of the lads in the group believed he actually meant this and we all continued hammering the balls back across the net after one bounce and as hard as we could, as if Roger Federer was across the other side of the net.
The girl in the group, L, took him at his word and then she complains she's rubbish at tennis! I’m sure her racquet skills would rapidly improve if she concentrated as much on the tennis part of the session as she does on the cardio part.
Afterwards I'm totally knackered. I think he deliberately tried to make it hard for me and made me run more than the others. I still make work on time, because there's no traffic. When I get there, I'm absolutely starving, so it must have been a good workout.
While I'm in the pub at lunch time, refuelling with Steak and Kidney pie,
neither of us have cottage pie which I think is a first, and sipping Pooh Beer from Church End, L is back at the leisure centre doing Bodyball.
She intends to carry the session on at home, where she now has her own gym ball, if the puppy and his teeth will permit it. I can just see it now, the ball deflating, with MD still attached to it.
In the evening it's proper tennis and my practice session doesn't help one bit. This morning they gave me a decent lightweight racquet. Now I'm back using L's racquet, which is a bit like trying to hit the ball across the net with a breeze block. At 5-1 down, I'm considering jacking it all in.
Things improve though and as I get the hang of things; my opponent starts to fall apart. I record a famous 5-7 6-1 6-3 victory. Although he accused me of using underhand tactics and serving like an 8 year old. Just because my serving is a bit rusty and I've opted for accurate but gentle serves that don't carry nicely to the back of the court for him. Well he'll just have to stand closer.
That's nothing to what I had to put up with. Balls smashed in frustration in all directions, often at head height, even racquets flying over the net towards me. He's not a gallant loser.
Back home the pup is walking the lonely streets, having been banished for digging in Daughter's vegetable patch. Oh dear. He's not popular, again.
Wednesday, 6 August 2008
Features And Benefits
This morning an evil 4.15am alarm call rocks the household. Well actually, no one appears to actually notice as I crawl out of bed and get ready for my 6.20am flight to Belfast. Doggo lifts an eyebrow, L momentarily stirs but then rolls over and goes back to sleep. At least MD wags his tail at me when I venture into the kitchen where he sleeps.
The flight goes well, not so the car hire. The car hire people have mistakenly booked our car for collection from Belfast city centre and not George Best City Airport, which is where we are. Strangely the hire people do no wish to sort this out for us and just tell us to 'get a taxi', which seems a good way of persuading our company to take their not insignificant business elsewhere.
Once at the meeting, my travelling companion, a salesman launches into his usual sales pitch, explaining all the 'features and benefits' of our software. Rumour has it that this is the same criteria on which he judges his women. I have to nudge him to cut it short, we have after all already clinched the sale. Old habits die hard, especially with salesmen.
It's already been a long day and by lunchtime, we are taking turns nodding off. He dozes while I'm talking and then I when he's talking. We just hope no one notices but I only nod off about four times, which isn't bad considering.
Back home L's doing her Biobank today, where her figures come out oddly similar to mine but there's no chance of her deposing me from the top of the league because women come with an extra 10% of essential fat built in. How cruel is that?
The meeting goes well and at 6pm I get the flight back but from a different airport, Belfast International, just to make things confusing. L texts to say that she's taking the bloody pup on the park. Ah, seems he's as popular as ever.
When I get home, after the long hard and tiring day I've had, there are only really two ways to unwind. Sex or alcohol. As it's an AF Wednesday, the former will have to suffice. Thankfully, L doesn't object.
The flight goes well, not so the car hire. The car hire people have mistakenly booked our car for collection from Belfast city centre and not George Best City Airport, which is where we are. Strangely the hire people do no wish to sort this out for us and just tell us to 'get a taxi', which seems a good way of persuading our company to take their not insignificant business elsewhere.
Once at the meeting, my travelling companion, a salesman launches into his usual sales pitch, explaining all the 'features and benefits' of our software. Rumour has it that this is the same criteria on which he judges his women. I have to nudge him to cut it short, we have after all already clinched the sale. Old habits die hard, especially with salesmen.
