Thoughts Of Lycra

I'm not at work today and my thoughts turn to lycra, that is because we're heading off to the Manchester Velodrome for the World Cup cycling. L must have enjoyed it when I took her to the World Championships in March because she's keen to come again, although this could have something do with all those men in lycra.

First though she talks me into getting up early, but not too early, to take in a swim and then to take the dogs out on a run.

Then just before lunch, we head off up the M6. On the way, we listen to another John Grisham audio book that L has treated me to, from the library. It's called 'The Client' and L promises me it going to truly evil.

The cycling is a total sell-out, and they say that there are ticket touts in the streets outside, although we didn't see any. Perhaps this could account for the reason that a quarter of the 'sold out' seats remained empty for the whole day. I'm not sure cycling folks would have turned up on spec hoping to pick up a black market ticket. So hopefully the touts lost money.

The British riders simply follow on from where they left off at the World Championships and the Olympics. The expected names such as Wendy Houvenaghel, Victoria Pendleton, Ed Clancy and Jason Kenny delivered medals while Chris Hoy got writers cramp from signing autographs, he wasn't racing this weekend.

The real treat was, and this should strike fear into the other nations, the number of new young riders who impressed as Britain won five of the seven races. In particular 19-year-old Lizzie Armitstead who comprehensively won the points race, a race wholly dominated by the British riders as Lucy Martin came second and Katie Colclough third.



We stayed to the bitter end to see 18-year-old David Daniell turned in an extremely impressive performance to win the kilometre time trial. My only regret for him was that it was already 10:30 and everybody, including us, were making for home and that there wouldn't be many folks around to cheer his presentation. We however had a two-hour drive home.

I know L would prefer some photos of guys in lycra but tough, he's some of the girls.

Venture Capitalists

This morning I don't have to be up so early because I'm driving to work again. It's pub day. I consider grabbing L by the ankle with my teeth, just like MD does, to prevent her getting out of bed to go walk the dogs. I suppose, if I tried that, she'd quell my ardour by rattling her bottle of rocks at me. As it happens, in the end, I don't have to.

Before I head off to work, I even managed a game of ‘double’ football with the dogs, both chasing after different balls. That is until Doggo puts a stop to it by taking MD’s ball off him. He's trying so hard to be the Alpha dog. He'd be quite ferocious if he put his heart into it.

It's a tad annoying that after driving in to work I discover that our pub trip is off. My partner in crime on our pub trips has been struggling with a bad back and yesterday afternoon he went for physiotherapy. Well I don’t know what they did to him but he hasn’t come in today. So I opt for good old Sainsbury’s instead, rather than wait to see what vans don’t turn up.

L's stressed, I can tell that even on email. Today she has patients interspersed with meetings with venture capitalists, who all have Noel Edmonds type jumpers on. She's got a downer on venture capitalists and she's not even totally sure what one is, all she knows is that it's something to do with the odious beast (money). She should at least have looked them up on Wikipedia first.

She warns me that if we're out tonight, she's on the wine and tells me she's considering joining a commune, she reckons she'll be well suited to commune life. It’s would have to be a Belgian commune, those Trappists brew their own beer. I might even join her. Some of these Trappists make cheese as well, which would be just perfect, although it would play havoc with L's diet. The collies would love it, running around the commune all day, chasing the cows and the chickens and chewing things.

In the end we're on the Supreme, L goes straight to the gym after work and I meet her outside after I've run the dogs around the pond. We walk down to the pub. The run was all a bit too much for MD and I ended up carrying him at one point. Unfortunately, he's now far too porky to be carried too far; I certainly can't run with such a great lump in my arms.

No Overtaking

My first and only bike of this week and it was a bit of a cold one. I had so many layers on, L would have been proud of me.

Cycling wise it was a bit depressing because a guy in full kit passed me and not once but twice. I'm not really sure how he managed twice, I think I must know a short cut that he doesn't.

Nottingham didn't get to be a 'Cycling City' but Derby has been confirmed as one. The status was clinched after they took the chairman of Cycling England on a ride around the city's cycle routes. Blimey, I wonder where they took him, Sheffield probably.

Whether any of this will make any difference to my ride to work, I doubt. One of the first initiatives they've announced is 'Scootability', where they will teach children up to Year 4 in the skills necessary to manage a scooter on the pavement. Great.

I'm in another meeting today. This is what happens when everyone wants a viewing of your new project, so I should be pleased really but how am I supposed to keep this blog up to date if I don't get proper lunch hours.

Meeting goes well and I cycle to the pool, without being overtaken and get a swim, where I am overtaken.

In the evening, I take Doggo training and because by the end of the evening, there are only three of us left there training, I get MD out and attempt to show him what a tunnel is. It's a success, eventually; this is after we've persuaded him to stop doing laps of the arena. At least he'll sleep tonight.

Heart Massage And A Bonio

I have training issues this week due to the various events I have on. I need to stay in Derby tonight for the match, so I drive over to my parents place and run the five and half miles to work from there.

As I drive pass L, I notice she's having a bit of a puppy problem. His lead appeared to be attached to his teeth rather than his collar. L dismisses it, saying she always has a puppy problem, mainly with regard to those teeth.

My run in was good. It took 40 minutes, which is rubbish but I did have quite a long stop to take my jumper off, as this involved re-plugging all my wiring.

I have an all day meeting at out local Holiday Inn, luckily they have espresso on tap which keeps me awake, useful as I'm doing the presentation. Unfortunately, I'm struggling to take any notes because of where I cut my finger cleaning my bike chain yesterday.

There's a heart-warming dog story in the paper from Melbourne, Australia, where a dog apparently risked its life to protect four kittens trapped in a house fire. Fire fighters found the dog guarding the kittens, which were in a cardboard box in one of the bedrooms. They don't seem to have considered that he might have been sat there waiting for them to show him the way out.

He succumbed a bit to the smoke and heat but was soon revived with a heart massage, oxygen and perhaps a Bonio.

After a successful conclusion to my meeting, I run back to my parents. Derby play possibly their best of the season and win 3-1. When I get home MD has been confined to barracks which I assume means he's been a bit of devil.

Hold The Yearning Melodies

Most of my day seems to be taken up with a pre-meeting as a prelude to a week of meetings at work and with trying to source a ticket for tonight's gig for one of Daughter's friends, who we're not even sure, is going. Thankfully the ticket situation all comes together at about ten to five and she joins a full compliment of our household at Rock City. Well apart from the dogs, who we run around the pond again, before we go out. Then we grab a slag sandwich and head into town.

First up Busted, sorry I mean Fightstar. Actually anyone who has seen or heard Fightstar will know that there's is no similarity, whatsoever. In fact, Charlie Simpson seems to want to forget that Busted ever happened at all. Although, apparently some people do still have Busted on their iPod's.

A going concern now since 2003 and now working on their third album, Fightstar are loud and powerful, although not really my cup of tea. They start out their set sounding like the Foo Fighters or Nirvana but end up trying to be Metallica.



The heavy rock theme continues in between bands as we get treated to the new AC/DC's album played across the PA. It turns out that Grant Nicholas, lead singer of Feeder, really likes it. Something else he tells us, halfway through their set, is of his fond memories of Rock City as he harks back to the days when Feeder were often the first band on stage. I remember one of those occasions, it was back in 1996 and the first time I came across the band. They were supporting Terrovision and I can't really recall much about their performance that evening but I didn't rush out and buy their debut EP 'Swim'. However, three years later, I was hooked on their second album 'Yesterday Went Too Soon', an all time classic and one of the best albums of 1999. Feeder became one of my favourite bands.

I do vividly remember the last time I saw them, in April 2001 at Leicester Polytechnic. That was one hell of a gig. 'Echo Park' was out and 'Buck Rogers' was just about to introduce them to the wider public. All this was before Nicholas's sparing partner; former 'Darling Bud' Jon Lee committed suicide. After which Feeder reinvented themselves, discovered yearning melodies and recorded the excessively mellow 'Comfort in Sound', which was phenomenally successful of course, but sent me to sleep. The band went off to play in front of large crowds of mildly interested people out in Arenaland and I moved on.

Tonight Feeder have kind of tumbled and fallen back to earth as them and I are reunited in a proper venue and as I've already mentioned, for the first time I'm accompanied by a full compliment of L, Daughter who was just three back in 1996 and even Son, making his debut at Nottingham's finest.

Opening with 'We Are the People', the odd choice as the lead single from their excellent new album 'Silent Cry'. The new album is why I'm here. ‘Silent Cry’ is the sound of a band who haven't forgotten what inspired them in the first place. Out has gone the soft rock and instead we get several tracks that are throwback to the riotous pop and heavy guitars of those earlier albums. Therefore, it's odd and regrettable that they don't appear to have as much confidence in the album as I do and opt not to play much of it live. No 'Miss You', 'Itsumo', 'Who's The Enemy' or 'Into The Blue' which is my favourite.

