Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Obsession for men
The humble charity shop is never to be overlooked as a source of literature, music or random football shirts. Glyn and I, at a loss for anything better to do with a morning in Coventry, were in Age Concern checking out last decade's duds.
Glyn inspected random football shirt #3, whose provenance I forget.
"I don't know, man, I think it might be a bit big on me."
I had a look at the shirt, had a look at Glyn, and didn't much like the look of either. I am not, however, one to discourage foolhardy purchase of random football shirts.
"Nah, just throw a few pork pies down you and you'll soon fill that thing out."
The woman browsing the shelf next to us stifled a giggle. We stopped frowning at the random football shirt and frowned at her instead.
"You do realise," she said, "that's the exact opposite of the conversation two women would be having."
Nothing but magic.
Glyn inspected random football shirt #3, whose provenance I forget.
"I don't know, man, I think it might be a bit big on me."
I had a look at the shirt, had a look at Glyn, and didn't much like the look of either. I am not, however, one to discourage foolhardy purchase of random football shirts.
"Nah, just throw a few pork pies down you and you'll soon fill that thing out."
The woman browsing the shelf next to us stifled a giggle. We stopped frowning at the random football shirt and frowned at her instead.
"You do realise," she said, "that's the exact opposite of the conversation two women would be having."
Nothing but magic.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
The Y of charity
Interesting point raised by Mr Bailey recently, the point being that of fundraising. We were watching the arse end of the 'Great' Manchester Run on the BBC which was taking place in the Great British Weather, making it a little difficult to distinguish from its successor, the Great Salford Swim. We were hungover. At least, I was.
Why, Bailey asked, do people chuck money at people who are running? So-and-so is running such-and-such for blah-de-blah. They're running because they want to. I don't understand it.
Steady, I said, reminding him that I have earned a few pennies for worthy causes myself via runs of various distances. I observed that a bit of vicarious guilt about orphans in Africa is probably quite a useful motivational tool when you're at the 20-mile mark in a marathon and you're about ready to pack it in.
The Bailster graciously conceded the validity of this, but pointed out the myth of self-sacrifice involved in the fundraising campaign: I'm running the London Marathon for Oxfam, I'm climbing Mount Kilimanjaro for Unicef - yes, these are challenging activities, but the people want to do them. Unicef et al are incidental.
I agreed with these examples although I know that in a lot of cases people are doing these events for smaller charities in which they have a genuine interest. Heaven forbid, should the unspeakable happen to either of my cats, I wouldn't feel like a hypocrite for running from John O'Groats to Land's End in a Feline Alzheimer's Foundation vest.
However, Bailey and I are quite active people and enjoy taking on new challenges. I, for example, am still learning how to eat soup the approved way (to raise money for endangered Jaguars, since you ask). I asked the obvious question: what could the likes of us attempt as a fundraiser that would be a challenge but genuinely self-sacrificing and something we really wouldn't want to do?
Bailey thought about this while the Great British Weather beat indefatigably on the window and random interviewees on the box spouted off about how much money they'd raised by jogging a bit over six miles.
Well, he said, eventually. Anything physical's out of the question, so how about this: we have to put on four stone in four months.
That would be difficult, you definitely wouldn't want to do it and, best of all, nobody would be prepared to give you a penny whereas they wouldn't think twice about it if you were going up Kilimanjaro which you wanted to do anyway.
I thought this a tremendously good idea and my only regret is I wasn't quick enough to come back with the suggestion that occurred to me a day or two later: we both have chemo to raise money for Cancer Research.
Why, Bailey asked, do people chuck money at people who are running? So-and-so is running such-and-such for blah-de-blah. They're running because they want to. I don't understand it.
Steady, I said, reminding him that I have earned a few pennies for worthy causes myself via runs of various distances. I observed that a bit of vicarious guilt about orphans in Africa is probably quite a useful motivational tool when you're at the 20-mile mark in a marathon and you're about ready to pack it in.
The Bailster graciously conceded the validity of this, but pointed out the myth of self-sacrifice involved in the fundraising campaign: I'm running the London Marathon for Oxfam, I'm climbing Mount Kilimanjaro for Unicef - yes, these are challenging activities, but the people want to do them. Unicef et al are incidental.
I agreed with these examples although I know that in a lot of cases people are doing these events for smaller charities in which they have a genuine interest. Heaven forbid, should the unspeakable happen to either of my cats, I wouldn't feel like a hypocrite for running from John O'Groats to Land's End in a Feline Alzheimer's Foundation vest.
