round and around...

In the process of clearing out the 10,000 surplus emails in my inbox, I've come across another post that I wrote for someone else (in 2009). As I'm loathe to let good(?) content go to waste, and because I find it interesting (even if no-one else does).... I'm (re-)posting it here.  Enjoy. I still have a soft spot for Nik Kershaw.

---

Memories Can't Wait.... a song that reminds me of a friend (originally written for Ben on Silent Words Speak Loudest, or possibly The Art Of Noise. I can't remember)

I didn't grow up in an especially musical household.  Neither of my parents are particularly into music and because it had never formed a large part of their lives, it was only natural that my two brothers and I didn't initially form much of an interest ourselves.  I've always found it a little hard to understand how two people, both just five or six years younger than Paul McCartney and presumably slap bang in the prime demographic for the Beatles, could have both have missed out on such a vibrant period of British music, but miss it they did.  My mum tells me that she owned a copy of Revolver and my dad had a pile of "Top of the Pops" LPs that he had inherited from his father's pub, but their hearts weren't in it and our house was largely devoid of background music.

My first real musical exposure, then, came instead from regular visits to the house of a friend just down the road.  Like me, Will had two siblings, although where I was a middle child, he was the youngest by several years.  I don't know if his parents were especially into music, but his dad worked for Rotel, manufacturers of high quality stereo equipment, and their house was naturally filled with top-notch hi-fis.  Although we spent a lot of our time together mucking about with computer games, playing with our Star Wars figures and riding our bikes outdoors, we did occasionally mess around with the record player and with his brother and sisters' 12" singles.  Although I can remember listening to the likes of Murray Head's "One Night in Bangkok", a bit of Level 42 and "Hole in My Shoe" by Neil from the Young Ones, the artist that always stood out the most for me was Nik Kershaw.  Both "Human Racing" and "The Riddle" were released in 1984, and we used to sit entranced by songs such as "I Won't Let the Sun Go Down on Me", "Human Racing", "Wouldn't It Be Good", "Wide Boy" and - especially - "The Riddle".  Our listening coincided with our reading of "Masquerade", the book of illustrations for children by Kit Williams that concealed clues to the location of a golden hare hidden somewhere in the UK.  The book was first published in 1979, but the hare had only (apparently) been discovered in 1982, so the idea of riddles was fresh in our minds as we tried to work out what on earth Nik Kershaw was trying to tell us when he spoke of trees by rivers, holes in the ground and old men of Arran.

Kershaw has, of course, subsequently revealed that there is no meaning to "The Riddle" at all, but to our ten year old minds it was a puzzle well worth trying to solve.  Besides, it was (and remains) a fantastic record, and through it I began to discover a love of music that has stayed with me to this day.  I can't say that I listen to Kershaw very much any more, but he has the proud distinction of being the artist who created the first two albums that I ever bought with my own money.  Better yet, whenever I think of him, I can't help but think of the letter that I wrote to Jimmy Savile in the summer of 1984 asking if he could fix it for me and for my best friend Will to meet our hero.  Saville never wrote back, sadly, and he certainly never fixed it for me.  Although his parents still live down the road from my folks, I lost touch with Will a few years ago after we both went to University.  Musically we had drifted apart, with him baffled by my love of heavy metal and me a touch confused by his love of Lenny Kravitz.  We'll always have Nik Kershaw though, and whenever I hear the chiming opening chords of "The Riddle", I'm reminded of my first best friend.

gifts on the tree...

I've just spent a lovely weekend in the Peak District celebrating a friend's 50th birthday. As part of the festivities, some of us headed over to Chatsworth House to attend the Christmas market and to see the house all dressed up for the festive period.

I was dimly aware that this was 'a thing'. I think it occasionally gets covered on local news when they first get the decorations up each year and I happened to see it once. I would probably have never gone under my own steam, but as part of the birthday weekend and with some friends, it seemed like an agreeable way to spend a few hours before we started drinking again.

I like Christmas, after all.

Well, the first thing to say about this is that it is certainly a fascinating spectacle. Chatsworth House and its grounds are absolutely splendid, of course. The house is beautiful and contains art dating back 4000 years (you have to admire how resolutely the British have pillaged the world over the years, don't you?) and the grounds themselves were designed and landscaped by Capability Brown. It's something well worth visiting in its own right. If it was up to me, I'm not sure that I would necessarily think that picking a theme of "Christmas Around the World" and then dressing each of the rooms accordingly with Christmas trees and the like would really enhance the appeal of the place. Then again, I voted to remain in the European Union, so what do I know?

It's certainly hard to argue that this doesn't appeal to people: there were cars lined up all the way into the grounds, and a shuttle bus taking people in who hadn't thought to pre-book their parking. As we queued up for our 11:30 slot inside the house, the board outside told us that every single 15 minute slot to enter the house was booked up for the whole day. The Christmas market was absolutely booming too, with people queuing up to get some viking drinking horns and scented vegan candles.

I enjoyed my afternoon very much. The tour of the house was fascinating on several levels: it's always a pleasure to look at ancient sculptures and other artwork of varying quality (I have a soft spot for any painting that includes lions, where it's immediately clear that the artist has only got a very passing idea of what a lion actually looks like. There's one ceiling painting here where the artist seems to think that lions have human faces), and some of the wood panelled rooms are absolutely beautiful. However, it has to be said that it was also fascinating watching people in Christmas jumpers ignoring all of this so that they could take pictures of themselves in front of plastic Christmas trees in a room dressed to represent China. There was even a chap dressed in a top hat wandering around and making irritatingly loud conversation with visitors in an alarming mockney accent as though he was one of the servants. Lovely.

Still, each to their own and it certainly made for a very interesting walk around.

I left my traditional Christmas wish on the tree too. 
And we bought some biltong.

let's hope the next beats the last...