Instead I'm standing there listening to the yearning melody that is 'Feeling A Moment' which I don't care much for, nor for it's uglier sister 'Just The Way I'm Feeling' which they play later. Never mind feeling the moment, it feels like my life is slipping away as they play it. I fear tonight could seriously suffer from an overdose of gentle ballads but things do pick up.

'Shatter' cheers me up, sounding punchy live, polythene-esk. Showing that the band can still play rough when they want to. They hit a bit of a purple patch, as 'Come Back Around' follows, although it doesn't quite hit the spot, the mix seems all wrong, not enough vocal, too much guitar and drums but it improves as it goes along.

Then there's a real treat and the only surprise in the entire set, when they bring out 'We Can't Rewind' from 'Echo Park'. The crowd are appreciative and really get into it. The arms go up in the mosh pit, this is what we came for and the reaction to which gives a lie to the fact that I think the band feel they have to appease the bandwagon jumpers and 'this is our song' cuddling couples.

Then there's the still awesome 'Insomnia' with the other original member, Taka Hirose getting animated with his bass. The three piece swell to five tonight, replacement drummer Mark Richardson ex of Skunk Anansie joined by the two Dean's on guitar and keyboards.

'Fires' is dedicated to their crew again and is rumoured to be their next single. As a song, it's ok but do they really need any more slow burning anthems.



'Pushing The Senses' is lively and 'Sonorous' off the new album sounds pretty tremendous too. Then there's time for a quick kip as they play the aforementioned 'Just The Way I’m Feeling'. Funny thing is the song gets a massive cheer when they start to play it but then the crowd just go quiet, many hit the bar and others I think are nudging their partners, because it's their song.

After 'Tracing Lines', the second single off 'Silent Cry', which is excellent live, it's Marmite time. Either you love it or you loathe it. The band professes to be over it, so sometimes they play it, something they don't. Tonight they do and as soon as the first bar is played, the room lets out a huge roar and pogos up and down as one. Quirky and enjoyable once, 'Buck Rogers' now sounds terribly dated, although it's still oddly popular and I have to confess that it really does get the place jumping.

Then, no, please Grant, not 'Comfort in Sound'. That's far too many yawn-inducing melodies. Even though they do appear to attempt to sex up some of their slower number, the only direction that approach will take them is to the 'Here And Now' tour.

After which, he's obviously feeling rather guilty, so to try and shut up the wizened oldies like me, who are disappointed with the lack of early stuff, he announces something from 'Polythene'. Which you just know is going to be 'High' but it doesn't stop you hoping for 'Cement', 'My Perfect Day' or 'Tangerine', of which I hear one thin hopeful shout. After all, on the last tour in May, he did say that they would relearn and play it but they don't, spoil sports. It would be worth it just to see if he could get Rock City singing 'I know it's sad, life's just a piece of fruit'.

'High' is still very good though and then finally there's 'Lost And Found' complete with added Foo Fighters with the audience providing pretty flawless vocals to 'All My Life' midway through the song. The band are much better when they're rocking out to stuff like that.



It's a funny crowd tonight, made up of 20 and 30 something’s, with a few teens thrown in for good measure. Despite going down very well with everyone, shouts for an encore are rather weak and the bands return seems rather apologetic.

The encore consisted of a beautiful acoustic version of 'Silent Cry', so good you can almost forgive the omission of 'Yesterday Went Too Soon', nothing though forgives no 'Waiting For Changes'. According to the set list, they considered 'Tumble And Fall' instead, how horrific, lucky escape there then.



A storming 'Seven Days In The Sun' follows and then it's what the crowd having been nagging for, for the last half hour, the Feeder anthem ‘Just a Day'. Oddly played after the single it was originally a b-side to. It was their fans who loved it so much that they convinced the band to re-release it as an a-side, meaning the track when top 20 twice in 2001. So, the lesson is, listen to your fans... and dust off a few oldies.

In the end there were five tracks from 'Silent Cry' which isn't bad I suppose, considering this was the album they were supposed to be touring, not the singles collection but still a little disappointing on that front, obviously too many yearning melodies and obviously not enough old stuff.

L says they're a right bunch of crowd pleaser's and she's probably right but if she saw them again next year and they played the same set, which they will, she wouldn't be happy.

Predictable, painfully safe at times but actually rather good and Nottingham rocked to it, just not awesome. I even have a sneaking suspicion that Son liked it and Rock City too.

(I tried to take my own photos for this one but it didn't really work out, so I pinched them off the Feeder Forum, sorry)

The Unwritten Code

A long lie in today and a fruitful one it is too. Then I'm off on the park with the wayward boys whilst L goes out for a 'plod', her words not mine.

Doggo, who has always preferred to stride imperiously ahead and simply saw me as a impediment to such progress, is a saint in his halti. Which I actually get stuck around his head and can't unclip him for it, so he could have ended up wearing it permanently, if I hadn't managed to force it off over his ears.

I get back and feed the dogs who, as as soon as my back is turned, swap bowls. It's as if they have some unwritten code about this. It will be so much easier when they’re both on the same food.

In the afternoon, because I have no event, we hit the gym. I do 5km on the treadmill and then 2km on the rowing machine.

In the evening Daughter goes out bopping. L had suggested we head to Cast and bus her home. Suspiciously, when she emailed this suggestion to me, it was entitled ‘alcohol units’, as if she knew we shouldn't. We ought to be AF today and amazingly, we are. Daughter gets a lift from another source.

Tomorrow we're at Rock City to see Feeder, it's in the news today that their crew's tour bus exploded on the M62 as they travelled down from Glasgow to Lincoln. A local branch of a sports chain donated clothes to the band's crew, who lost all their clothes in the fire. The merchandise and catering were also destroyed, but the band were back on stage at the Engine Shed tonight where apparently they dedicated 'Fires' to their crew.

No Dumplings

The boys and I are up at 5am to drive up to Preston for a dog show club match, where our club will be battling against eleven others for the team prize. We have a team of 13 and the best four dogs over two courses count. So the trick is to get at least four dogs with clear rounds on both courses to stand a chance. Doggo and I do our bit and get a double clear but only two other dogs manage it. The team come 5th. There are also two other events, which don't count for the club match and we go clear in those too. We get a rosette for 8th but that's as good as it gets this week, which isn't actually that bad.

In the year that we qualify for Crufts for the first time, it's alleged by a BBC documentary that unhealthy and sometimes inbred dogs were winning best in breed competitions at the show. Today Pedigree announces that it is withdrawing it's sponsorship from the show, which probably means my free Pedigree polo shirt has gone down the pan. I have selfish motives.

I have no 'human' event this Sunday, so I don't get seductive texts from L luring me home with tempting offers concerning her dumplings, as she did last week. That's dumplings with casserole of course.

There's a reminder today of why we still watch football, despite the bore that is the predictable Premier league, as Hull City win their fourth game in a row and move up along side Liverpool and Chelsea on top of that damn league. They're actually third but only goal difference separates the three of them.

Another good news footie story concerns Wimbledon, who everyone hated until they were franchised out to Milton Keynes, now every one loves the 'real' Wimbledon. AFC Wimbledon have now climbed up the leagues to Blue Square South, which is just two promotions from getting them back into the league. They are currently second. The franchised MK Dons are only three promotions away and now AFC Wimbledon have the chance of drawing them in the FA Cup after today they qualified to play in the first round.

I get home from Preston around 8.00 and L and I head off into town for a few beers. We end up at the Hand and Heart which is fast becoming a very popular pub and restaurant. Very nice it is too.

L suggests we go for a cheap low calorie curry, if such a thing exists, but at least it'll make up for the lack of dumplings. So we head off to the Savera but its midnight when we get they're and they're about to close, so we bring a takeaway home instead. Heaven for the dogs, who love a Keema naan.

Uncut Hovis

I run in to work and for some inexplicable reason I record a new PB. I'm not sure how I explain that after three days on the trot cycling. Knackered now though.

L's back on a diet because she reckons she's beginning to look like a loaf of uncut Hovis. Which sounds like heaven, if you're MD. He loves a bit of Hovis.

Personally, I'm on the unintentional diet. Basically, on Monday, I managed to stock up on enough lunch stuff for four days but then forgot that I needed lunch for the fifth day, today. So I miss the Oggy van and naturally none of the later vans turned up. This wasn't part of my training plan. I could have walked to Sainsbury’s, but couldn’t be bothered, probably because I was feeling too weak.