However, Bailey and I are quite active people and enjoy taking on new challenges. I, for example, am still learning how to eat soup the approved way (to raise money for endangered Jaguars, since you ask). I asked the obvious question: what could the likes of us attempt as a fundraiser that would be a challenge but genuinely self-sacrificing and something we really wouldn't want to do?
Bailey thought about this while the Great British Weather beat indefatigably on the window and random interviewees on the box spouted off about how much money they'd raised by jogging a bit over six miles.
Well, he said, eventually. Anything physical's out of the question, so how about this: we have to put on four stone in four months.
That would be difficult, you definitely wouldn't want to do it and, best of all, nobody would be prepared to give you a penny whereas they wouldn't think twice about it if you were going up Kilimanjaro which you wanted to do anyway.
I thought this a tremendously good idea and my only regret is I wasn't quick enough to come back with the suggestion that occurred to me a day or two later: we both have chemo to raise money for Cancer Research.
Labels: COMRADES, SELF IMPROVEMENT
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Palin in comparison
Interviewer: How would you handle a situation like the one that just developed in North Korea?
Palin: Well, North Korea, this is stemming from a greater problem, when we're all sitting around asking, 'Oh no, what are we going to do,' and we're not having a lot of faith that the White House is going to come out with a strong enough policy to sanction what it is that North Korea is going to do. So this speaks to a bigger picture that certainly scares me in terms of our national security policy. But obviously, we've got to stand with our North Korean allies – we're bound to by treaty....
Interviewer: South Korean.
Palin: Yes, and we're also bound by prudence to stand with our South Korean allies, yes.
***
A few years ago, I did a quick pop quiz of American workmates: how many of them knew the capital city of Canada? The two most telling responses are recorded below, both of them well spoken, educated and intelligent individuals.
ME: Caitlin, what's the capital of Canada?
Lengthy pause
SHE: Don't blame me. Blame my government.
ME: Adam, what's the capital city of Canada?
HE: Who the fuck cares?
Palin: Well, North Korea, this is stemming from a greater problem, when we're all sitting around asking, 'Oh no, what are we going to do,' and we're not having a lot of faith that the White House is going to come out with a strong enough policy to sanction what it is that North Korea is going to do. So this speaks to a bigger picture that certainly scares me in terms of our national security policy. But obviously, we've got to stand with our North Korean allies – we're bound to by treaty....
Interviewer: South Korean.
Palin: Yes, and we're also bound by prudence to stand with our South Korean allies, yes.
***
A few years ago, I did a quick pop quiz of American workmates: how many of them knew the capital city of Canada? The two most telling responses are recorded below, both of them well spoken, educated and intelligent individuals.
ME: Caitlin, what's the capital of Canada?
Lengthy pause
SHE: Don't blame me. Blame my government.
ME: Adam, what's the capital city of Canada?
HE: Who the fuck cares?
Labels: COMRADES, DULLARDS, EVIL, NEWS, WORDS
Friday, October 15, 2010
The monst'rous marathon mail
Just to update everyone on how the Loch Ness Marathon went, and very big thanks to those of you who donated to Macmillan Cancer Support via our Justgiving page; we've raised over £500, which will:
a. Provide more good days for people living with cancer
b. Land Macmillan another couple of London Marathon places, so some other pair of willing idiots have to pester their friends for something in the region of six grand
Either way, I'm sure you'll agree that's an outstanding result!
Right, how it went - I'm sure you're all dying to hear about how we faced and overcame our biggest challenge since illiteracy so I'll spare you details of our travel (which was a marathon in its own right) and skip to the race.
The course begins at the south end of Loch Ness and follows the main road all the way up into Inverness. The road is closed to traffic for the day, with the welcome exception of ambulances and the occasional hearse.
Not deeming the marathon sufficiently hellish in its own right, the organisers lined us up an hour-long bus trip to the start line. To be more exact, the bus dropped us off ten minutes from the start. Twenty minutes before the start. So long warm-up.
Just in case we were still suffering from any lingering vestiges of optimism, the morning had settled into the kind of steady, persistent drizzle which gives the people of the highlands their cheery disposition and impressive suicide rate.
Then some funny bastard put "500 miles" by the Proclaimers on the PA system and a couple of thousand soggy joggers lurched out onto the road, bound for Inverness.
The first nine miles or so were fairly steep downhill, which probably sounds ideal - it's not. Your legs get pulverised. After this, we emerged onto the side of Loch Ness for the next nine miles, which were flat and scenic.