2018 is a marathon year, with the London Marathon already looming large in the diary.... less than 110 days to go already....so apparently we’re now the kind of people who prioritise a good night’s sleep and a double parkrun in the morning over celebrating the arrival of the New Year.... which is exactly what we did on New Year's Eve, shooing our dinner guests out of the door before 11pm and making sure that I was all tucked up underneath my duvet less than fifteen minutes later.

A lot of people in my office are mystified as to why anyone would want to be up early doors to run one parkrun at 9am on New Year's Day, never mind two... but genuinely it was an enormous amount of fun with lots of our friends and a lovely, fun run atmosphere.  It's probably not for everyone, but apparently it is for us. I loved it.  My younger self is horrified that I prioritised my running over my drinking, but that's his problem.

Anyway.

Here are 9 pictures of things that made me happy in 2017.  Thanks for being a part of it.  Running features quite heavily, just as I imagine it will in 2018, with lots of races already booked and the marathon programme underway.  My legs have been getting stiffer just recently, and I've just been prescribed a muscle relaxant to try to ease them off as I sleep. Rather than encouraging me to think about stopping running, actually this encourages me to keep going.  I might not be as fast as I would like, but I rather think that it might be very difficult to start going again if ever do stop.... it might come to that, but we're not there yet and there's a few more miles left in me yet.

Thanks for all your love and support this year.  2017 was a pretty rubbish year, all things considered and I'm not sure that any of this would be possible without the support of our friends... whether they be near or far, online or in person.

May each day of 2018 be better than the last for you and for yours.

Let's try to keep on keepin’ on for another twelve months, eh?  Why not?

Happy New Year.

ski-bi dibby dib yo da dub dub...

This weekend, I'm off to Cambridge for a stag-do... which will likely consist of drinking, the races at Newmarket (which will mostly be drinking) and then some more drinking in Cambridge.  I'm a 43 year old man and I don't especially like being drunk, so I imagine I'll be able to avoid the peer-group pressure and avoid becoming a shambling mess.  Probably.

I suppose it doesn't really matter as long as I shake off the hangover in time for next week's wedding.

The groom is one of my oldest friends.  I first met him in around 1983 at school, and I've probably spent more time with him since than with almost anyone else in my life, probably including my parents.  He told my wife the other week that, on our first day at a new school together in 1987, I told him that he should stick with me and that I would look after him.  I have no recollection of this and it doesn't really sound like something I would say at a time when I was busy worrying about myself... but it's a lovely memory anyway.

We go back a really long way together.  Thirty-five years! Well, apart from anything else that might have happened in that time, we're both certainly older and have less hair now, anyway.

I couldn't be happier that he's getting hitched and I can't wait to see the daft sod tomorrow.

First wedding, too!  Amazing!  That's the emotional damage wrought by a boarding school education for you, eh?

address unknown...

I got a card through the letterbox the other day. It was advising me that there was a parcel for this address being held at the local sorting office because the sender had paid insufficient postage and there was £1.50 owed. Normally, this would be relatively straightforward, but although clearly addressed to my house, the recipient on the card was apparently called “King”.

This presented me with a dilemma: we’ve lived in this house for 15 years and I don’t recall ever receiving any post at any point for someone called King. Should I go and pay the outstanding postage and see what it was, or should I just forget about it as likely being a wasted journey to collect something that wasn’t for me and was for someone for whom I have no forwarding address.

Hmm.

In the end, curiosity got the better of me and I decided that I should pick it up.

When I got to the sorting office, I paid the outstanding £1.50 and was given a small, homemade package made out of sellotaped cardboard and clearly containing a CD. It had a single second class stamp. It was addressed to “The King in the North Midlands”.

…I opened it to find a CD of the PS3 game Grand Theft Auto 5 that had kindly been sent to me by a friend who was worried how I was going to fill my time of work productively and sought to take some action to help a friend in need.

Nice one, Steve.

That Game of Thrones reference was sadly lost on the Royal Mail. Perhaps they were indignant about the fact that Nottingham is clearly in the East Midlands… .although then the joke wouldn’t have worked, would it?

too old for Hamlet, too young for Lear....

Worst. Boyband. Ever

One of my oldest friends was over from Canada last week, so we headed down to Oxford to meet up with all the old gang in the pub for a reunion lunch. This kind of occasion has changed substantially now: in the old days we would basically just drink, talk about going to the Zodiac and then fall asleep on the sofa in front of a classic movie from the 1980s, most likely starring either Bruce Willis, Bill Murray, Dan Aykroyd or some combination of the three. Nowadays, there isn’t even any talk of the Zodiac (which doesn’t even exist any more) and the drinking is somewhat moderated by the presence of several delightful children of varying ages.

What remains true is that it’s nice to see everyone. There were about 20 of us this time around, and it was really nice to catch up with people who, I realise more with every passing year, are the best kind of people. Most I've known for twenty years, and one or two I've known for thirty years or more.  Man and Boy.

One thing that caught me a little off-guard this time around was that a number of people looked me up and down and asked me if I had grown. I’m 43 years old now. Surely, if anything, I’m likely to be getting shorter as the ravages of time increasingly make their presence felt and I’m beaten down a little more every day by the ongoing trials of life. Maybe the bar I was leaning on was slightly uphill of everyone else; perhaps the trainers I was wearing had a stacked heel; maybe the skinny black t-shirt and drainpipe jeans I was wearing had a slimming effect that just made me look a little taller than normal; maybe my monastic adherence to a life of self-inflicted hardships really has made me taller…. who can say? Perhaps they’ve all shrunk?

Well, it was nice to see them all anyway, the silly sods.. and I'll be doing it all again when my very oldest friend (on the left of that picture. We met in about 1983, we think) gets married in September.