It's already been a long day and by lunchtime, we are taking turns nodding off. He dozes while I'm talking and then I when he's talking. We just hope no one notices but I only nod off about four times, which isn't bad considering.
Back home L's doing her Biobank today, where her figures come out oddly similar to mine but there's no chance of her deposing me from the top of the league because women come with an extra 10% of essential fat built in. How cruel is that?
The meeting goes well and at 6pm I get the flight back but from a different airport, Belfast International, just to make things confusing. L texts to say that she's taking the bloody pup on the park. Ah, seems he's as popular as ever.
When I get home, after the long hard and tiring day I've had, there are only really two ways to unwind. Sex or alcohol. As it's an AF Wednesday, the former will have to suffice. Thankfully, L doesn't object.
Tuesday, 5 August 2008
Dogs: They Don't Nip And They Don't Pull.
I cycle to work today, it's a bit damp but it's my only chance to get on the bike this week.
There's been quite a bit of fuss about that pedestrian that was killed by a cyclist, which obviously wasn't good, but figures have been released for accidents involving cyclists for the last year, which puts it in perspective. Last year 136 cyclists were killed by motor vehicles and 2,428 were seriously injured. The number of motorists and pedestrians killed by cyclists in the same period, just the one.
MD has been back on the park again this morning, with L. This time though he had to be carried back home. Too much park I think.
It's rains heavy on my way home and I have to strip off all my wet cycling gear when I get home and without the aid of my attractive assistant, who is at Pilates. MD enthusiastically steps in as her replacement. I have to chase him to get my socks back. L did say he'd been worn out chasing the vacuum cleaner but I can see no evidence of that. There's nothing for it, but to take him on the park again.
Oddly the moment MD gets home from a walk, any walk, he greets Doggo, appearing absolutely thrilled to see him. It appears he can barely bare to be parted from him, even when he hasn't been. Doggo has been there all the time on his walk with him. In return, Doggo usually growls and snaps at him but I think secretly, Doggo likes all the adoration. He just finds it a bit overpowering at times. I know the feeling mate.
Poor old MD, or Scrote as he's sometimes affectionately known. He's getting a bit of a reputation, particularly for nipping with his teeth. I think that's a rather unjustified criticism of the little treasure, he's only nipped me a couple of times since he's arrived.
L reckons, saying that MD doesn't nip is like saying that Doggo doesn't pull on his lead. Which incidentally, she says, he doesn't. Well not when he's out with her. She claims he's turned into a real treasure on the lead. Hmmm, it's a shame he doesn’t do this treasure business with me. Although it wasn't long ago, that she was walking with cheese in her pocket to get him to walk by her side. This apparently worked, briefly, until the cheese ran out. Not stupid these collies. Well, not all the time.
There's been quite a bit of fuss about that pedestrian that was killed by a cyclist, which obviously wasn't good, but figures have been released for accidents involving cyclists for the last year, which puts it in perspective. Last year 136 cyclists were killed by motor vehicles and 2,428 were seriously injured. The number of motorists and pedestrians killed by cyclists in the same period, just the one.
MD has been back on the park again this morning, with L. This time though he had to be carried back home. Too much park I think.
It's rains heavy on my way home and I have to strip off all my wet cycling gear when I get home and without the aid of my attractive assistant, who is at Pilates. MD enthusiastically steps in as her replacement. I have to chase him to get my socks back. L did say he'd been worn out chasing the vacuum cleaner but I can see no evidence of that. There's nothing for it, but to take him on the park again.
Oddly the moment MD gets home from a walk, any walk, he greets Doggo, appearing absolutely thrilled to see him. It appears he can barely bare to be parted from him, even when he hasn't been. Doggo has been there all the time on his walk with him. In return, Doggo usually growls and snaps at him but I think secretly, Doggo likes all the adoration. He just finds it a bit overpowering at times. I know the feeling mate.