Unfortunately, with all the damage wrought by the first section and the prospect of many, many more miles to come, you tend to plod along thinking things like: "I've stacked this," and "Marathons are rubbish".
Not being a big city marathon, there aren't the throngs of people cheering that you'd get in somewhere like London, New York or possibly even Leicester. This changed after around 17 miles when we went through a place called Dores.
People lined the streets of the town, cheering runners on and handing out sweets and drinks, not because they like runners, but simply because they're a collection of nasty, twisted perverts.
The reason is, straight after the town, from mile 18 onwards, is THE hill.
So, once a year the people of Dores take a break from watching Songs of Praise on the telly and take to the street to derive sadistic delight from encouraging a bunch of sweaty, exhausted runners to put on a bit of a spurt, knowing full well that they'll get overexcited and waste a bunch of energy. Then, when they're faced with a two-mile incline, they'll have shot their bolt and they will, in all probability, expire in a ditch.
(In fact, I went past a collapsed guy being loaded into an ambulance on this stretch, so the people of Dores can have a good laugh about that one.)
Fortunately, once you've made it up and over the hill, it's then plain sailing to the finish. Although it does take about an hour.
By this stage, the sun had at last come out, as had the people of Inverness. In one last twist of the knife, you go past the finish on the other side of the river before crossing and retracing your steps.
I crossed the line in just under 3h 30 and waddled off to get a coffee. Ed arrived just over an hour later, looking every inch the shot putter in his wicked Macmillan vest.
Both of us were walking like we'd had our first shower in prison. Of course, we were now free to get on the keg for the first time in a month. Sadly, the first pint we had was foul - some pubs just have no sense of occasion.
It was hard, our legs hurt, and our mouths tasted like we'd been eating bees. Nonetheless, we had made it through the marathon - it's a great feeling and I'd recommend anyone to have a crack at doing it*.
Anyway, if you've made it to the bottom of this rambling, please dry your eyes and pull yourself together. Many thanks again for supporting our effort and don't forget to check out the photos on our Facebook page.
http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=141406819234385
*Except normal people
a. Provide more good days for people living with cancer
b. Land Macmillan another couple of London Marathon places, so some other pair of willing idiots have to pester their friends for something in the region of six grand
Either way, I'm sure you'll agree that's an outstanding result!
Right, how it went - I'm sure you're all dying to hear about how we faced and overcame our biggest challenge since illiteracy so I'll spare you details of our travel (which was a marathon in its own right) and skip to the race.
The course begins at the south end of Loch Ness and follows the main road all the way up into Inverness. The road is closed to traffic for the day, with the welcome exception of ambulances and the occasional hearse.
Not deeming the marathon sufficiently hellish in its own right, the organisers lined us up an hour-long bus trip to the start line. To be more exact, the bus dropped us off ten minutes from the start. Twenty minutes before the start. So long warm-up.
Just in case we were still suffering from any lingering vestiges of optimism, the morning had settled into the kind of steady, persistent drizzle which gives the people of the highlands their cheery disposition and impressive suicide rate.
Then some funny bastard put "500 miles" by the Proclaimers on the PA system and a couple of thousand soggy joggers lurched out onto the road, bound for Inverness.
The first nine miles or so were fairly steep downhill, which probably sounds ideal - it's not. Your legs get pulverised. After this, we emerged onto the side of Loch Ness for the next nine miles, which were flat and scenic.
Unfortunately, with all the damage wrought by the first section and the prospect of many, many more miles to come, you tend to plod along thinking things like: "I've stacked this," and "Marathons are rubbish".
Not being a big city marathon, there aren't the throngs of people cheering that you'd get in somewhere like London, New York or possibly even Leicester. This changed after around 17 miles when we went through a place called Dores.
People lined the streets of the town, cheering runners on and handing out sweets and drinks, not because they like runners, but simply because they're a collection of nasty, twisted perverts.
The reason is, straight after the town, from mile 18 onwards, is THE hill.
So, once a year the people of Dores take a break from watching Songs of Praise on the telly and take to the street to derive sadistic delight from encouraging a bunch of sweaty, exhausted runners to put on a bit of a spurt, knowing full well that they'll get overexcited and waste a bunch of energy. Then, when they're faced with a two-mile incline, they'll have shot their bolt and they will, in all probability, expire in a ditch.
(In fact, I went past a collapsed guy being loaded into an ambulance on this stretch, so the people of Dores can have a good laugh about that one.)
Fortunately, once you've made it up and over the hill, it's then plain sailing to the finish. Although it does take about an hour.