Not to be morbid, but before too much longer we’ll be doing this sort of thing at funerals, and that won’t be quite as much fun, will it?

Had we but world enough, and time....

you're slip slidin' away...

At around 1am on Saturday morning, I found myself running around a wooded, hilly trail course in the Derbyshire countryside.  It was pouring with rain and had been for the best part of 12 hours, so the course was a treacherous swamp, with mud burying the many tree roots and stumps that lined the path.  This was my third lap of the 10km course, and I'd had maybe about half an hour of sleep since the night before.  As I ran, I realised that my world had completely collapsed into the narrow beam my head torch was casting around my feet; everything else but what I could see in that little cone of light disappeared.  I was cold, wet and very tired. My balance isn't great, so I was also a little terrified that I was going to take a tumble at almost any moment.

And then it hit me.  I had the dawning realisation that I was actually really enjoying myself.  The conditions might have been awful and the very idea of trying to run under those sort of circumstances might seem utterly ridiculous.... but I felt utterly exhilarated.  Tell me: when do you normally get to experience something like this?

That was Thunder Run 2017.

Since my diagnosis with MS, I've run further and faster than I ever would have thought possible.  I've found a wonderful running community, run loads of races and even completed a couple of marathons, with a couple more on the horizon.  Nothing is quite like a 24 hour relay race.  Thunder Run is pretty simple really: in teams from 1-8 people, you simply have to get as many laps of the 10km course done as you can in the 24 hours between midday on Saturday and midday on Sunday.

Last year, I managed 4 laps (and a parkrun) in sunny, dry conditions in a team of seven.  It was tough, but it was huge fun camping with my running buddies and to do something so completely new to me.  This year, I was in a smaller team of 5 people and the weather quickly meant that every lap was maybe 10 of the longest kilometres I have ever run.  I thought before we started that I was likely to have to do 5 laps, and prepared accordingly by not pushing myself out to parkrun before we started.  As it turned out, although I had the time to get 5 laps done, my body just said no and I decided that discretion was the wiser course.  Oddly, I actually felt stronger on my fourth lap this year than I did last year, with my legs in much better shape, but the overall fatigue - a combination of the conditions and the lack of sleep - meant that I was much more tired overall and decided there would be nothing gained by flogging myself around again.

It's an amazing experience; not just the running but to spend that time in camp, laughing with your friends and sharing in the most extraordinary camaraderie between runners on the course (in particular, the awe and respect reserved for the crazy fools who attempt to complete 24 hours on the course solo).

It was bloody hard work this year in the relentless rain and sucking quagmire conditions... but just look at that smile on my wife's face in photos taken on her first lap and on her last lap (her fourth).  Doesn't that tell you everything you need to know?

My MS has affected me in lots of ways physically, but it has also unlocked a determination that I didn't know that I had and - in some ways - has enriched my life immeasurably by pushing me out of the door to discover a world I barely knew existed.

Here's to 2018.

How did you spend your weekend?

I keep on fallin'...

MS is a sneaky condition.

Yesterday, I was running a half marathon and generally feeling on top of the world; today I set out to run a quick 5km with my running club to loosen up my surprisingly-stiff muscles and I took a bit of a tumble.

It was the Reading half marathon yesterday and I ran round in support of my friend Karen.  We've been blog buddies for a while now, so it was a pleasure to run round the course with her.  I ran this as a warm-up race for London marathon in 2015, and C. and I managed 2:06.... it was my slowest half marathon ever, but it was also the one that I have enjoyed the most.  Yesterday, we managed around 2:45 and I think I enjoyed it even more (I had a beer at the drinks station outside the pub at about 8.5 miles, for starters...).  Clearly, I am capable of running much faster than that, but I was happy to do everything I could to support my friend around the course as she raised good money for the MS Trust.  Karen found it tough going after around eight miles, but she showed some real guts in getting the job done without a word of complaint and I'm full of admiration.

It was a good day; much more tiring than I was expecting, but it was a really good day.

And then I fell over.

I'd been tired and stiff most of the day, but I was determined to get out for a run tonight, even if it was only for a slow 5km.  Normally, when I fall (and it happens to me more than I'd like), it's because I drop the foot on my weaker left side and start to scuff and trip. This time, I had no warning at all and just went straight down on my left side like I'd been shot. Tired muscles from yesterday, I suppose.

There's no real harm done beyond a scuff on my knee, some bruises on my wrists and knuckles (I like to think my cat-like reflexes ensure I do a mean ninja roll as I hit the ground, which would perhaps explain the red, angry looking marks on my left shoulder)... but I really hate being reminded that I'm not bulletproof and that this condition is slowly taking a toll on my body and on my running.

I'm not stopping running, obviously... I ran a half marathon yesterday, did I mention? I probably just need to be a bit more careful and take things a bit easier (stop laughing at the back!)  I've also got a pair of insoles and an ankle cuff that are designed to try and stop me dropping my left side as I run, but I left them both at home today.  I suppose using them when I run would be a reasonably good starting point, eh?

As I stood in the shower and noticed the marks on my left shoulder, it dawned on me how hard I must have hit the ground and actually how lucky I was to have got away so lightly.  Ask me how I feel tomorrow morning, but given that one of my running friends fell over last year during a race and broke his elbow and another fell over the other week and lost one of her front teeth as she face-planted onto the road, I've been pretty lucky.

Thanks goodness for sapphire crystal Garmin screens too, eh?

I'm also very grateful to all the wonderful members of Rebel Runners who showed me so much concern this evening and offered me (and my bike) lifts home and things. It's a lovely running community and it was joining them in 2011/12 that completely changed my running life, so I already owe them loads.  Thanks guys.  It's very much appreciated.

Honestly.  Good job it's nearly summer...those leggings are ruined!

ain't that peculiar...