Luckily, one of the sales staff here had fallen for one of those BOGOF offers on bags of oranges and was handing them out all day because they were starting to go manky. I had three. So staying alive, just.

L gets a starving man very excited, which is easily done I know. She consults Jamie Oliver and informs me it's either chicken fajitas or spicy Moroccan fish & couscous for tea. The fish sounds wonderful, but I'm sorry Jamie we don’t have any in and we don't have any wraps for chicken fajitas either. So the offer changes to slag and B&J instead. Which isn't as exciting as it sounds, as she means pasta and sausage followed by Ben and Jerry's ice cream. Not that we have any ice cream.

In the evening, now that the landlord and the pub dog at our local have been liquidated, well, sent to Clifton, we feel sufficiently brave to take MD down there for a few Supremes. As I owe L the equivalent of a round of bottled drinks at Broadway (a lot) and a theatre ticket (quite a bit), the night's on me.

All We Have Is Raw Collie

A bit of a reshuffle of the training this week and with no event at the weekend, I cycle for the third day in a row. Boy is it hard, into a head wind, and just to make things interesting I get a puncture about a mile from work. I was just going around the rather dodgy Asda roundabout when I saw a woman in a Fiesta coming off the A52, looking like she wasn't going to stop. So I kept my eye on her but off the road in front and I hit something, probably a rock, although I suppose it could have been glass. The tyre went down pretty quick. I do a quick repair job. I'm getting good at this, I've had lots of practice.

L emails with a whinge that 'this swimming lark' is no good because there's nothing on earth that makes her as hungry as swimming. She says she's eaten her breakfast and her lunch by 10.15. She ought to try cycling, if she wants to be really hungry, it works for me, but she says that isn't her aim.

As I prepare to cycle home, I'm informed that the weather in Nottingham is foul, although it's currently fine in Derby. So I pile on the waterproofs and because it only rains a little, regret it. I get to the pool seriously overheating, despite the sideways wind.

In the evening, I take MD out for a run. Doggo and I show him ye olde pond run. He seems to enjoy it and tries to set a fast pace but I restrain him. L brightens up the run by joining us. She mutters promises of a soak in the bath and a glass of wine afterwards. Which sounds good. Then she has a panic as to whether she told daughter we didn't drink on a Thursday. I'm sure we didn't, Monday to Wednesday is usually the rule, so Daughter will be up for a bottle of blue toilet cleaner.

The run seems to have done MD in, which is good but also L, which isn't so good. She did say earlier that she felt totally washed out and had requested raw steak for tea. Ah, we didn’t defrost any steak, best we have is raw collie... perhaps not, too skinny. So I cook chicken curry. We don't get that soak in the bath but we do hit the wine. Then L lures me to bed, snuggles up, and then nods off in my arms. Bless... or rather, Damn.

Famous Alumni

Quite a good bit of cyclist bonding this morning, when another cyclist and I gang up on a chap who's sitting at the traffic lights with his car filling the 'cycle advanced stop zone' or whatever they call them. We both sit on his front bumper, glaring at him. He does at least have the decency to look embarrassed. Then we pull away nice and slowly... apologies to the other cars behind him.

Derby's 'advanced' zones are clear, well marked and generally drivers stay out of them. Nottingham is another story. They have the zones but because they refuse to colour them, they are largely ignored or probably not noticed by car drivers. The reason for not colouring them? The council says they are not aesthetically pleasing. How can plain grey tarmac be more aesthetically pleasing than coloured tarmac?

I get to work and can't get changed in the preferred changing room, our upstairs gents, and have to use the disabled toilet instead. This is because a work colleague has cycled in the cold weather in just shorts, t-shirt and with no gloves. He seems to be standing under the hand dryer trying to warm up.

Surprisingly no texts or emails from L to check on my wellbeing. I email her to tell her I'm still alive and that the tyre marks will soon fade. Apparently, she was so engrossed in her book that she forgot to get in touch. I know my place.

L cooks a pie for tea but then confesses that she hasn't made a crust. Doesn't that make it a casserole?

Another college open day tonight, so I postpone my swim until tomorrow. Tonight we're at New College Nottingham, which is where Son is now.

L goes off in the car to collect one of Daughter's friends. I have my fingers crossed that it doesn't run out of fuel, I just haven't had time to fill it up. I tell her not to panic until the fuel light starts flashing, which it promptly does when I get behind the wheel. Despite that we make it there and back, and eventually to the petrol station. It's quite a flying visit, as would last nights have been had we not gone to that talk by the Principal, who went on and on and on.

Ncn seems to be Daughter's preferred option, if she goes there she'll follow in the footsteps of famous alumni such as Robert Lindsay, Peter Bowles, Richard and Samantha Beckinsale, Nottingham boxer Carl Froch... err... Su Pollard... hmmm... James Morrison... and, oh dear... Harold Shipman.

Then to dog training and we take MD with us, who gets to spend plenty of time 'observing' and therefore has plenty of chance for a good bark. Oddly, he's quite well behaved, almost attentive, although itching to have a go or at least to get in the way of the others.

MD also is complemented on the glossiness of his coat. So, the expensive puppy food, Hovis, sanitary towel and duck poo diet obviously works, making the coat glossy and the vocal cords strong.

Mean Streets

On the bike this morning, it's cold but fine and the wind has thankfully dropped from what it was yesterday. I had to be on my game when suddenly someone flung open their car door at the wrong moment but that's just par for the course really.

MD continues to entertain... and bark. We've filled an old shampoo bottle with stones and apparently when shook it will cause him to cease any unruly behaviour that he may be indulging in... Ha ha ha.

The picture L paints this morning of her trying to leave the house with MD still clinging valiantly to the hem of her jeans whilst she rattles the bottle of rocks at him is priceless. She should be flattered though, he just doesn't want her to leave.

Once home in the evening, I do a quick clothes change and then we head up to Bilborough College. It's now Daughter's turn to start looking around A level colleges. We take the dogs up for the ride, not that I'm terribly happy leaving them in the car amongst the mean streets of Bilborough but at least MD won't be shredding the kitchen table whilst we're out. He is though, I think, gradually chewing his way through the dog bars and I'm sure one day that I'll return to the car to find both he and Doggo have managed to escape in to the front.

Daughter, who is not in slightest like Son, is by some strange uncanny coincidence studying almost the same courses as Son is now doing. Unfortunately, for her she'll be on the wrong side of the impressive male-female student ratio. Perhaps she should chuck in a male dominated course just for the social life, something like computing, like I did... hmmm... on second thoughts, she best stick to what she's doing.

L gives me a warning tonight, that if she catches me chilling in the kitchen before I come to bed, with the freezer door open, thinking that if I'm cold, I'll be well in, I'll end up sleeping under the table. That’s just cruel. That's where the hellhound resides but he'll probably be in my spot.

Burn After Meeting

It's very windy this morning. It's a good job it wasn't like this yesterday and hopefully it won't be tomorrow. Not good cycling weather at all.

At work, I am dragged into a meeting that I didn't even know was happening. Turns out to be a cross between a school ski trip meeting (see Thursday) and a Coen Brother's film (see Saturday). In that it was all rather unnecessary and although we talked a lot, nothing actually happened, made sense or was agreed up on. I look at my notes and think 'burn after meeting'.

Double dog class again. I drop L and MD off for theirs and then head to Doggo's. Afterwards as I drive home I see L walking along with MD, who is on his hind legs with his teeth wrapped around the top half of his lead. I sense he's becoming a pain and rescue them. He's no better at home and is sent to bed early, like a naughty child.

After an hour on the computer, I head off to bed where I'm sure L offers to warm me up but I get in trouble for taking advantage of her groggy state. Well if she must insist on sticking with this decaff lark.

Secret Unseen Forces

Well at least it's not as cold as it was when I last did a Duathlon at Bosworth Water Park. That day in February it must have been minus something, out of the wind, God knows what it was in the wind. Having said that the wind from the lake makes it feel colder than it should be today. It's actually quite a nice morning and we have a nice civilised start time of 10.30. Even my mother is tempted to support at her first duathlon. Not sure whether it's me or the cakes in the café that are the attraction.

The cold but not too cold weather gives me a dilemma over kit. At first, I put long trousers on but then decide it's actually nice enough to do it in shorts. I keep my gloves on though.

They've altered the run course this year, rather than a lap around the lake followed by a run down the road to the next village, they make us do two laps around the lake. This means its all on grass, which isn't really my terrain. Despite that, and a much faster pace than last year, I'm 11th after the first run and sufficiently warmed up to ditch the gloves.