By this stage, the sun had at last come out, as had the people of Inverness. In one last twist of the knife, you go past the finish on the other side of the river before crossing and retracing your steps.
I crossed the line in just under 3h 30 and waddled off to get a coffee. Ed arrived just over an hour later, looking every inch the shot putter in his wicked Macmillan vest.
Both of us were walking like we'd had our first shower in prison. Of course, we were now free to get on the keg for the first time in a month. Sadly, the first pint we had was foul - some pubs just have no sense of occasion.
It was hard, our legs hurt, and our mouths tasted like we'd been eating bees. Nonetheless, we had made it through the marathon - it's a great feeling and I'd recommend anyone to have a crack at doing it*.
Anyway, if you've made it to the bottom of this rambling, please dry your eyes and pull yourself together. Many thanks again for supporting our effort and don't forget to check out the photos on our Facebook page.
http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=141406819234385
*Except normal people
Labels: COMRADES, SELF IMPROVEMENT
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Making unwarranted accusations of racism against my flatmate
"Why is it always about colour with you, Sam Green?"
***
As usual, you probably needed to be there.
***
As usual, you probably needed to be there.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Hardcore weekends for hardcore people, Vol. I
One day, I'm going to suggest something stupid to Edwin and he's going to say "No, Dan - that's just stupid."
It hasn't happened yet. The last stupid thing I suggested to him was entering this year's Loch Ness Marathon. Ten minutes later, we'd both dropped forty notes and had our race numbers. I just can't wait.
This weekend's stupidity wasn't quite on the same scale, but it was still pretty daft: enter two 10k races. This worked out pretty well as the Saturday one was in Nottingham (handy for Ed) and the Sunday was in Coventry (handy for both of us).
Saturday saw us lining up in glorious sunshine in Cotgrave Country Park for the Paws 10k (raising money for mutts). We overheard one veteran of a previous race discussing the hill with a friend. This seemed rather inauspicious; as I remarked to Edwin, definite article prefixes seldom betoken glad tidings: the clap, the taxman, etc.
Off we went, to slowly fry on a series of slopes. Just before 6km, I rounded a hedge to be confronted with the hill, up which runners in front were struggling or, in several cases, walking. I made it over, although the bench at the top did provide me with a nasty moment of temptation.
I finished a minute or two ahead of Ed, who had, to his credit, also conquered the hill at a run and was a little caustic about some of the quitters:
"I came past these two guys who were just walking up it, chatting about all the running they do! One of them was like 'Oh, yes - I did the kilomathon recently,' and I was like 'Well get a fucking move on then!'"
I fell out of bed feeling pretty stiff on Sunday morning to do the same around the leafy lanes of Coventry in the Northbrook 10k - which, I might add, also had a the hill. Both Ed and I were unsurprisingly a little slower round the course this time.
My running complete, I sped on to my next mission: taking the dad camping / hiking in the Peak District. By this stage, I was a little tired.
It hasn't happened yet. The last stupid thing I suggested to him was entering this year's Loch Ness Marathon. Ten minutes later, we'd both dropped forty notes and had our race numbers. I just can't wait.
This weekend's stupidity wasn't quite on the same scale, but it was still pretty daft: enter two 10k races. This worked out pretty well as the Saturday one was in Nottingham (handy for Ed) and the Sunday was in Coventry (handy for both of us).
Saturday saw us lining up in glorious sunshine in Cotgrave Country Park for the Paws 10k (raising money for mutts). We overheard one veteran of a previous race discussing the hill with a friend. This seemed rather inauspicious; as I remarked to Edwin, definite article prefixes seldom betoken glad tidings: the clap, the taxman, etc.
Off we went, to slowly fry on a series of slopes. Just before 6km, I rounded a hedge to be confronted with the hill, up which runners in front were struggling or, in several cases, walking. I made it over, although the bench at the top did provide me with a nasty moment of temptation.
I finished a minute or two ahead of Ed, who had, to his credit, also conquered the hill at a run and was a little caustic about some of the quitters:
"I came past these two guys who were just walking up it, chatting about all the running they do! One of them was like 'Oh, yes - I did the kilomathon recently,' and I was like 'Well get a fucking move on then!'"
I fell out of bed feeling pretty stiff on Sunday morning to do the same around the leafy lanes of Coventry in the Northbrook 10k - which, I might add, also had a the hill. Both Ed and I were unsurprisingly a little slower round the course this time.
My running complete, I sped on to my next mission: taking the dad camping / hiking in the Peak District. By this stage, I was a little tired.