Have you ever found yourself caught in a conversation that you wish you hadn't started?

One of my colleagues started dating a guy who worked in the same office.  We weren't in the same team, but he sat fairly near-by me and we were on sort-of nodding terms.  "Sort-of nodding terms" are a bit like being on actual nodding terms, but because we're both British, it's somewhat more informal than that and a whole lot more awkward and embarrassed.

The knowledge that this chap was now dating one of my colleagues made the whole sort-of nodding terms thing even more awkward, because now we both knew that we had something more in common than just sitting near each other, but we hadn't ever actually been introduced.  At some point, my colleague decided that she would take some steps to get us past this point.  She didn't actually introduce us or anything, but she thought she would officially tell me that the two of them were an item (something she had never thought to do before because, being British, the start of their relationship was a little awkward and it was slightly awkward to introduce the idea that they were together into general conversation with their office colleagues, even though we all already knew).

Still with me?

Anyway.

"You know Andrew, don't you?"
"Not really.  We've not spoken, although I have seen him naked."
"Pardon?"
"I sometimes see him in the changing rooms when I cycle to work and we've stood next to each other in the shower"
"You've showered with him?"
"No.  I didn't say I'd showered with him; I said we'd showered next to each other"
"You all shower together?"
"Yes"
"You don't have individual cubicles?"
"No"
"And you don't think that's at all strange?"
"No"
"That you shower together and that you've seen my boyfriend naked but you've never spoken to him? Not at all peculiar? Not even a little bit"
"No.  We don't shower together; we sometimes shower separately but adjacent to each other. Stop trying to make this weird.  It's not weird...."
"....!"

It's not weird, right?

no matter how far....

I don't seem to get lie-ins any more.  Like any self-respecting teenager, I used to consider it something of an outrage if I had to be up before noon.  As I got older and had to start working, epic lie-ins had to wait until the weekend.  These days, some weekend mornings, I actually get up even earlier than I do during the week. Voluntarily.  

My teenage self would doubtless be both horrified and disappointed.

This weekend was fairly typical.  For once, we weren't volunteering at parkrun, but we were up and out in good time for a 9am start.  We then headed straight across to deepest, darkest Derbyshire where a dear friend of mine had organised a 5km fun run on Stanton Moor in the Peak District.  Rachel is competing in her first Iron Man (Iron Maiden?) triathlon in a couple of weeks and she's raising money for Macmillan in memory of her late Mother-in-Law.  Such an epic undertaking -- 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile cycle and 26.2 mile run - definitely deserves some support, wouldn't you say? It's also a pretty heroic thing to do for your husband and his family.  I wanted to help out, anyway, so I borrowed a parkrun stopwatch for the afternoon and had the distinct privilege of acting as timer for the event.  The weather was appalling, but it was a wonderful afternoon.  Rachel's running friends and her family had turned up en-masse, and there were smiles all round as we braved the weather before retreating back to her cottage for tea and cake.  Oh...so much cake.  It was a lovely, heart-warming day.  I often say that either runners are the nicest people in the world, or that there are a disproportionate number of lovely people who run around the Nottingham area... but this was one of those days where you really feel the joy of the running community. Rachel raised £1000 on the day to add to the £4000 she's already raised.  She's worth all that and more.

No lie-in on Sunday either: up and out to get across to Gedling Country Park on the other side of town to volunteer at Junior parkrun. As we don't have children, this might seem like a slightly odd thing to do, but we do it because one of our friends helps to organise the event, and because we all run around the hills of Gedling after the event is over.  As I live by a river and do most of my runs on the flat, it's sometimes nice to get up and run in the mountains!  (the 10km I did was the equivalent of 50 flights of stairs, according to my Garmin...)

By the time I got home, I was knackered... I don't mind telling you.  Nothing else for it but a snooze on the sofa and a West Wing marathon.

Yeah.  It was a brilliant weekend, but I think I pretty much go to work for a rest these days.

lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo...

Rather than go on at great length about our recent trip to Switzerland, Germany and Austria, I'm just going to leave you with some photos.

OK, and maybe a bit of aimless waffle too.  My gaff, my rules.

Here's the view from the mountain hut in the middle of the Swiss mountains where we spent the night celebrating the wedding of our friends Sina and Patryk. We slept in bunk beds and swam in a mountain lake fed by snowmelt from the snow-capped peaks.  Yes... it was bloody cold. The night sky (including the Perseids - at least the one that I saw) was absolutely stunning.  Switzerland is a beautiful country... absurdly expensive, but beautiful.  I also bought this t-shirt.  Look at that pipe!

My wife with a Maß of beer in Munich.  My beer (she likes the froth), but I love this photo. I also love the fact that they only serve beer in portions this size after 5pm.  Nevermind the Picassos, Durers, Gaugins, Monets, Rembrants, Rafaels and Leonardos we saw at the Pinakothek galleries in the 24 hours we were there... THAT'S culture!

We saw these in the 7th District of Vienna.  They also have one's with boy/boy and boy/girl.  Apparently they were very controversial when they were first put up, but I think it speaks volumes for how far a Catholic country like Austria has come in recent times.  It's such a simple gesture of inclusion, isn't it?  We travelled between Munich and Vienna on the train. Over the course of the 4 hour journey, we chatted with the nice German ladies heading to Vienna for a long weekend. They were asking what we would recommend they visit, and my wife turned and asked what I thought.  I was genuinely stumped.  I've been many times over the last 15 years - we got married there, for goodness sake - but, although I've been to many of the galleries and palaces and museums, a trip to Vienna will always be about seeing our friends and enjoying spending time with them.  This time was no different.  I do need to go back to the Kunsthistorisches museum, but given a choice between that and a trip in the Punto to the Wachau to drink apricot juice and wander up to the castle where Richard Lionheart was kept prisoner... then I'll take the Wachau everytime.