On the downside, two girls have overtaken me, even having the audacity to chitchat to each other as they did so, as if it was just a Sunday morning jog. L tells me a third girl passes me in transition. Once on the bike though, it seems that some secret unseen force is perhaps pulling in my direction. First, I pass one of the girls at the roadside putting her chain back on. Shame. Unfortunately, it doesn't delay her for long enough and she soon gets back ahead of me. Then I pass one of the chitchatters at the roadside being assisted by a marshal, presumably she's had a puncture. As for the third girl, L tells me she had to run the last bit with her bike but despite that, I still can't catch her. L reckons that’s evidence that I definitely need a new bike.

Maybe but perhaps, its some new knees I need. My dodgy knee gives me a bit of hassle. Perhaps I ought to try adjusting my saddle height. Then to make things worse, just a few miles from the end of the bike course and just as my leg is about to fall off, two chaps pass me. Incensed, I fight to stay as close to them as possible, limiting my losses, because if I can keep the gap reasonable, I should be able to pass them on the second run.

I feel I've lost a mountain of places but I come in 15th, so it couldn't have been as bad as it seemed and I'm just about to get two of those places back. I set off for the second run in determined mood and pass the two guys within the first 500m. Runners, they clearly are not. Beyond that, there's no one really in sight, so I concentrate on making sure that I am not chased down.

My time is eight minutes quicker than last year, which has probably more to do with the not so strong wind as to do with my performance but still I'm pleased. Despite help from the secret unseen forces there's still two of the female species ahead of me and predictably several people older than me.

We retire to the pub for a beer and then stay in, in the evening, and devour a couple of big bottles of Leffe Brune between us.

How To Pay For Plastic Surgery

A lie in, a trip to the farm shop and then I take the boys on the park.

In the afternoon, Derby win again. Up to 9th now and starting to look like Billy Davies's promotion side. Yes, it was that bad. I hope history isn't repeating itself. I've seen too much football to say winning is everything; I'd like some performances please.

Later, we're at Broadway to catch the new Coen Brother's film 'Burn After Reading'. I shouldn't really be on the beer because of tomorrow's event and helpfully they seem to have a cellar problem, so there's no draught but I'm still tempted into a bottle of wheat beer, which is naughty.

The story to 'Burn After Reading' involves a CIA analyst called Osbourne Cox (John Malkovich) who quits his job before he is pushed because of his 'drinking problem'. Thinking his role in intelligence was more important than it actually was, he starts to write his memoirs.

When a CD with it on ends up at Hardbodies gym, he finds himself being blackmailed by two of the gym's employees who believe it to contain sensitive CIA shit, as Brad Pitt puts it. Pitt plays a clueless workout freak called Chad who is egged on by Linda (Frances McDormand). Linda is a wannabe gym bunny, that is once she can get the cash together for the plastic surgery.



When Cox laughs off their bribery attempts, they take the CD to the equally disinterested Russian embassy. The film's a kind of espionage thriller without the espionage, instead the film moves around from one eccentric situation to another in a random manner, as the various story lines are intertwined. As usual, with a Coen's film, you don't get from A to B without going via X, Y and Z.

Brad breaks into Cox's house to try to get more of the 'CIA shit', only Osbourne isn't there but Harry is. George Clooney is Harry, in a role, which seems to send up his own image, a man who just can't stop hopping into bed with different women. For reasons known only to him, he's getting extramarital with Cox's icy wife Katie (Tilda Swinton), a woman with about as much sexual charm as a crocodile. I find Swinton unnerving in this role but then I'm still thinking of her as a boy in Orlando.

When Harry comes across Chad hiding in the wardrobe, he somehow, accidentally, shoots him dead. Harry is already paranoid because someone has been tracking him, he doesn't know it yet but it's a private detective hired by his wife, who, of course, is also cheating on him. Thinking Chad is a spy, he dumps the body in the river.

Harry, traumatised by this and presumably from having to sleep with the reptilian Katie, seeks a bit of light relief and solace in a new bed partner via internet dating. The lucky female turns out to be Linda.



In his spare time between his affairs and a spot of jogging, we see Harry constructing something, which is supposed to be a present for his wife. It turns out to be a mechanical sybian machine. Linda seems very impressed.

Osbourne meanwhile, has to break into his own house with a hatchet because the reptile has started divorce proceedings and has changed the locks. There he comes across someone at his computer. It's Ted (Richard Jenkins), a former Greek Orthodox priest, now boss of Hardbodies, who because he gets a bit of a drool on whenever Linda is around, not that she notices, has decided to help out with the 'CIA shit'. Osbourne's had enough; he shoots Ted and then finishes the job off with the hatchet in the street. So as you can see it's a comedy... well only just and a dark one at that.



Where does all this go? Well, it doesn't go anywhere but brilliantly so. It's a clever film about 'intelligence' colliding with people with no intelligence.

It all finishes a bit suddenly, very Coen like, but unlike a normal Coen's film, we do at least get closure. The loose ends are tidied up and summarised in the offices of CIA, as they try to make sense of the nonsense that has happened.

Two dead bodies and Osbourne himself in a coma after being shot by the real CIA. Harry has been seized trying to board a flight to Venezuela, he fled in terror from Linda when she revealed she was working with Chad, the body in his wardrobe. The CIA understandably very keen for him to catch that flight. Linda, of course, will forget about the whole thing, if they pay for her plastic surgery. Result.

I was a little disappointed at first because the Coen's make some great 'serious' films but their less serious ones have been a bit of a mixed bag and this certainly fits into that category. For anyone else though, this would have been an excellent film.

I reckon they knocked this script up in their lunch hour, had they had a few beers and took the writing on into the evening they could possibly have written the best film of the year but then perhaps they didn't want to knock 'No Country' off the top spot.

It's been criticised for having a lame plot but I think that's the whole point. Perhaps that was the challenge they set themselves. Just how good can we make a movie that doesn't actually go anywhere? Bet they're having a right laugh at the reviews.

Whilst the rest of the movie industry are rehashing the same old stuff or doing pointless remakes and sequels, the Coen's are still coming up with something different. How could anyone object to that?

A Touch Of Hovering

I'm in the car today, possibly resting up for Sunday or possibly because that's the only way I'm going to get into the city centre for a haircut.

A touch of wit this morning from L as an email entitled 'Good Morning Billy' arrives. She refers to the fact that Daughter turned down Mr No Mates' offer of a lift to school this morning. Well I suppose that at least somebody’s speaking to me.

More wit later from L, this time unintentional, as she takes the afternoon off and emails from home that she is about to do some 'hovering' and has had to shut the dogs out because of the incessant barking. I assume she means hoovering, I think I'd bark incessantly if she started hovering around the house.

MD has joined the halti brigade and we're all set to début it tonight but as soon as the halti's come out both dogs hide under the computer table. Walk time is going to be such good fun. We could end up going to the pub on our own... hang on, that sounds like a good idea.

As it happens though we do walk them to the pub, all the way to Beeston, where the Harviestoun Scottish Wheat beer is very good.

Kissing Is Banned

I run into work, it's good but of course, the weather had to rain on me. It just couldn't help itself. There was absolutely no need but it must have thought, just a quick five minute burst to wind him up.

A couple of friends of ours have invited us to their house warming in their new house. Not that they've moved it yet because it's this one,



The one in Devon where the owners are raffling their estate. They've had to postpone the prize draw after intervention by the Gambling Commission. So, that appears to have stuffed the house warming party.

In the evening, we go to a meeting about Daughter's school ski trip, which turns out to be complete waste of time. Lots of filling of forms that could have been sent home and returned via the normal channels. There are absolutely no details divulged about the trip. We're still in the dark as to what day they're even going on. I realise later that the form filling was just a ruse to get everyone there so that a ski gear supplier could mount a sales pitch on seventy odd gullible first time skiers.

Back home, I'm warned that kissing is banned. L suspects she has a cold coming on and she wants me to be in tip-top condition for Sunday. This is the downside of doing silly events. I try to see if a couple of glasses of red will soften her up.

Woolly Mammoth

As I cycle through Ilkeston, I have to swerve around a massive pothole. It wasn't there yesterday. How can they just spring up out of nothing?

L's out on the paper round, you know the one she never helps out on, with the dogs. Doggo apparently was a saint, because he had his new halti on. That's after L had managed to pull him out from under the table where he was hiding to avoid having it put on. MD on the other hand was far was saintlike and I'm sure he'll be in receipt of the same miracle cure soon. Whether he'll be quite so receptive to it, I'm not sure.