Labels: COMRADES, SELF IMPROVEMENT
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Giving me a bad name
...although I suspect he may feel that I'm giving him a bad name. Hm.
With thanks to fearless correspondent Russ Greaves for unearthing this little gem on tampabay.com (reprinted from the St Petersburg Times).
Man accused of exposing himself to teens in Weeki Wachee
WEEKI WACHEE — A Homosassa man who authorities say exposed himself to two teenagers in a neighborhood north of Weeki Wachee on Sunday evening has been charged with lewd and lascivious acts on a minor.
Daniel P. McKeown, 25, was standing in the road near the 11000 block of Mirage Avenue when he unzipped his jeans, exposed his genitals to the two teenagers and made the same vulgar comment several times, according to an arrest report from the Hernando County Sheriff's Office. Several adults witnessed McKeown's actions, the report said.
McKeown fled from deputies and ran into a vacant home before he was caught, so he was also charged with trespassing. McKeown told deputies he'd drank five beers and did not remember exposing himself, according to the report.
McKeown, of 4385 S Marcan Trail, remained in the Hernando County Jail on a bond of $15,500.
With thanks to fearless correspondent Russ Greaves for unearthing this little gem on tampabay.com (reprinted from the St Petersburg Times).
Man accused of exposing himself to teens in Weeki Wachee
WEEKI WACHEE — A Homosassa man who authorities say exposed himself to two teenagers in a neighborhood north of Weeki Wachee on Sunday evening has been charged with lewd and lascivious acts on a minor.
Daniel P. McKeown, 25, was standing in the road near the 11000 block of Mirage Avenue when he unzipped his jeans, exposed his genitals to the two teenagers and made the same vulgar comment several times, according to an arrest report from the Hernando County Sheriff's Office. Several adults witnessed McKeown's actions, the report said.
McKeown fled from deputies and ran into a vacant home before he was caught, so he was also charged with trespassing. McKeown told deputies he'd drank five beers and did not remember exposing himself, according to the report.
McKeown, of 4385 S Marcan Trail, remained in the Hernando County Jail on a bond of $15,500.
Labels: CLAN, COMRADES, EVIL, NEWS
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
She had it coming...
The best bit of photo editing I've done in a while. Of course, Matt Sherry would never shank a sweet northern rose like Nikki. Never.
Labels: COMRADES, IMAGES, MISDEEDS
Friday, March 19, 2010
Cartoon cricket
IPL cricket has made it onto the idiot box, courtesy of ITV4.
Joe won't hear a good word about the Twenty20 format. Sam and I were chatting over its demerits versus test cricket while we were watching people hitting the ball out of the ground and scantily-clad cheerleaders.
ME: It's a bit like the difference between playing chess and playing snap.
HE: It's more like the difference between playing chess and just throwing chess pieces as far as you can.
Joe won't hear a good word about the Twenty20 format. Sam and I were chatting over its demerits versus test cricket while we were watching people hitting the ball out of the ground and scantily-clad cheerleaders.
ME: It's a bit like the difference between playing chess and playing snap.
HE: It's more like the difference between playing chess and just throwing chess pieces as far as you can.
Labels: BUNKA, COMRADES, WORDS
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
The Adidas Silverstone Half Marathon
Grounds and I did the Silverstone Half Marathon on Sunday, on a sunny, blustery day at England's premier motor racing circuit.
Arrival
Warming up
Before the race. We didn't get to pick the colour of our vests -
Amnesty just chose a couple at random and sent them to us.
There were around 7,000 entrants, so the start was a bit cramped. Better still, I was already fairly aching for a pee, having been conscientiously drinking water all morning.
I wasn't alone either - for the first 800 yards or so of the race, there was a constant stream of blokes running off the track and relieving themselves against the wall. Grounds and I joined them with very little hesitation.
Grounds had brought his iPod with him, so he stuck that on and started singing along to it in a strange, high-pitched falsetto. I remember Heart of Glass earning us a few looks.
Possibly because of his outlandish behaviour, Grounds was moving through traffic a fair bit more easily than I was. He trotted off into the distance while I got hemmed in by sweaty bodies. As there were a couple of hairpin bends, I was treated to the sight of him bounding indefatigably along in the opposite direction on more than one occasion.
I figured there was no point wasting energy trying to bully my way through the crowd too early so I just settled in and plodded along.
I eventually caught up with Grounds at the eight-mile mark, then gave him a taste of his own medicine by running off on him! Haha! Grounds was getting a bit leggy as he actually needed a poo.