Poor old MD, or Scrote as he's sometimes affectionately known. He's getting a bit of a reputation, particularly for nipping with his teeth. I think that's a rather unjustified criticism of the little treasure, he's only nipped me a couple of times since he's arrived.
L reckons, saying that MD doesn't nip is like saying that Doggo doesn't pull on his lead. Which incidentally, she says, he doesn't. Well not when he's out with her. She claims he's turned into a real treasure on the lead. Hmmm, it's a shame he doesn’t do this treasure business with me. Although it wasn't long ago, that she was walking with cheese in her pocket to get him to walk by her side. This apparently worked, briefly, until the cheese ran out. Not stupid these collies. Well, not all the time.
Monday, 4 August 2008
While The Cat Is Away The Mice Will Play
L's boss is away; and as the saying goes, while the cat is away the mice will play. So, she says she intends to roll into work around 10am and therefore doesn’t have to rush off to walk the dogs at 6am. Which is good and to my benefit.
I'm in the car and, as it's the school holidays, there's little or not traffic, so I can be laid back too. Just like the kids are in the mornings... one of which nearly lost their paper round today. When I popped in to the newsagent for a paper, one of the other lads, having already done his round, was eyeing up the two remaining undelivered piles of papers. By a process of elimination, I assume these were Son and Daughter's rounds.
Book wise, L has now finished the sleazy Magic Toyshop and has moved on to the equally bizarre and seedy Orlando by Virginia Wolfe.
We are on summer break from dog class, so in the evening I take both the dogs on the park with the football. I attach them together with the dual dog lead extension that L has just purchased. Doggo as usual tows me there and MD has little choice than to get carried along with him, dragged by the neck, a lot of the time with all his paws off the ground. He doesn't seem bothered.
Once at the park, he trots around with us chasing after Doggo and his ball. Occasionally chasing birds, not seeming to realise that he won't catch one but then again, I reckon one day he might, he seems so determined. I also have to restrain him from plunging into the lake.
On the way back Doggo is tired out, so MD is more than happy to set the pace. Every time Doggo tries to stop to lift his leg, he can't, because MD is still ploughing on homewards and pulls him off balance. Its one of our faster return journeys.
L has told me to walk MD's legs off so that we can get some peace that evening. However, I seem to have tired out the wrong dog. Doggo is shattered but MD, seemingly powered by Duracell's, is still going strong.
I'm in the car and, as it's the school holidays, there's little or not traffic, so I can be laid back too. Just like the kids are in the mornings... one of which nearly lost their paper round today. When I popped in to the newsagent for a paper, one of the other lads, having already done his round, was eyeing up the two remaining undelivered piles of papers. By a process of elimination, I assume these were Son and Daughter's rounds.
Book wise, L has now finished the sleazy Magic Toyshop and has moved on to the equally bizarre and seedy Orlando by Virginia Wolfe.
We are on summer break from dog class, so in the evening I take both the dogs on the park with the football. I attach them together with the dual dog lead extension that L has just purchased. Doggo as usual tows me there and MD has little choice than to get carried along with him, dragged by the neck, a lot of the time with all his paws off the ground. He doesn't seem bothered.
Once at the park, he trots around with us chasing after Doggo and his ball. Occasionally chasing birds, not seeming to realise that he won't catch one but then again, I reckon one day he might, he seems so determined. I also have to restrain him from plunging into the lake.
On the way back Doggo is tired out, so MD is more than happy to set the pace. Every time Doggo tries to stop to lift his leg, he can't, because MD is still ploughing on homewards and pulls him off balance. Its one of our faster return journeys.
L has told me to walk MD's legs off so that we can get some peace that evening. However, I seem to have tired out the wrong dog. Doggo is shattered but MD, seemingly powered by Duracell's, is still going strong.
Sunday, 3 August 2008
All Four Paws On Terra Firma
It's nice to wake up under canvas for once. Camping was something we used to do on at least a monthly basis but as the kids got older these things get more complicated. It's also nice to have a lay-in, that if you discount the twin distractions of dogs and Daughter.