L accuses me of not speaking to her on the email. Come to think of it, it has been a bit quiet on the email front. Turns out that our mail server is, to coin a technical phrase, being a 'pain in the neck'. One of our engineers is dispatched to give it a good kicking. It didn't seem to work but I think it made him feel a bit better.

Today is Blog Action Day and I'm supposed to be blogging about poverty. I've thought long and hard about this but I just don't feel informed enough to comment, all I'd do is make flippant comments about the credit crunch, third world despots and probably Chelsea football club. Therefore, I've decided to keep quiet on this one.

I cycle to the pool and almost get wiped out by a chap in woolly hat who bumps down the pavement straight into my path, without even a glance. He was very lucky I wasn't a car.

Swim goes ok; I almost had a lane to myself. It was just the girl who only does six lengths and then gets out, and me.

Quite what the people who own the arena where we do dog training were doing with a woolly mammoth in the field next to the car park I'm not sure but needless to say that MD spotted it lurking in the darkness as soon as he alighted from the boot of the car. I'm sure the resulting commotion could have been heard fifty miles away. It took ages for me to calm him down. By which time is was time to him to get back in the car, so that I could train Doggo.

It Won’t Be Long Before Her Sarong Is Lying On Your Bedroom Floor

I cycle in today, leaving L in charge of tucking our poor tired pup up in his bed. On this front, L informs me she's failed because he was hanging onto her trainer as she attempted to leave. That's so sweet, that he couldn’t bear to be parted from her.

L emails me a CV. Do I know this fifteen-year-old girl? She sounds alright. Can we swap one of ours for her? Oh, hang on; it's Daughter's CV.

I get home and as time is pushed, I resurrect the Tuesday night run, which Doggo used to dread. Doggo is so surprised to see me blowing the dust off his running jacket; that he forgets to hide. MD is already by the gate, itching to go and go he certainly does. Like a rocket. He absolutely loves it. We do a forty-minute circuit around the park, stopping occasionally to let MD breathe. By the time we leave the park, it's almost dark and Doggo has to go on ahead clearing the deer out of our way. Which, strangely, he's keen to do.

Once home, for the second night in a row, MD is a heaving wreck on the kitchen floor. L has done a quick chilli, which we devour before we get ready for tonight's gig.

Then we discover a slight problem with the tickets. In that, we only have two of them. Daughter unselfishly stands down and tells L to go but then L feels guilty and tries to persuade Daughter to go. So we get the situation were they're arguing among themselves about who ISN'T going to go with me. I feel like Billy No Mates again. I'm not allowed not to go, as this is after all my delayed birthday treat. In the end L and I go.

Support is by Ida Maria from Norway. L is pleased because we saw her on Jools earlier in the year and she's been on L's 'must buy' list ever since. I liked her at first but she’s started to do my head in. On one of her tracks 'Queen Of The World', she sounds like Bjork crossed with Kate Nash. That's all we need, a Norwegian trying to sound common. That said she pours everything into her show, giving an energetic performance, all the time with her top hat, complete with feather, perched on her head. The crowd gradually warm to her especially on her set closer and most renowned track 'Better When You're Naked'.



A word for her guitarist, who looks so like Aaron Gilbert from the Delays. L was positively drooling.

It's third time lucky in my attempts to cavort with the Courteeners. For various reasons, I missed them at the Rescue Rooms in January and then again at Trent Poly in April.

The band are from Manchester and are obviously very proud of their roots as the mix tape of solely Manchester bands hints at before they come on. Then the lights go out, the volume goes up and the speakers play Oasis's 'Rock N Roll Star'. No egos here then.

It's also not just a few bars, not just the chorus, nope, it's the whole song and after which... still nothing happens on stage.

Then after an indeterminate delay, they swagger on stage and play 'Aftershow' and 'Kokaine Kimberley' back to back. If the place isn't already going mental, it is by the time 'Acrylic' turns up as track number four. I'd like to quote Mr Fray himself and say that Rock City is full of over-rated dehydrated, goggle eyed girls, but it's actually mainly lads and a lot of them not much younger than me.

Ah, the cocky Mr Liam Fray, who is clearly the star of the Courteeners. Possibly the only star, the rest of the band hardly get a look in. It appears no one else is even allowed to offer up backing vocals. In fact, we're half way through their action packed set before he seems to even acknowledge their presence.



Liam admits to a soft spot for Nottingham and for Rock City. He tells us that their first night on tour was here in October 2007. That night they supported the Coral and played to what he reckons was a crowd of around 20 people. There's one or two more here tonight, a complete sell out in fact.

Highlights include the big sing-a-long to the stark 'Please Don't' and a cracking 'Cavorting'. There's even a new track 'Bo Jangles'.

The new single 'That Kiss' gives the bouncers a brief respite from chucking out the crowd surfers, something I've not seen here for a while. Those people 'probably shouldn't have danced to that song'. Perhaps Enter Shikari taking the mickey last week was the last straw. Unless you're a girl of course, they are never chucked out.

They don't do an encore as such, that would be terribly old fashioned. Instead, the band leave the stage to leave Liam alone to play a couple of tracks solo, 'No You Didn't, No You Don't' and a powerful 'Yesterday Today Probably Tomorrow'. It's all very Noel Gallagher. His admiration for the Gallagher's is very apparent; they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Like the Oasis boys, Fray has a touch of arrogance but also a lot of confidence.



The band return, cue a riotous moshalong to 'If It Wasn't For Me', my Duathlon anthem 'Not Nineteen Forever' and a colossal performance of 'What Took You So Long', even the bouncers give up evicting people.

As it's not such a young crowd tonight, when Fray sings 'You spend too much time sat in your bedroom, on your PC', I look to see if there are any other parents nodding in agreement but no they're all going mental down the front.

We've come in the car and shouldn’t really be hitting the post-gig Leffe’s anyway but we do nip for a swift one. L is good and is on the coke whilst I have something tastefully called 'Bear Ass'. L's even saved a few Mingles for me.

I best name check Saint Daughter again, although she got quite a good deal out of it, badges and t-shirt which came to only 50p less than the price of a ticket.

A good night's cavorting but not snorting, obviously.

Why the title? I was desperate to fit that line into the review... but I just couldn't pull if off.

New School Term

L switches dogs on me this morning. When I help her walk the dogs in the morning I usually get good old dependable Doggo, today I have the honour of exercising Mr Skittish instead. We practice ‘heel’. Cool he thinks; another new word that means food is on its way. Whenever I use any command with him he immediately looks at me for a treat, irrespective of whether he's done anything that warrants being treated or not.

It actually went ok, whilst I had his attention that was but most of the time his attention was on birds, other dogs, cats, the odd squirrel etc etc.

What would he have done had he been out with Doggo, who had a bit of an altercation with a wasp, although it didn't sting him. He needed MD there to protect him; the fearless little squirt would have seen it off.

I take MD home, so that he can rest up for tonight, when he starts school. L has volunteered to take him for basic obedience training because I simply can't fit it in around Doggo's sessions. If I could fit it in somewhere, that would be another 'boys' night out and L would be even more of a dogging widow than she is now.

All the same, she's very brave doing the training because MD has, very much, a mind of his own you know. This, of course, is all part of his charm. Although she's warned me that she won't be held accountable for her alcohol intake afterwards and that Monday's will probably end up being Ben and Jerry's for tea nights. L has such a cute way of coping with stress.

On our way home from the big boy's school, we pick up L and MD, who are having to walk to and from the class because we only have the one car. They, surprisingly, still appear to be on speaking terms. He is so knackered, that once we get him home, he has to stop halfway through his food for a lie down but it appears he was the star pupil as well as the most vocal. I imagine the rest of the class are already out buying earplugs ready for next week, as well as their family size tubs of Ben and Jerry's.

Dropped By An Oldie

It's been a while since we've both been in the same event, but both L and I run the Merrill 10k this morning. So the dogs don't get to wreak their usual noise and mayhem, instead we park them up somewhere near the start.

There's a large field of 400 on the start line ready to face, what they say is a fast course, which is a bit inconvenient as I was just hoping for a gentle training run. The pace is indeed fast and the course is pleasant until they take us down a gravel track, which is a bit rough and rocky for my dodgy knees and ankles. The route takes us through Sinfin, where L used to live, so I try and look out for her old street but they've already got me lost by taking us down the gravel track and all I can locate of Sinfin is the chip shop.

For a while, I run along side a chap who's well into his fifties. He seems to be enjoying the race, has bags of energy to spare and wants to chat to everyone. I splutter a few words but I simply don't have the capacity to talk and run at the same time. I let him tow me along for a while but it soon becomes apparent that he's just too quick for me and I have to let him go.