It was a lovely break.

great like Elvis without the tassels....

We went round to a friend's house for dinner on Sunday evening.  It was a lovely evening: my friend and his wife are Hungarian, and we were served a traditional goulash.  He's amused that we think we know what a goulash is because we have Viennese friends, and he wanted to show us the error of our ways.  Well, there ain't no rivalry like a local rivalry.

Anyway.  It was nice.  Both the goulash in particular and the evening in general.

But....but.....there was a fly in the ointment of an otherwise pleasant evening.  The music. Oh God, the music.

It was only playing in the background, but once I'd tuned into it, I found it impossible to tune out.  How bad can it be, I hear you say.   Well.

Nickelback."All The Right Reasons". The whole album.  THE WHOLE ALBUM.  

Just ask Dave Grohl.

Then a pause as we listened to "By The Way" by Red Hot Chilli Peppers.  An album that I love.  And breathe, relax and enjoy the rest of the evening.

As the last notes of "Venice Queen" faded away, the next album came to life.  Then, slowly, I realised that I was listening to the opening chopper noises that herald the beginning of "D'You Know What I mean" and that I was about to listen to "Be Here Now" by Oasis for the first time in full since 1998.

Time definitely hasn't improved it.

But I'm way too mature these days to allow a slightly iffy choice of music to colour an otherwise delightful evening.  Way, way too mature.

I've basically forgotten all about it already.

The next time I see my friend, he will probably be the father to bouncing new baby girl (his wife was fit to pop on Sunday night).  I'm sure his daughter will turn out just fine, whatever music she's played as she grows up.  I mean, how much of an effect could music have on someone anyway?

Even Nickelback.

.....?

She will be fine, right?

Yeah.  Fine.  I'm sure she'll be fine.

......maybe I'd better start making her compilations, just in case.  Nick Drake is a powerful antidote to Nickelback, I think.

a game where we make up the rules while we're searching for something to say....

I was catching up with friends over the weekend. The main event was watching the Wales v South Africa Rugby World Cup quarter final match at Twickenham on Saturday afternoon, but as ever with this sort of thing, it was at least as much about the time you spend with your friends as it was about a sporting event. On Friday night, we had planned to go to the Oxford beer festival, but the queue was a bit big, so ended up chewing the cud over a few beers in a pub… which was more than fine with me.

One of the people there was someone I haven’t seen in more than twenty years. We used to study History together at A-level, and for a while she went out with one of my best friends. We were friendly at school, but I wouldn’t say we were particularly close or that I even knew her that well (she was a girl, remember, and I was a seventeen year old without the faintest idea how to sustain a sensible conversation with a girl). She was in town because she’s just started a post-graduate course in English and History at Oxford University with a view to a PhD and a career change into curating, or somesuch and was matriculating on Saturday morning.

After twenty years, where do you start? Well, she’s got three kids with the youngest just starting school. She had a decent career in marketing, but fancied a change and is taking her chance as her youngest starts at school and gives her a bit more time for herself. She asked me what I did, and I had a moment’s pause before replying. It’s not that I’m embarrassed about what I do for a living by any stretch of the imagination, it’s just that it says so little about who I am or what I stand for, and I’d hate for anyone to think it was. I enjoy my work and I like the people I work with, but at the end of the day, it’s just a job. Some jobs are pretty easy to explain; my job isn’t… and as soon as I’ve said what I do, I usually get asked what that is, and find that I have to go into a little explanation about how it works. Whenever I do it, I can hear that polite interest being stretched, and even as I’m speaking, I realise that my job really isn’t a good way of understanding me at all.

I’m 41 years old. Why do I feel the pressure of a chance encounter like that to reflect on my life and convey in small-talk that I’ve somehow led a worthwhile life?

So how would I summarise my life in the twenty years since we last met at our mutual friend’s twenty-first birthday? Well, you can’t do it can you? You just can’t.

It was lovely to see her though, and she’s looking well. I think that my school was a very strange and difficult place to be a girl, and it was nice to be able to talk to her away from that bizarre and artificial environment and to reconnect, even just a little bit within the confines of a few hours of small-talk in the pub. We have history in common, the subject as well as our own pasts, and we talked happily for a little while about the concept of kingship in medieval England (kingship as a concept distinct from the physical body of the king).

It was good.

It’s funny how the seventeen year old me has never really left.

warm wind carried on the sea...

It’s not very often that you go away for a holiday and come back to work feeling as though you’ve had a much longer break than you actually have… so as this is exactly what’s just happened to me, I’m trying to enjoy it whilst it lasts.

Our break consisted of six days in Gozo, and then back home to spend a few days with a good friend of ours from New York who was passing through on her way back from Africa. In Malta we dived and looked at beautiful churches and some somewhat underwhelming Neolithic dolmen.

"Can I raise a practical question at this point? Are we going to do 'Stonehenge' tomorrow?"

They like cats here too, and you can see them everywhere.  This one quickly identified us as suckers and claimed possession of a prime slot near our breakfast table every morning.

And angels.

"Don't blink. Blink and you're dead. They are fast. Faster than you can believe. Don't turn your back. Don't look away. And don't blink.  Good luck."

Great views everywhere though.  Beautiful skies, magnificent cliffs and clear, blue seas.  Nice to spend some quality time with my wife for a change, too!  She's alright.

Back in Nottingham, we visited the Major Oak in Sherwood Forest (named after an actual major, would you believe?), stopped by the disappointing castle and visited the Trippe to Jerusalem (the last time we were in New York, our friend took us to McSorleys, the oldest bar in the city, established 1854. The Trippe was founded in 1196 and they started a crusade there, which must have seemed like a great idea in the bar the night before. Marissa was suitably impressed and then we quickly moved on to a better bar with fewer tourists for a drink).