When we've packed up the tents, we give Mini Doggo another first, his first beach with real live sea. Doggo has always loved the sea, I think MD will be a chip off the old block on that score but unlike Doggo, I reckon he'll be swimming before too long. Seven years on, Doggo still daren't take all four paws off terra firma. He's the only dog whose had to be rescued, several times, for going out of his depth.
We adjourn to a pub for lunch but again fail to obtain any draught Batemans, despite being within spitting distance of their home turf.
We head home and watch the first part of one of L's talking books but on DVD. This being 'South Riding' which appears to be set in the coastal area around Hull, which is oddly close to where we've been this weekend. The plot seems to be to show how local government affects the lives of people in the county. Sounds dull but L assures me it isn't. The first episode is a bit devoid of colour. Whether that's the 1970's production (it was made in 1974) or perhaps it's meant to reflect the grey 1930's period in which it is set, I'm not sure. L tells me it livens up. I'll let you know.
When we've packed up the tents, we give Mini Doggo another first, his first beach with real live sea. Doggo has always loved the sea, I think MD will be a chip off the old block on that score but unlike Doggo, I reckon he'll be swimming before too long. Seven years on, Doggo still daren't take all four paws off terra firma. He's the only dog whose had to be rescued, several times, for going out of his depth.
We adjourn to a pub for lunch but again fail to obtain any draught Batemans, despite being within spitting distance of their home turf.
We head home and watch the first part of one of L's talking books but on DVD. This being 'South Riding' which appears to be set in the coastal area around Hull, which is oddly close to where we've been this weekend. The plot seems to be to show how local government affects the lives of people in the county. Sounds dull but L assures me it isn't. The first episode is a bit devoid of colour. Whether that's the 1970's production (it was made in 1974) or perhaps it's meant to reflect the grey 1930's period in which it is set, I'm not sure. L tells me it livens up. I'll let you know.
Saturday, 2 August 2008
Pulsating Mablethorpe
I'm up early and so are the dogs, L and even Daughter, as we all head off to Scunthorpe for a dog show, where we also intend to stay overnight. We're left Son at home with some nutritional ready meals (if such a thing exists) for company. Anything to keep him off the pizzas.
Having dropped the girls in town for some serious wallet emptying, the boys (dogs) and I do the rounds at the show because everyone wants to meet Mini Doggo. He loves it, his first dog show and so many dogs to check out. He insists on barking at the biggest ones.
Socialising aside, it's a serious day because it's our first day in Grade 6 and although it's great fun getting four seriously testing courses, we don't exactly cover ourselves in glory. Two eliminations and two lots of five faults. The faults being Doggo's fault for missing his first weave (twice). The eliminations largely my fault for giving him too much slack with which he duly hung himself, and me.
There's bad news for the expandable trousers brigade because the burger van has been replaced by the local Lions club who provide a much healthier menu. Amazingly, for a dog show, I get a brown roll with salad in it and it was also only a £1.
When the girls return, laden down with mainly books and shoes, we head off towards the coast to try to find somewhere to pitch camp. We end up near the 'pulsating' seaside town of Mablethorpe. It's not a bad campsite to be fair, ideal for sipping wine with a couple of collies at your feet; that is if you pin the youngest one down long enough. We also find a decent pub with some local Lincolnshire Tom Woods ale, although the more famous local ale of Batemans seems oddly difficult to get hold of. We take fish and chips back to the tents.
Camping, of course, is another first for Mini Doggo. L's a bit worried about sharing a tent with him or more precisely, as she puts it, being nipped by the 'scrote' at half-hourly intervals throughout the night. Her fears are unfounded, he's that knackered, he's just zonked out all night.
Having dropped the girls in town for some serious wallet emptying, the boys (dogs) and I do the rounds at the show because everyone wants to meet Mini Doggo. He loves it, his first dog show and so many dogs to check out. He insists on barking at the biggest ones.