Thankfully, the old war wound in the knee holds up and despite being dropped by an oldie, my splits are good but after 7km they start to tail off. Then we go under a bridge in Chellaston and my folks are there waving me on, it's a local race for them, which spurs me on to lift the pace again.

Then just as I'm slowing down again after the 8km point, I hear a lot of the crowd cheering for 'Jill', it dawns on me that I haven't seen any women ahead of me and it appears that our 'Jill', whoever she may be, must be leading their race and is just behind me. I best get a move on to stay ahead of her.

The final bit is one of those cruel circuits around a sports field, that organisers are so fond of and they always put the clock in a position where you can see it for the whole lap so that you can see time slipping away from you.

I watch the clock ticking upwards from 39:00 towards 40:00. The last thing you need with a ticking clock is a muddy grass field where there's a complete lack of traction. I get there 4 seconds before the 40:00. A mere second outside my PB but still not bad, for a training run and I do come in ahead of all the girls.

Despite that, it's a little depressing to see that I was still 30 seconds off winning even the over 60s class.

I hobble back to the car and get the dogs so that we can all welcome in L, who does well in her first race back.

After taking the dogs for a romp at my parents, we head home. In these days of the credit crunch, we do the honourable thing and shave pennies off the energy bill by sharing a bath.

Then we go out, dog free and for a change head down the Fox and Crown for a few reviving pints of Brush.

Survival of the Fittest

L seems surprised and hopefully thrilled to find me still beside her when she wakes up this morning. There is no distant dog show for me and the boys to hare off to this morning.

Instead, we rise at a reasonable time and go down to the Embankment to recce the Survival of the Fittest 10K race. For once, we're both watching, neither of us are competing. The distance actually turns out to be 12k plus there are 10 obstacles on the course. The first is in sight of the start line and is a three-metre high stack of hay bales. Other obstacles, that we didn't see, included an Army assault course and a tightrope over the lake at Holme Pierrepont. We did have a look at the competitors climbing the terraces at the City Ground before heading back to the Embankment for an archery shoot and then finally the Men's Health Wall of Fame. Which is a solid and grip-free seven foot high block which they have to go over.

The whole thing is kind of tempting, even L looks interested, although I think trying to get over that wall at the end sends shudders down her spine.

No football today because England are playing. I catch the first half and almost fall asleep. England score early in the second and it looks like they'll scrape a win. I get bored and go off and cook a nice high carb meal to get us ready for tomorrow's race. Without me keeping an eye on them, England go on to win 5-1.

We stay in and keep off the alcohol, which has more to do with the amount we drank last night rather than being good pre-race.

Everything That Is Dark And Over 5%

As I'm flicking through the news this morning, I see that Seasick Steve played Rock City last night and sold it out. We weren't tempted, intriguing though he is, I'm not sure it's possible to live through a full set of his.



L tells me that her sister has joined a gym, which resides up on the 23rd floor. I find this intriguing. Do they have a lift? or is the walk up part of the deal? and if you do make it up to the treadmill, does your session count as altitude training?

L's confessed. She did break into the Mingles last night after all. Tut tut.

I get lunch from Oggy Oggy but then my usual van turns up. Typical.

Don't you just love the privacy of mobile phones. Whilst standing in the queue for the Red Arrow, a girl is having a dramatic argument with hers or rather the 'piece of ****' (her words) on the other end of it. Seems the person, the one she was planning to spend the rest of her life with, although they only met last week, has dumped her because she had the audacity to ask him to take her to the cinema. He knocked her back, turns out he's not looking for anything that serious. She was incensed. Why didn't he tell her he wasn't looking for anything serious? More to the point, why didn't he tell her before he stopped over last night... Durh... (is that how you spell it?)

I get the bus all the way into Nottingham and head over to the Castle where L is waiting with Robin Hood (the statue). We head into the beer festival which has moved into the Castle grounds after spending 31 years at the Victoria Leisure Centre, which of course the council is now trying to knock down.

I think it's a bit of a gamble having an outdoor beer festival in mid-October but at least they shouldn't need to cool the beer. It all goes really well, or will next year if they sort the queues out. We avoid the music, where some women is murdering 'classic' rock tunes, instead we work our way through everything that is dark and over 5%.

The only downside is the food. At the old Vic Leisure Centre, they used to do stuff like faggots, pie and peas, curries and chill con carne. Not exactly quality nosh but wholesome stuff at a reasonable price.

All we get at the new venue is three very expensive burgers vans, all very disappointing. It's also very bad for the image of real ale, which is trying to lift itself above the binging masses. Nailing their colours to the obesity crises instead isn't going to help.

Drinking The Petty Cash

Its 3 degrees this morning, so a bit nippy. I hope that this is a sign we're going to have a good winter, as it still only early October. There's already been quite a bit of snow fallen in the places that matter.

My run in isn't the best, I overdress due to the cold and then overheat but once you've started running you can't stop to undress, can you. Then about a mile from work, something at the back of my knee goes. Not good, considering the 10k on Sunday.

L's still circumnavigating the virtual channel, only 990 lengths to go. After which she'll be looking for a new challenge. She's pondering Loch Lomond but the possibilities are endless. The Panama Canal? Suez Canal? The Nile? The Mississippi? The River Trent?

I get home and quickly take the dogs out before grabbing some toast; we're at the theatre tonight. L's not left work yet and will meet us there. Despite working late, she still claims to have been a good girl and not had a Mingle. Keep that up and she’ll have earned a Leffe but of course if she's still being a good girl, she’d turn it down.

As it happens, Daughter and I get to the theatre to find the 'good girl' drinking the petty cash. We're late and having finished her own Leffe, she's about to start on mine.

Tonight we're here to see 'All Quiet on the Western Front'. Erich Maria Remarque's book had never been adapted for stage until Robin Kingsland and Giles Croft of the Nottingham Playhouse produced this production two years ago. Now it's back and about to go out on a nationwide tour.

It’s the story of Paul Bäumer and his mates, who naïvely enlist in the German army, after being influenced by the patriotic fervour of their schoolmaster. What enthusiasm they had for the cause, soon turns to disillusionment, as life in the trenches of World War I turns out to be a little different from what they were expecting. The story is told from the German point of view and delivers the message that these soldiers too had no axe to grind with the enemy and were simply doing what they're told, nothing but pawns in the game of war.

James Alexandrou takes the lead role and is impressive as Paul Bäumer. After a decade on Eastenders, Alexandrou got bored with life on the soap and moved to the stage, where he's performed in six plays including a couple of Shakespeare's and a Pinter.

The play is enthralling and could have been really bleak but the mood is lightened by the camaraderie of the boys and the addition of moments of humour. The boys flapping their arms to double as a goose, barking to be a dog, or play naked as they emerge from the river for a liaison with some French girls, well... their fellow male cast members in shawls.

It's all acted out to the accompaniment of on stage percussion creating gunfire and the banging of the metal gantry indicating the bombs. Although a little heavy on the eardrums at times!



The war claims Bäumer's childhood friends one by one but as the end of the war approaches Bäumer is lost in no man’s land, where he cradles the body of a soldier he's just killed. He promises to write to the lad's wife and child to explain but he doesn't get the chance.

Kat, an the older solider who all the boys looked up to, is the last of Bäumer's friends to die. When Kat is shot, Bäumer carries him back to camp on his back, only to discover upon their arrival that he is already dead. At which point Bäumer has just about had enough.

At the time of his own death, the front was so quiet that the army dispatches for the day read that there was nothing new to report. Finally, it is all quiet on the Western Front because there was barely anyone left to kill.

Die Die Die

Dry but cold, this morning. It's even sunny by the time I've cycled to work.

MD's training is going very well. He can sit, down, wait, shake a paw, touch my hand, do a spin etc etc. One thing I'm teaching him at the moment, that is going to be popular with the guys at home is 'playing dead'. Daughter has had a go at teaching this herself, although I'm not sure MD understands what she means when she shouts 'die die die', as she detaches him from her school books. There's also an unsubstantiated rumour that L has been teaching him another new trick, by way of the 'drown' command, which she uses when she sprays water at him to discourage his biting.

I get a confusing email from L saying J'adore Mingles. Mingles? That sounds nasty. Doesn’t that sort of thing usually require treatment or at least something from the chemist?

Turns out it's a chocolate thing, what a sheltered life us un-chocoholics lead. Even a Mingle would be something at the moment because the sandwich van has failed to turn up again. Annoyingly, it was here yesterday when I didn’t need it.

At the pool in the evening, it appears that the students have finally arrived. At least a load of foreign ones have and they all seem to want to swim along the blue line which runs along the centre of the lane, which isn't helpful.