It was fun and great to see her and spend some proper time together.

Although I was only off work for 7 days in total, breaking it into two like that really seemed to make it last. It’s been good news/bad news since then though: the good news was that I didn’t come into work until lunchtime today and that it’s a bank holiday weekend coming up. The bad news was that the reason I was late coming into the office was because I was attending a clinic at the hospital.

Swings and roundabouts. Ups and downs.  Still, good holibobs.

line and length...

As usual, I spent a few days last week watching the cricket. As a member at Trent Bridge, I had secured tickets for all of the scheduled five days of the Test match against Australia, and was very much looking forward to a few days watching the cricket unfold before me in one of my favourite places in the world with some of my closest friends (and my father-in-law, who loves cricket and with whom I am delighted to spend a couple of days at the match).

It didn’t quite work out like that: after a record-breaking first day on Thursday that saw the Australians bowled out for 60 well before lunch, the match was over after 40 minutes of play on Saturday morning and with nearly three full days left to play. The result meant that England regained the Ashes, and it was a truly extraordinary performance, so it’s pretty hard to complain, even if it meant that I watched significantly less cricket than I had expected.

I’ve watched a lot of cricket at Trent Bridge over the years, but this match was by some distance the most extraordinary, with Thursday’s play in particular being one for the record books. 5 wickets down in the first 25 balls… and the sight of Stuart Broad roaring in to bowl on the first morning of the match with six slips and a short leg.

It was a good day to be in your seat for the first over of the morning, anyway.  Ten years ago, in this same fixture, Andrew Strauss took one of the great slip catches.... and I was at the bar and have never been allowed to forget it, reminded each time the catch appears on the television - which is more often than you might think.  Ben Stokes took perhaps its equal when he flew impossibly through the air at fifth slip to catch Adam Voges.  I damn well saw that one.

I’ve seen Australia retain the Ashes at Trent Bridge no fewer than three times; I’ve seen Shane Warne dancing on the pavilion roof with a stump on two occasions. Although I’ve seen England win Ashes tests here twice (2005 and 2013, both times in dramatic circumstances), England have never before clinched the Ashes at Trent Bridge in the whole history of the game. I might have been robbed of a couple of days drinking in the sun with my friends, but I did watch history being made.

Here are a few of the records from the match (borrowed from here):

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Chris Rogers’ maiden duck: Rogers fell for a duck, the first of his Test career, in the third ball of the Test.

Stuart Broad’s 300th Test wicket: The wicket of Rogers was Broad’s 300th wicket in his 83rd Test. He became the fifth Englishman and 29th player to take 300 Test wickets. He also became the second Englishman after Ian Botham (and the 13th cricketer) to the 2000 runs-300 double. Of Englishmen, Broad took most Test matches to reach the 300-wicket landmark. The others to have achieved this are Anderson, Botham, Bob Willis and Fred Trueman.

Both Aussie openers getting out for ducks: This was something rare for Australia. Having produced quality opening batsmen in recent years, it was the first such instance for Australia in this century. The last such occasion was in 1999 at Kandy against Sri Lanka when Michael Slater and Greg Blewett both scored ducks. The last in an Ashes Test was way back in 1950 at The Brisbane where the openers were Jack Moroney and Arthur Morris.

Steven Smith’s single-digit score run: Smith had scored 7 and 8 at Edgbaston, and was out for 6 in the first innings at Trent Bridge. This was the first time he got out in single digits in more than two consecutive innings in 32 Tests and 61 innings. To make matter worse, he was out for 5 in the second innings.

Stuart Broad’s five wickets in 19 balls: Broad dismissed Rogers, Smith, Shaun Marsh, Adam Voges and Michael Clarke in his first 19 balls (3.1 overs). This is the joint- fewest number of balls to take five wickets from the start of an innings. He equalled the record of Ernie Toshack who did the same against India at The Gabba in 1947.

111 balls and all out: Australia’s first innings lasted just 111 balls (18.3 overs). It is the shortest completed first innings of a Test. The previous shortest was also by Australia (113 balls) when they were all out for 53 against England at Lord’s in 1896.

All out before lunch on first day of a Test: Australian batsmen could aggregate just 60 and were all out about ten overs before lunch on Day One. This was the only the fourth instance of a team getting all out in the first session of a Test. The previous instances were Australia (53) against England at Lord’s in 1896; India (76) against South Africa at Motera in 2008; and New Zealand (45) against South Africa at Newlands in 2012-13.

Extras (14) being the highest score for Australia: Only two Australians could get to double digits in the first innings — Clarke (10) and Mitchell Johnson (13), but England conceded 14 extras. This was the first instance in The Ashes and 16th time overall in a completed innings. The last such instance was for England against West Indies at Sabina Park in 2004 where extras (60) beat the highest-scoring batsmen Mark Butcher and Nasser Hussain. Both scored 58.

Records related to Stuart Broad’s 8 for 15:

They the best figures by an Englishman in Tests since Jim Laker’s 10 for 53 and 9 for 37 at Old Trafford in Ashes 1956.

They are the best figures before lunch on Day One of a Test surpassing Graham McKenzie’s 6 for 34 against India at MCG in 1967-68.

These are the best figures at Trent Bridge in Tests eclipsing Muttiah Muralitharan’s 8 for 70 against England in 2006. The previous best by an English bowler at the venue was 8 for 107 by Bernard Bosanquet in Ashes 1905.

These are the third cheapest eight-wicket haul in Tests after George Lohmann’s 8 for 7 against South Africa at Port Elizabeth in 1896 and Johnny Briggs’ 8 for 11 against South Africa at Newlands in 1889.