Socialising aside, it's a serious day because it's our first day in Grade 6 and although it's great fun getting four seriously testing courses, we don't exactly cover ourselves in glory. Two eliminations and two lots of five faults. The faults being Doggo's fault for missing his first weave (twice). The eliminations largely my fault for giving him too much slack with which he duly hung himself, and me.
There's bad news for the expandable trousers brigade because the burger van has been replaced by the local Lions club who provide a much healthier menu. Amazingly, for a dog show, I get a brown roll with salad in it and it was also only a £1.
When the girls return, laden down with mainly books and shoes, we head off towards the coast to try to find somewhere to pitch camp. We end up near the 'pulsating' seaside town of Mablethorpe. It's not a bad campsite to be fair, ideal for sipping wine with a couple of collies at your feet; that is if you pin the youngest one down long enough. We also find a decent pub with some local Lincolnshire Tom Woods ale, although the more famous local ale of Batemans seems oddly difficult to get hold of. We take fish and chips back to the tents.
Camping, of course, is another first for Mini Doggo. L's a bit worried about sharing a tent with him or more precisely, as she puts it, being nipped by the 'scrote' at half-hourly intervals throughout the night. Her fears are unfounded, he's that knackered, he's just zonked out all night.
Friday, 1 August 2008
There's Nothing Wrong With A Bit Of Frolicking
Now we already know that the majority of white vans aren't equipped with indicators. A case proven this morning when a particularly large white van careered across two lanes to park up at the side of the road without having to resort to the use of those little yellow flashy things. The manoeuvre caused quite a few motorists to do a double take and slam their brakes on. It also came as a bit of a shock to the cyclist the van nearly wiped out (me!); luckily, he's quite an alert cyclist.
Overall, it was quite a traumatic morning. I had problems 'unclipping' my right foot to walk across the A52 bridge. When I finally got my foot out, the entire cleat fell off; one of the two screws seems to be missing. Somehow, whilst this struggle was going on I managed to dunk my other foot in a pile of dog mess. As I say, a traumatic morning.
A Norfolk farmer has been struggling to come up with a method effective enough to scare the birds away from his crops. Then he hit on an idea, so terrifying it was sure to work. He called in Amy Winehouse. Well obviously not the real one because she's too busy in rehab, but he based a scarecrow on her and it worked a treat. He says that 'the pigeons are terrified; they're sitting up on the telephone wires too scared to come into the field'.
What's really scary is that this isn't the only Amy Winehouse scarecrow around at the moment...
link
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Despite a typically British summer gale, it's not a bad cycle home, wind assisted. Over lunch, I managed to do some repairs to my cleats, so at least I had two feet available for the ride home.
In the evening, we amble across the park to the pub with the two dogs, giving Mini Doggo his first park experience. L describes it as more of a frolic than a walk. Of course, there's nothing wrong with a bit of frolicking. After a few rather nice Elsie Mo's, we frolic our way back home.
Overall, it was quite a traumatic morning. I had problems 'unclipping' my right foot to walk across the A52 bridge. When I finally got my foot out, the entire cleat fell off; one of the two screws seems to be missing. Somehow, whilst this struggle was going on I managed to dunk my other foot in a pile of dog mess. As I say, a traumatic morning.
A Norfolk farmer has been struggling to come up with a method effective enough to scare the birds away from his crops. Then he hit on an idea, so terrifying it was sure to work. He called in Amy Winehouse. Well obviously not the real one because she's too busy in rehab, but he based a scarecrow on her and it worked a treat. He says that 'the pigeons are terrified; they're sitting up on the telephone wires too scared to come into the field'.
What's really scary is that this isn't the only Amy Winehouse scarecrow around at the moment...
link
link
Despite a typically British summer gale, it's not a bad cycle home, wind assisted. Over lunch, I managed to do some repairs to my cleats, so at least I had two feet available for the ride home.
In the evening, we amble across the park to the pub with the two dogs, giving Mini Doggo his first park experience. L describes it as more of a frolic than a walk. Of course, there's nothing wrong with a bit of frolicking. After a few rather nice Elsie Mo's, we frolic our way back home.
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