The last couple of miles were fairly hellish as the wind was blowing and there was an uphill stretch to the finish. I hung on for a finishing time of 1:42:58 - around a minute outside my target time, but quite cheering in the blustery conditions.
Grounds, meanwhile, had stopped for a poo but still made it round in an impressive 1:47:17.
Grounds then went for another poo while I tried to find the car. Fortunately I had an ace up my sleeve.
Parking officer standing in a huge car park, packed with cars. Up comes Dan.
ME: Hi there mate, I'm looking for a red Rover 400 series. You seen it?
HE: Er...
***
Silverstone Half Marathon overall:
* Very impressed with the facilities and organisation. Timing clocks on each mile marker a definite plus. Lots of water and Lucozade available on the course.
* A lot of people commented that their pedometers recorded 13.3 miles - I think that may be caused by being pushed wide through the many corners by traffic.
* The scenery was fairly awful. Unless you're a motorsports fan (I'm not) in which case, the scenery was iconic.
* My new running shoes gave me blisters. I also had a bit of jelly bean stuck between my teeth for the last two miles.
***
Visit my facebook album
Arrival
Warming up
Before the race. We didn't get to pick the colour of our vests -
Amnesty just chose a couple at random and sent them to us.
There were around 7,000 entrants, so the start was a bit cramped. Better still, I was already fairly aching for a pee, having been conscientiously drinking water all morning.
I wasn't alone either - for the first 800 yards or so of the race, there was a constant stream of blokes running off the track and relieving themselves against the wall. Grounds and I joined them with very little hesitation.
Grounds had brought his iPod with him, so he stuck that on and started singing along to it in a strange, high-pitched falsetto. I remember Heart of Glass earning us a few looks.
Possibly because of his outlandish behaviour, Grounds was moving through traffic a fair bit more easily than I was. He trotted off into the distance while I got hemmed in by sweaty bodies. As there were a couple of hairpin bends, I was treated to the sight of him bounding indefatigably along in the opposite direction on more than one occasion.
I figured there was no point wasting energy trying to bully my way through the crowd too early so I just settled in and plodded along.
I eventually caught up with Grounds at the eight-mile mark, then gave him a taste of his own medicine by running off on him! Haha! Grounds was getting a bit leggy as he actually needed a poo.
The last couple of miles were fairly hellish as the wind was blowing and there was an uphill stretch to the finish. I hung on for a finishing time of 1:42:58 - around a minute outside my target time, but quite cheering in the blustery conditions.
Grounds, meanwhile, had stopped for a poo but still made it round in an impressive 1:47:17.
Grounds then went for another poo while I tried to find the car. Fortunately I had an ace up my sleeve.
Parking officer standing in a huge car park, packed with cars. Up comes Dan.
ME: Hi there mate, I'm looking for a red Rover 400 series. You seen it?
HE: Er...
***
Silverstone Half Marathon overall:
* Very impressed with the facilities and organisation. Timing clocks on each mile marker a definite plus. Lots of water and Lucozade available on the course.
* A lot of people commented that their pedometers recorded 13.3 miles - I think that may be caused by being pushed wide through the many corners by traffic.
* The scenery was fairly awful. Unless you're a motorsports fan (I'm not) in which case, the scenery was iconic.
* My new running shoes gave me blisters. I also had a bit of jelly bean stuck between my teeth for the last two miles.
***
Visit my facebook album
Labels: COMRADES, SELF IMPROVEMENT, U-TUBE
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Thought for the day
Just don't be yourself and you'll be okay
-VMM
-VMM
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
The author of my own misfortune
OSRIC How is't, Laertes?
LAERTES Why, as a woodcock to mine own springe, Osric;
I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery.
(Hamlet, Act V, Scene II)
I came along to the coffee shop yesterday to find a few more comments on my Facebook status than usual.
My status read: All my sexual fantasies revolve around violence
It's not the fact that Glyn changed my status when I left his laptop logged in to my Facebook account that cuts, so much as the fact that he changed it to the exact thing I'd told him half an hour previously that I would love to change someone's status to if the opportunity arose.
I don't even feel like avenging myself; I'm just going to sit here and sulk.
LAERTES Why, as a woodcock to mine own springe, Osric;
I am justly kill'd with mine own treachery.
(Hamlet, Act V, Scene II)
I came along to the coffee shop yesterday to find a few more comments on my Facebook status than usual.