This is the first instance of a bowler taken eight or more wickets and all wickets were caught at slips but none by the wicketkeeper. James White also took eight wicket all caught without involving a wicketkeeper, but one of his wickets was a caught and bowled at Adelaide Oval in Ashes 1929-30.

Ian Bell’s dismissal on 1: Bell was out for 1 for the 12th time in Tests. Among proper batsmen this is the most number of times a batsman has got out for 1. He went past Sachin Tendulkar and Rod Marsh, who had got out on one 11 times in their careers. Of all players Anderson (14 times) and Harbhajan Singh (13) are the only players who have got this more times than Bell.

Joe Root’s century batting in the second innings on Day One: By the end of Day One, Root had completed his century and was unbeaten on 124. He managed to score a century on the first day of a Test despite batting second. This is only the fifth instance of a batsman doing the same. Alviro Peterson (103*) for South Africa against New Zealand at Newlands in 2012-13 was the last to do so after New Zealand were bowled out for 45. Root’s 124* is also the second-highest score in the second innings of a Test on Day One. The highest is 151 by Marcus Trescothick against Bangaldesh at Chester-le-Street in 2005.

Lead of 214 by Day One: England scored 274 for 4 on Day One and led Australia by 214 runs. It is the third-highest lead for a team on the first day. The top two on the list are 286 by South Africa against Zimbabwe at Newlands in 2005 and 233 by England against Australia at Lord’s in 1893.

Both openers scoring ducks in first innings and 50 in the second: Rogers and David Warner were both out for ducks in the first innings and scored half-centuries in the second. Interestingly, it is only the third such instance in history. The last two were for India (Devang Gandhi and Sadagoppan Ramesh) against New Zealand at Mohali in 1999-00 and for New Zealand (Martin Guptill and Tom Latham) against England at Lord’s in 2015.

Four six-wicket hauls by different bowlers from the same team in four consecutive test innings: Anderson (6 for 47) and Steven Finn (6 for 79) took six-fors at Edgbaston. Broad (8 for 15) and Stokes (6 for 36) did the same at Trent Bridge. This is the first occasion for any team that four different bowlers took six or more wickets in consecutive innings.

Alastair Cook becomes first Englishman to appear in 50 Test wins: The win by an innings and 78 runs is the 50th win for England involving Cook. He became the first English player to reach this feat; 27 others have achieved this for other teams. The next best for England is Anderson with 49. If he hadn’t been absent, he also would have completed this milestone.

Alastair Cook wins two Ashes series at home as captain: Cook had earlier led England to an Ashes win in England in 2013, and did the same in 2015. In doing so he emulated WG Grace (who had done it 1888, 1893, 1896 and 1899) and Mike Brearley (1977 and 1981).

100th innings victory: England became the first team to win 100 Tests by an innings. This was England’s 961st Test. They have won 344, lost 278 and drawn 339 matches. Australia is next with 85 innings victories.

7th Test defeat for Michael Clarke as captain in The Ashes: Clarke became the Australian captain with most defeats in Ashes Tests. He surpassed Billy Murdoch, Bill Woodfull, Allan Border and Ricky Ponting, all of whom had six defeats in Ashes under their leadership.

32nd Ashes series win for England: With this win, England regained the urn. Now both Australia and England have won 32 Ashes apiece, while five series were drawn of the 69 played so far.

Stuart Broad’s 8th Man of the Match award: Broad was adjudged Man of the Match for his 8 for 15. This is his eighth Man of the Match award in Tests. Of the current English players no one has so many: Anderson is next with seven. It is to be noted that Broad’s awards have all come at home. Botham (12) leads the way for England.

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Cricket's a fascinating sport, isn't it?

All this and we left the ground on Saturday with enough time to get up to Hillsborough to watch Sheffield Wednesday’s first game of the season against Bristol City. Good times! (£42 worth of good times, if you can believe that for game of Championship football.  That incredible first day at Trent Bridge cost me £85 and seems much the better value, to be honest).

pictures of you....

My friend Tony is something of a photography buff, and he took many fantastic photos documenting our time in Scarborough (his wife is in the choir, Tony spent his time wandering around the town taking photos of whatever and whoever took his fancy). Because of his wife’s involvement as a singer, Tony has sort of become the choir’s unofficial photographer, snapping pictures of us as we sing at various concerts.

He took an excellent picture of me at our concert in Bolsover, just at the point in the Motown Medley where the basses and tenors have put on their sunglasses to sing “Heard it Through the Grapevine”.

A colleague of mine liked this so much that she bounded up to me when I was next in the office to show me that she had installed it at the background picture on her new phone. In fact, it was the only photo on her phone.

OK. Fair enough, I suppose. Apparently I lasted 24 hours, which with this girl’s attention span is probably something of a miracle.

Tony took another great picture of me in Scarborough this weekend, but when I got back to work, this same girl didn’t seem impressed:

“It doesn’t look like you”
“What do you mean it doesn’t look like me?”
“Your eyes look all black and you don’t have black eyes. You have blue eyes”
“Yes, but it’s a black and white photograph”
“It doesn’t look like you and I don’t like it”

Everyone's a critic.

win yourself a cheap tray...

The view from the castle

The salad I had for my lunch today had a lovely sticker on it proclaiming “Tastes of the British Isles”. This prompted me to wonder if the UK really did taste of beetroot, lentil and goat’s cheese. After some thought, I decided that I thought that it maybe tasted a bit of beetroot.

so that's £3, yeah?

I’ve spent the last four days in Scarborough with the choir, recording a CD to celebrate our fifth birthday. If I had to say what Scarborough tasted like, I would probably say that it tasted of lager, deep-fried food and regret. It’s a funny place; a somewhat faded English seaside town, filled with tatty amusement arcades, grotty looking pubs and people with buckets and spades, determined to sit on the beach, even if that meant huddling behind a windbreaker or hiding in a tent.  Morrissey would love it.