I take MD to watch dog class again, he's itching to get involved and he does have a nice turn of speed, he's as quick as a flash when someone leaves the bread out. I just hope I can channel that speed into something useful. Untapped potential, that’s what it is.

Like A Saint

The weather started out ok as I cycled in but got gradually fouler as I went along. It was particularly windy as I crossed over on the Severn Bridge and dipped into Wales. I like this virtual cycling business.

L describes the weather as hot but wet. L calling the weather hot? She must be ill.

Nottingham's population is predicted to surge by 27% and to rise faster than any major English city over the next 25 years. This I assume is research done by the building industry, who you thought would be lying low at the moment.

Of course, if this really was the case, then all those empty houses that are for sale would have been bought by now and someone would have rented those city centre apartments that seem to have been empty ever since they were built but lets concrete over some more countryside all the same. Why not.

Doggo's walking on the lead has always been appalling but since MD has arrived he's upped his game, or should that be lowered his game. Now he's worse and when he's paired with the little one, the combination is unbearable. So, we've purchased him a halti, which is supposed to stop this behaviour. He's not impressed and when L took him out, he had the thing off before they'd even walked to the end of the street.

After cycling home and rushing to get on the park before they lock the gates at 6.30, I have a go. He still hates it but I get him to keep it on, even though I don't hook the lead to it. Lo and behold, he walks like a saint at my side.

In the evening, I go out with a mate of mine and we go posh at Pizza Express. Actually, a lot better pizza than Pizza Hut, although a lot smaller and obviously more expensive. We even get a half-decent lager/beer although to carry a price of £3.65 for 330ml there must be real shortage of supply. So, we don't deplete their stocks any more by having another one.

Doubt we'll return though, the service was appalling. The place was practically empty but the staff still didn't want to take anyone's order. They didn't even offer us a drink for about 20 minutes, perhaps they were embarrassed by the price.

So we're gagging for a drink after that, thankfully Milestone's Little John 5.1% in Langtry's was well tasty and much cheaper.

Don't Read Anything Into This

We're all running a bit late this morning. I was so late, that I had to risk the A52, which is quicker when it’s open, which doesn't seem too often these days. Thankfully today it was.

L moans she only had chance for 30 lengths in the pool. Sounds impressive enough to me. She ducks out of yoga, on the premise that she needs a good leg for the 10k on Sunday. Personally, I'd have thought more than one leg would be required but I guess she knows what she's doing.

L's also late because she did Son's paper round for him, as he's full of cold. Big mistake. The resulting international incident has totally overshadowed the banking crises and the stock market crash in these parts. Daughter was not impressed because no one helped her when she was ill... Hmmm, all I dare say, in case someone tampers with the brakes on my bike, is that that's an ingenious and economical way of expressing the facts.

Enthused by Sunday's Duathlon, I wonder what to do next to top it. I'm not going to say 'don't read anything into this' because L always does but oh, to be fit enough for the longer version, the Ashbourne Duathlon, which is ran on practically the same course. The bike course has a bit extra tacked on to make it up to 40k and the first run is a full lap of the reservoir, which sounds pleasant until you realise that it's 12k.

It's on the 25th April next year, or something like that, I haven’t looked obviously. L offers to put it in her diary, as a kind of sadistic birthday treat for me. Of course, I would need to improve my fitness, get a new bike and perhaps a new right knee... however, never say no, but don’t read...

I drop off L and Daughter, who is still huffing and puffing over the injustices of life, over at L parents. Along with MD, because they can’t bear to be parted from him, and he selflessly provides the entertainment for the evening. Whilst I head off to relative sanity of dog class with dog number one.

Son is out on another eighteenth birthday bash and wearing a suit, albeit with trainers. If he's not careful, he might pull something.

More worrying is that there were eleven of them on this bash and the parents of the lad, whose birthday it was, paid for everything. So although we're keen for Son to become a socialite perhaps it would be better if he kept his circle of friends nice and small, at least until after his birthday.

Amongst The Veterans

Earlier in the week, I sent my Dad a copy of the map of the Carsington Duathlon bike course. This caused him to immediately ring me up to try to talk me out of doing it. He says he struggled to walk up Middleton Top when he was lad, let alone ride up it on a bike.

Of course, I know how bad it is, I rode up it two years ago and it put off doing this event because I didn't think my bike or myself were up to it but now... well... I'm not sure much has changed but here goes.

In a way, I'm really looking forward to it. I think. The things we do for fun... and I can't back out now because L's threatened to drag me there by the ears if I try to.

Despite warning me off it, my Father is also looking forward to it. Even the 8am start hasn’t put him off. I'm not sure I've mentioned to L, that's it’s an 8am start...

Well, when I say I'm looking forward to it, that was before I saw the weather forecast and before I woke up to some seriously heavy rain. Oh well, a condemned man cannot evade the gallows for long.

Turns out that my start isn't actually at 8.00. They're obviously worried about me because they've given the main field a 15-minute head start. I start at 8.15, in something that they've called the 'veterans start', some mistake surely.

By the time it gets to 8.15, the rain has eased a touch but it's still a bit on the cold side. I feel a bit of a wimp in my leggings, borrowed from L and my long sleeved top... err also borrowed from L.

The upside of the 'veterans start' is that it's 'veterans and all women'. It would be an upside, if they didn't all look so serious and were all destined to beat me.

I try to take it easy on the first run, which is flat-ish, but I still go under 20 minutes. Back in transition, I slip my, by now, wet feet into my bike shoes and go off on the bike, which isn't remotely flat-ish. The bike is really good. I'm reluctant to use the 'E' word, but I do 'enjoy' it, although 'endure' also begins with 'E'.

I soon discover another benefit of being in the OAP's start; it means that those youngsters who I manage to outrun but turn out to be much stronger cyclists, don't come bombing past me once we're on the bike. One chap does come sailing past me and he's as old as my Dad. I can only marvel at his fitness, from a distance, as he disappears into that aforementioned distance.

The good news is that I start to catch some of the stragglers from the 'proper' start. The first one I pass is a chap on a mountain bike; I don't envy him trying to get up those hills on that big heavy thing. Subject to what people think mountain bikes aren't actually very good at going uphill, well not unless you spend a lot of money on one.

One chap I chase down turns out to be a girl. She had pipe cleaners for legs and no hips; she was so scrawny it was no wonder she was struggling on the hills. I would have expressed my sympathy to her, if I hadn't been so elated to pass someone from my own start.

The rain makes the downhills, often around sharp bends, even iffier than they would have been in the dry. I slow down for these death defying bends (L take note, I'm safety conscience), I notice a lot of others don't.

At this point I realise I haven't seen my father. He was intending to catch me somewhere out on the bike course but this is no easy feat. Everyone looks pretty much the same with a helmet on when they wiz past you.

Wirksworth is more uphill that I remember and just after Wirksworth it's the climb to Middleton Top. You go around a left hand turn and then it hits you. Or rather I go around the corner and see cyclists everywhere; Middleton Top is littered with bodies on bikes. I skip past, kind of, as many as I can. There are so many tears but I do not have time to stop to console anyone, not even the girlies. Actually, the climb isn't as bad as I remember, not sure what they're all whinging about.

From Middleton Top to transition is, just about, all downhill. I head into transition, having clocked just under the hour, which was my aim. There's still no sign of my father and oddly no sign of L and the dogs either. I ponder the likelihood that my Father has got lost and L's has had to go and rescue him from somewhere.

The second run is hard work and I consider walking a bit but I don't, that would be terribly bad form but it is tempting. Eventually the legs come back to life. As I've passed lots from the earlier race on the bike, the order is well mixed up, so I don't really know where I am in the great scheme of things. I concentrate on holding my position and just making sure no one goes past me. That is until the halfway, turnaround point, when I notice that pipe cleaner girl isn't too far behind me. Thinks she can chase me down. Huh? Think again.

I finish in 1 hour 41 minutes, which I'm well pleased with. Although 22 minutes is a bit slack for last 5k run.

I see my Father as I cross the line, wandering looking lost in transition (what a good name for a film), and rather predictably he's missed me on the bike. In fact, he's missed seeing me in any of the event. Oh well.

After I've finished, I realise how cold it still is and I head back to the car with L where I strip off all my wet gear. The dogs have thoughtfully steamed the car up, which affords me some privacy to do so. I towel myself down whilst L warms me up with hot coffee. Disappointingly, she doesn't offer to use her body heat but then L's always been a bit nesh and she probably hasn't got any to spare.

We were supposed to be out at the Hold Steady tonight but they've cancelled the entire tour because guitarist Tad Kubler is in hospital with pancreatitis, they'll now be over in December. Shame, I was really looking forward to that. So we stay in instead and raid the cupboards for what beer we can find.