My status read: All my sexual fantasies revolve around violence
It's not the fact that Glyn changed my status when I left his laptop logged in to my Facebook account that cuts, so much as the fact that he changed it to the exact thing I'd told him half an hour previously that I would love to change someone's status to if the opportunity arose.
I don't even feel like avenging myself; I'm just going to sit here and sulk.
44
It was the Superbowl last night and, despite comparative ignorance of American football, I wasn't about to let the opportunity for a sesh go by.
Simple premise: invite people round, split into Colts and Saints, and drink according to game events.
First down: team defending drinks
Turnover: team losing possession drinks
Points scored: team defending drinks
Losing yards on a play: team in possession drinks (extra for a QB sack)
There was also pizza and wings.
Matt and I were on the Saints team, Glyn and Pete were the Colts.
The game began well with Saints winning the toss, but this was about the last time Glyn and Pete had to drink in the first quarter as the Saints kicked away possession on their first two drives and the Colts scored on both of theirs.
Worse was to follow when we got absolutely schooled at the half time beer pong.
Thankfully, the Saints came good in the end, although I was possibly a bit too well oiled to savour the victory as much as I might have.
Simple premise: invite people round, split into Colts and Saints, and drink according to game events.
First down: team defending drinks
Turnover: team losing possession drinks
Points scored: team defending drinks
Losing yards on a play: team in possession drinks (extra for a QB sack)
There was also pizza and wings.
Matt and I were on the Saints team, Glyn and Pete were the Colts.
The game began well with Saints winning the toss, but this was about the last time Glyn and Pete had to drink in the first quarter as the Saints kicked away possession on their first two drives and the Colts scored on both of theirs.
Worse was to follow when we got absolutely schooled at the half time beer pong.
Thankfully, the Saints came good in the end, although I was possibly a bit too well oiled to savour the victory as much as I might have.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
A villain's death
If I get a worse score for the exam than you, I'm going to tie one end of a rope to the toilet door, the other end round my neck, stand in the toilet and pull the chain.
Easily confused
GLYN: I once thought I'd broke my neck when I was snowboarding. Honestly, I've never been so scared in my life.
DAN: But that's a good sign, isn't it? If you'd broke your neck, you wouldn't have been able to feel fear.
Brief pause. Gulls cry in the distance, waves lap against the shore
DAN: Ah, no - legs. You wouldn't have been able to feel your legs.
DAN: But that's a good sign, isn't it? If you'd broke your neck, you wouldn't have been able to feel fear.
Brief pause. Gulls cry in the distance, waves lap against the shore
DAN: Ah, no - legs. You wouldn't have been able to feel your legs.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
The agony and the ecstasy
We had the joy of seeing Coventry City on the idiot box last week in their FA Cup replay against Portsmouth.
Sam and I dashed into Coral beforehand to lay a couple of wagers on the outcome.
In a fairly dire game, Coventry led from the first half, before scoring a dreadful own goal in the 89th minute.
As I had laid a fiver on Coventry to lead at half time and be level at full time, I wasn't exactly taking the kitchenware to my wrists when this happened.
Sam, also a Cov fan, was a little less chipper - none of his bets had come home.
Neither of us were particularly pleased with Cov's defending during extra time, particularly when they conceded in the 119th minute, to consign dreams of cup glory to the cupboard for another year.
I did have a £70 win to sugar the pill, though - call it heartbreak insurance.
Labels: COMRADES, MAMMON, THE BEAUTIFUL GAME
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Weekend entertainment on the cheap
Glyn had a good idea - Ready, steady, cook! night. All participants to bring three ingredients, totalling no more than a fiver in value.
Then he and I (his intended co-chef having bailed) cooked a variety of weird and wonderful dishes from whatever showed up with the various partygoers.
My ingredients were rice, mushrooms and spam. The first two went into fried rice, unsurprisingly. The spam was reincarnated as spam bhaji, which must be an all-time first. Didn't taste half bad either.
The drinking games were a bit more fraught: some genius came up with the rule "Dan has to lose an item of clothing every time a red card is drawn."
Fortunately, said genius didn't proscribe the putting on of clothes between cards, so I was able to preserve what little modesty I had by nicking other people's scarves and hats.
On Sunday, I trekked round London on the Sherlock Holmes audiowalk, which was a great laugh.
I made it twenty yards from my front door before I encountered my first miscreant. A young boy blindsided me with a snowball as I was walking past Coram's Fields.
My urge to giggle outweighed my urge for retribution.
Then he and I (his intended co-chef having bailed) cooked a variety of weird and wonderful dishes from whatever showed up with the various partygoers.