Typical British beachwear....

Although there were lots of places to buy fish and chips on the sea-front, every single restaurant seemed to shut by 8pm, with even the pub kitchens closing. As I tend to eat around 9pm and have plenty of options if I want to eat out, this was all a little confusing. If you have your tea at half past five, what do you do with the rest of your evening?

This was on the entrance to a toy shop, obviously.... why would they like children?

I was here on a stag-do only a couple of years ago, but I still can’t really get my head around the place. It certainly involves a lot of walking up and down cliffs that the Victorians have covered with “gardens”, that’s for sure. I must have covered more altitude in a few days then I generally do in a normal month. Obviously, me being me, I made it all a little bit harder by going out for a couple of runs before breakfast: the first was up onto the cliffs away to the south of Scarborough Bay, and the second was in the other direction up the cliffs to the castle: both involved a lot of up and down, although when you’re accustomed to running alongside the Trent, it’s actually really nice to run by the sea.

The recording itself took place in the Spa complex on the south side of the town and was great fun. I’ve never done anything remotely like this before, and it was actually really hard work, in a large room with 140 other people, running through around 15 songs and trying to capture the best possible performance. We know the songs reasonably well off the back of 10 weeks of rehearsals and a couple of weeks of performances, but the presence of the sound engineer and the microphones brings about a totally different pressure. I found it exhausting having to concentrate really hard, trying not to make any mistakes and to watch our musical director like a hawk so that I didn’t miss any cues or anything. It was two pretty full days, but was ultimately very rewarding (even before I get to hear the finished product).

One of Tony's excellent pictures from the weekend

I originally double-booked this weekend: I had tickets to attend the Edgbaston test against the Australians (see hat pictured above), but decided that I’ve been to see the cricket before (and it's the Trent Bridge test this week) and I’ve never made a CD. As it happened, the test was over by Friday afternoon anyway (with England winning).  Perfect!

The CD should be mixed and ready at some point before Christmas, so I guess you know what you’ll be getting from me….

A fantastic few days in great company. This is only my second season in the choir, and I have to say that it’s been great fun: I’ve met loads of people and been pushed out of my comfort zone in lots of ways. Who knows… maybe I’ll dust off my Johnny Cash impression and try for a solo spot after Christmas.

To be honest, it almost doesn’t matter what we sound like on the finished CD because it was a fantastic experience recording it….but I reckon it’s going to be a good one.  With this choir and this musical director, how could it not be?

badhead....

My wife isn’t a big drinker. It’s not that she doesn’t drink, it’s just that she’s quite happy not to drink. When we’re out of an evening, more often than not, she’s more than comfortable to order a cup of tea as everyone else around her sinks deeper into their cups. Our very best friends have long since worked her out: she might not drink much, but she does like to drink champagne. If they want to get her tipsy, all they have to do is to dangle the temptation and leave the rest to her.

We were down in Oxford this weekend, catching up with some friends of ours who are over with their kids for a visit from Adelaide. It was a special occasion, so a bottle of champagne was purchased, and later, some prosecco. It was a splendid evening, but the next morning, my wife had a hangover. As she doesn’t drink much, this sort of thing doesn’t happen to her very often. From the way she was talking about it, you’d think it had never happened to anyone else before either. It was quite sweet, in a way.

She insisted on coming out with me on a five mile run that morning, but was keen to ensure that I knew about all of her various ailments (although, to be fair, she did run all the way around, including up the notorious hill into Headington without stopping, so she wasn’t doing badly, given her parlous condition).

After some careful consideration, she was fairly sure that the hangover was caused by the switch from champagne to prosecco.

“Pope killed by inferior wine”, she said, displaying an even greater ambition than normal.

I suggested that it might have been that cup of tea she had in that last pub. You can’t be too careful, mixing your drinks like that.

(and we could both have done without the 90 minute journey home taking 5 hours, too....)

keep talking happy talk....

As is now a completely acceptable pastime (and as I mentioned in a comment on yesterday's post), I spent a reasonable part of yesterday evening on Facebook in animated debate with a friend of a friend who I kind of know.  The topic of conversation was that statistic I shared here yesterday about how this government is giving away £93bn a year as "corporate welfare".  That, I said, was the equivalent of £3,500 for every single household in the country.  This didn't initially get much response, but after a bit of thinking time, this:

"But how can it be £3,500 per household? If you earn the minimum wage, then you'll probably only be paying about £500 a year in tax"

Well, it's the *equivalent* of £3,500 for every household.  You don't receive an actual bill, and obviously some people pay more tax than others.

"Yes.  But it can't be £3,500 per household when some people won't be paying anywhere near that much in tax over a year"

Deep breath.

It's the **equivalent** of £3,500 for every household.  They've taken the total number and divided it by the number of households in the country to put it into context and to help show how big a number it really is.

"Well, I think it's misleading to say that everyone pays £3,500 when some people clearly don't..."

At this point, dear reader, I realised that it was better to walk away than to risk upsetting someone who is a perfectly nice person (I've met him and everything) in a conversation about politics.  In the same spirit, today I have declined to get involved in a conversation with the same person about the 20mph speed limits that Nottinghamshire police are going to put outside parks and schools across the city ("But it means that drivers will spend more time looking at their speedometers than looking at the road.  How will the Police enforce it? It doesn't make roads any safer.  Why can't they just teach kids the green cross code in schools?" Can you feel my sacrifice in resisting that kind of provocation?)

I'm only human though.  I'm thinking of striking up a conversation about God tonight, just for the hell of it.

see me right...

I'll probably have more to say on this subject on another day.... for now, suffice it to say that I love my friends and I love this festival....

Thanks for everything, Glastonbury 2015.  Another corker.  Same time next year?