Turns out L's been telling me fibs. It wasn't our turn to win the lottery after all. So the new bike project is back on hold again.

Good In The Face Of Adversity

After getting home about an hour later than planned, thanks to the no show of the Red Arrow last night, I'm up early again, for the longish trip up to Preston, where we have a dog show.

We arrive five minutes too late to walk our first course. This is my fault for drinking too much, getting up too late and then having to stop for petrol but we may not have made it all otherwise. Doggo sits tutting in the boot knowing, I think, that's he's going to have to bail me out again. MD is asleep, oblivious, dreaming of what havoc to wreak today.

Doggo does me proud. I owe him big time. We run the course, not having walked it and go clear. Then the judge sheepishly slopes over, avoiding eye contact like a naughty schoolboy and I know exactly what he's going to say. Yep. The timing didn't work and we're going to have to do it all over again. Cue more tutting from Doggo. However, we are good in the face of adversity, aren't we mate? So we go clear again. We come 17th, which isn't too bad because this is a course for grades 6 and 7 and we're just newbies in grade 6.

We go on to have a rather tremendous day and win two rosettes for 8th and 9th in grade 6. It seems that it suits us at this illustrious level. We mess up our last run in 6/7 but it's still a very good day.

We hurtle back down the M6, listening to the Iain Banks' Wasp Factory on audio book. I read the book, something like twenty years ago and it's weirder than I remembered. It's on Son's A level reading list and even he says it's the dodgiest book ever. L listened to it before I did and she had to resort to the Pianist, about the Jews in Warsaw during World War II for a little light relief.

L and Daughter are already out when I get home even though I'm home before 7pm, they've gone to see Enter Shikari at Rock City. I've never been there that early, hope she got front row.

I don't like to miss a gig, any gig, but I tried to get into the boys from St Albans but I just couldn't do it. The 'moulding together the passion of hardcore and punk with the passion of euphoria and trance', as they call it, just didn't work for me. L reckons their album is quite romantic and she wants to have 'Adieu' played at her funeral. Enter Shikari romantic? Has she been listening to the right album? Perhaps Daughter slipped her something else instead.



These early starts and finishes are all courtesy of the invention of the 14+ gig. In my day, if you were under eighteen, you had to steal someone else's ID and make yourself a convincing disguise to get into places like Rock City. Which, of course, never worked for me.

These days you can go dressed like a drongo, which is akin to having 'I am under 18' stamped on your forehead, and they'll still let you in. Somehow it's just not the same. I hope one of the above doesn’t try and pull L, or Daughter for that matter.

The downside of the 14+ gig is that stage times can be ridiculously early and for a mid-week gig, for those of us over 14, who have a job, you can still be stuck in the rush hour traffic when the support band come on stage.

Sitting outside at 10pm, waiting to collect them, I realise what a money-spinner these gigs are. The street outside is practically blocked my mummy and daddy's giant people carriers come to collect their offspring. Then I watch some lad who must be mid-twenties but still with 'I am under 18' stamped on his forehead, get in the one in front.

We drive home past Trent Poly where it’s Fresher's week and it looks as if the initiation ceremonies are in full swing.

The Hot Drinks Minefield

I take Doggo out and reluctantly drive in to work. We're out tonight and it means I'll have enough time to get the dogs on the park first.

L says she can't remember much about last night, apart from being disgusted at how much wine we left in that bottle. Phew, I think I got away with it then. Her complaining about leaving wine is a bit of a turnaround, she's normally complaining that she's drunk too much of it.

Making hot drinks for people is such a minefield. L, for one, is very choosy about her tea and doesn't usually let me make her one. On the other hand, she likes the way I make coffee. I make a drink today at work for someone who I don't usually make one for and he asks for one and half spoons of sugar in his decaff. Now to me that's an awful lot of sugar; it looks a lot on the spoon too. I wonder if he means one and half heaped or level? If it's heaped that's even more. Can my conscience cope with being partly responsible for his premature death? I compromise and give him one heaped.

It's in the news that mother's who push their daughters to achieve in higher education produce daughters who feel in control of their lives and have greater self-esteem. Hope that's right and Daughter sails through her exams. Apparently, there is no such link for boys...

L emails to say she's doing the lottery this weekend for the first time in ages and tells me that she has every intention of winning. Hmmm, so does everybody else. No, she assures me that it's our turn this week. So, I log on to Wiggle and start pricing up my new bike.

In the evening, we bus back over to Derby. We have 40 minutes to get drunk in the Flowerpot before we meet some friends for a posh meal in the European Restaurant, where we'll be elegantly sipping a bottle of wine between the four of us. Thankfully the 4.8% porter is still on but hang on... just as I'm about to order it, L points out that OMG, the legendary Snecklifter is on too. A hasty change of plans and three drinks later, we did mix and match a few beers in the end, we stagger down to the restaurant.

The meal is excellent and there is even time for swift nightcap in the Royal Standard before getting the Red Arrow, or rather not getting the Red Arrow, home. Apparently, it's broken down and won't be coming. They advise everyone to get the next one, which is in an hour and ten minutes. Cheers. We hop on the slower but much earlier R4.

Initiation

I get up at something like 5.45am, take Doggo out, and then bus/run to work.

There's been a bit of a fuss this week about university initiation ceremonies. The University of Gloucestershire has caught most of the flack because some of their students were photographed with Tesco's bags over their heads, whilst drinking and vomiting. Is this news? And are they sure it's Gloucester and not just footage of a typical night out in Nottingham.

One student said that he was persuaded to drink excessively and then run naked through the town. Yep, happens all the time round here mate.

Another student said that when she applied to join the hockey team, she was told to drink an intoxicating mixture of beer, spirits, alcopops, and wine. Well that's all you can get in some of the bars and they charge you £2 a bottle for it.

They also eat some pretty disgusting stuff on these initiation nights. I believe cat food, eggs and breakfast cereal topped with Bovril was mentioned, which will give some of the takeaway ideas.

So when you see a group of folks out this weekend, drinking heavily, whilst lighting matches in their crotches or eating raw fish that they've just retrieved from down their cleavage. It's just an initiation ceremony; everyone will be back to normal, simply drinking and vomiting before too long.



At lunch, because my colleague has had to leave his car at work because he's having his driveway resurfaced at home, we use his car to do a bonus pub trip. The problem was that they weren’t expecting us and didn’t have cottage pie on. Another disaster was that, having already decided not to have my first choice beer, a porter, because it was 4.8%, my second choice was off. When I tell L, she quickly emails to ask whether I mean 'Off' or 'Off', because there's a succinct difference. It was ‘off’, as in, the barmaid pulled me a pint but wouldn’t give it to me. Not L's kind of, slightly on the turn, ‘off’. She loves her beer like that. That's my inimitable girl for you.

We seem to keep playing squash in different venues and at different times at the moment. It's nice to keep my opponent guessing, and on his toes, not that it does me any good in the games. He emails to check that I haven't changed the sport back to tennis. As if, I just hope he doesn't forget the shuttlecocks.

After another defeat because shifting the times and venues didn't work again, I head home to L, to inspect her new, more athletic style, haircut. So good, it warrants opening a bottle of red and plying the inimitable one with alcohol.

Rick Astley, The Pinnacle Of Musical Achievement

The weather hasn't been kind this week but so far I've successfully dodged the worst of it, although there's no escaping the wind today. It's blowing a serious gale out there.

Now this is really frightening, Rick Astley has been nominated for 'best act ever' at this year's MTV Europe Music Awards. Is this a joke? Rick Astley was the pinnacle of musical achievement? Perhaps not, because the rest of the nominees are equally frightening. Rick is up against U2, Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Green Day and Tokio Hotel. U2 fair enough, Green Day maybe, the rest... someone's having a laugh. Tokio Hotel by the way are an obscure German band who seem to win awards, have number one's in Austria but not much else.



The pool is almost empty again tonight. Where are the students? Where's my good friend the student in the cardigan that doubles as a towel? or is it a towel that doubles as a cardigan because I'm sure I've seen him wearing it in reception. Where's the lad who turns up every week just for a shower and never gets in the pool? It’s not the same without these characters. Mind you, an empty pool is nice.

I spend part of the time watching a couple of Trent students doing flip turns. As I duck under water to get a better view of their technique, I must look like a right pervert but it was my new years resolution to learn how to do them and time is running out, as we're now in October.

I get home to find both dogs running around the garden like spring chickens. They'll be nothing left in Doggo for dog class. As we get ready to go, MD looks so settled and contented that I leave him at home. As it happens he's pulling a fast one and I soon get a text from L to say that he's back to being a pain and she's out pounding the streets with him.