My ingredients were rice, mushrooms and spam. The first two went into fried rice, unsurprisingly. The spam was reincarnated as spam bhaji, which must be an all-time first. Didn't taste half bad either.
The drinking games were a bit more fraught: some genius came up with the rule "Dan has to lose an item of clothing every time a red card is drawn."
Fortunately, said genius didn't proscribe the putting on of clothes between cards, so I was able to preserve what little modesty I had by nicking other people's scarves and hats.
On Sunday, I trekked round London on the Sherlock Holmes audiowalk, which was a great laugh.
I made it twenty yards from my front door before I encountered my first miscreant. A young boy blindsided me with a snowball as I was walking past Coram's Fields.
My urge to giggle outweighed my urge for retribution.
Labels: BUNKA, COMRADES, SELF IMPROVEMENT
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Covering
Have you done something to my Facebook status? she demands.
I give her the ice grill. I am, it is true, sitting at the computer she has just vacated. It is also true that she left herself logged in to Facebook. However, I do have some standards.
Do you remember the other day, I reply with some asperity, and I said dicking around with people's passworded computer stuff was no better than rifling their wallet and taking their credit cards?
Yes, she replies, and I remember you then saying you'd do it in a hot second.
My argument is evidently flawed.
Her status, incidentally, reads: Nikki Culley is a buffoon.
I give her the ice grill. I am, it is true, sitting at the computer she has just vacated. It is also true that she left herself logged in to Facebook. However, I do have some standards.
Do you remember the other day, I reply with some asperity, and I said dicking around with people's passworded computer stuff was no better than rifling their wallet and taking their credit cards?
Yes, she replies, and I remember you then saying you'd do it in a hot second.
My argument is evidently flawed.
Her status, incidentally, reads: Nikki Culley is a buffoon.
Friday, November 20, 2009
In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king
Despite a very mediocre performance on my mock exams, my peers' confidence in my knowledge remained undented and people were collaring me all week for study tips.
It's not hard to see why when you consider my ingenious VEG ROAST method of memorising sexual offences:
Voyeurism
Exposure
Grooming
Rape
Other sexual offences, involving a child
Assault by penetration
Sexual assault
Trafficking
People were saying in the pub after the media law exam how useful it had been. The only person who bought me a drink, though, was Ben Baker, and that was only because he'd knocked mine on the floor.
It's not hard to see why when you consider my ingenious VEG ROAST method of memorising sexual offences:
Voyeurism
Exposure
Grooming
Rape
Other sexual offences, involving a child
Assault by penetration
Sexual assault
Trafficking
People were saying in the pub after the media law exam how useful it had been. The only person who bought me a drink, though, was Ben Baker, and that was only because he'd knocked mine on the floor.
Labels: COMRADES, SELF IMPROVEMENT, WORDS
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Fred goes for a duck
It was Monday morning and I wasn't really feeling it. I was cold and tired and I had a subbing exercise to complete on an article about an 84-year-old war hero widower with Parkinson's called Fred who had vanished from his nursing home three days previously.
The exercise: correct the bad English (of which there was much), get the article down to within the word count, then come up with a heading and sub heading for the article.
Our lecturers are big fans of catchy aliteration, so I went with "Parkinson's pensioner ducks out of care home" as my sub heading, scoring additional points for a punning reference to the fugitive's apparent obsession with feeding ducks.
At least, I thought I'd scored points - the morning's lecturer, a doleful walrus of a man, declared that some of us were still suffering from weekend silliness.
"You'd get a letter of complaint from the family at the very least," he said.
"I mean, this gentleman could be dead for all we know."
My eyes slid sideways to Glyn's headline on the adjacent computer: "Fred Could Be Dead."
"I think Glyn might get a firebomb," I ventured.
The exercise: correct the bad English (of which there was much), get the article down to within the word count, then come up with a heading and sub heading for the article.
Our lecturers are big fans of catchy aliteration, so I went with "Parkinson's pensioner ducks out of care home" as my sub heading, scoring additional points for a punning reference to the fugitive's apparent obsession with feeding ducks.
At least, I thought I'd scored points - the morning's lecturer, a doleful walrus of a man, declared that some of us were still suffering from weekend silliness.
"You'd get a letter of complaint from the family at the very least," he said.
"I mean, this gentleman could be dead for all we know."
My eyes slid sideways to Glyn's headline on the adjacent computer: "Fred Could Be Dead."
"I think Glyn might get a firebomb," I ventured.
Labels: COMRADES, MISDEEDS, SELF IMPROVEMENT, WORDS
