July

[Nigel]

Sky is crying
See the streets are full of tears
Rain come down
And wash away my fears ...

Well, perhaps you didn't spot it, but that was from a different album entirely.

Making Movies - Knopfler's best. Not trendy any more, after the slow slide papwards that developed through Love over Gold into Brothers in Arms (ugh).

But MM - that was in a different category altogether. IMHO, quite simply one of the finest guitar albums ever made. Possibly.

[Sweder]

So much of that album reappeared on Alchemy that I sometimes forget that MM was the wellspring of Romeo & Juliet (DS's finest single release IMHO) amongst others. There's not a duff track on the album - not even Skateaway, another one of my favorites from Mr Knobler.

I should have spotted it - you've quoted that particular track before;
oh girl it looks so pretty to me just like it always did
like the spanish city to me when we were kids

I met some wonderful people today - some for the first time, others I've not seen in more than 25 years, many more in between. More familiar lyrics were played to us on an emotionally charged afternoon. They resonated with me before today; I'll have even more trouble dealing with them from now on.

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found? The same old fears.
Wish you were here.

Kelly Johnson 1958 - 2007
Rest In Peace

Guardian Obit 23/07/07

[El Gordo]

Just read the obit. Interesting stuff. I didn't realise they'd headlined Reading.

Funny that the piece should mention Jim Lea of Slade. I very nearly listed him in that discussion about bass players the other day. I saw Slade a couple of times. Great live band, and I always liked the insouciant Lea, throbbing away in the background behind the extrovert Holder and Hill.

[Sweder]

The Slade influence on that album - Play Dirty - is the subject of much ire amongst the Girlschool faithful. Ironically the boys engineered the rock n roll heart out of much of the material, embellishing tracks with flowery keyboards and fancy percussion, leading some followers to denounce the production as their 'least favorite'.

The band had been spoiled prior to that, having the excellent Vic Maile (via Gerry Bron at Bronze Records) produce their first two albums. Vic was a genius - his work on Hit n Run (and especially on C'mon Let's Go) was some of his best stuff. IMHO Not That Innocent (21st Anniversary) and Believe - the most recent releases - are head and shoulders above all that has gone before, both technically in the production (as you might expect) but also in terms of the writing and basic execution. I believe there's a lot more to come provided the current crop manage to avoid killing each other. There's a truism in the rock world; every band thinks Spinal Tap is not only spot-on, but that it was written about them.

Hello? Anyone still awake out there? (Taps glass, listens to the silence)

[Sweder]

My first date with the 205 this evening - and what an evening. Apocalyptic skies, great pregnant clouds billowing over the western horizon, stroked by the setting sun's firey fingers. The wind blasted across the hills, powerful, constant, apparently determined to hurl me back down the slopes.

I grinned, set my jaw and fought the maelstrom head-on, eyes fixed on the boiling skies ahead. I scampered across the ridge past the Wicker Man. A golden band between heaven and hills glowed on the horizon, rays of sunlight beaming down from behind the brooding black blanket. Andy's right; this is the time to be out running, feeling the Earth cooling beneath your feet like a mighty engine shutting down for the night.

Facing east for the return I watched the clouds disperse to reveal a three-quarter Silver Dollar moon, gleaming in sharp relief against the ink-blue night. What did Andy say? Privileged; yes, that's exactly what I felt as I flew homeward, boistrous wind aiming playful cuffs at my back.

The 205 coughed up the data after a few fumblings on my part, opening a spanking new diary in Sportstracks. Now all I have to do is interpret the data . . . ooh my head hurts!

Distance: 7.94 kms Duration: 0:46:50 Climb: +134/ -116 (metres?)
Pace: 5:54 (Fastest 4:37) Calories: 742

[El Gordo]

Phew, those Sussex clouds never fail to terrify me.

You can change the units of measurement to miles of course, if you're more comfortable with that.

Be a littly wary of the apparent precision of some of these stats. Calories for instance depend on how much lard you're carrying, so you'll have had to tell the software your current weight (and even that isn't really enough info). Altitude is very unreliable from the watch itself though I believe Sportstracks may use actual map data so likely to be better.

[Sweder]

Calories for instance depend on how much lard you're carrying, so you'll have had to tell the software your current weight (and even that isn't really enough info).

Yeah, I did that during set-up.
The watch beeped, flashed up a medi-alert signal and emitted this horrible cackling sound. Most odd :o

Ah yes, the map option.
I turned that off (it was suggested for faster performance). I'll put that back on. I also managed to split my run data from last night (just fiddling about) before learning that you can't undo this once done. I certainly don't want to bombard you with heaps of questions tomorrow . . . but it looks like I'm gonna :o

[El Gordo]

Yeah, I did that during set-up.
The watch beeped, flashed up a medi-alert signal and emitted this horrible cackling sound. Most odd :o

Ah yes, the map option.
I turned that off (it was suggested for faster performance). I'll put that back on. I also managed to split my run data from last night (just fiddling about) before learning that you can't undo this once done. I certainly don't want to bombard you with heaps of questions tomorrow . . . but it looks like I'm gonna :o

You should be able to delete the run from ST then re-import, no?

Anyway, just off for a quick flab-wobble before my day's "work".

[Sweder]

Two visits to Blackcap this weekend, the first with an extended pack.
Joining me and the hounds were Andy, Niguel and Moyleman for a first-hand look at my local track. Showing off my beloved hills was a little like introducing your mates to a new girlfriend; a mixture of pride and concern, confident in your own choice yet eager for approval.

My day had started poorly with a recurrence of an old back injury, my prolapsed disc having apparently never fully recovered. This morning I'd been called into Large Spider Retrieval action by my terrified girls. As I reached for the fearsome creatures (house spiders, barely visible in their dusty den behind the drapes) I felt the all-too-familiar 'give' of a disc rupturing. There was never any question of not running - on today of all days! - but I'd be taking it ultra-easy.

With the team well met, coffee consumed and running gear pulled on, we set sail for the downs. In keeping with his dislike of slow running Moyleman took off at a fair crack, preferring to wait at the gates for our chugging group to catch up. He looks in fine fettle, on track for his assault on the Seven Sisters and Beachy Head later in the year.

Niguel has run similar hills in his native Surrey downlands but this was very much new territory for Andy, in terms of elevation and surface. I take it for granted that running on grassy hills is good for me; easy on the joints, gentle in the feet, springy and natural. But if you're not used to it the terrain must feel alien and not a little treacherous. Damp grass, slick flint, slippery mud, part-submerged tree roots . . . all offer plenty of opportunities for calamity. He seemed to relish the challenge though, claiming the haul was 'tough as expected' but enjoyable all the same.

Despite coming home in a leisurely 1:03 my Garmin revealed a fastest pace much quicker than Thursday's. Having recovered at the summit of Blackcap Moyleman had launched into a careering descent towards Wicker Man Hill, deploying the sling-shot technique to fly up the opposing face. I hammered after him, struggling to keep pace, my traitorous disc threatening industrial action as we flew up the flint-strewn track. The watch shows an overall average pace of 7:29 minute k's, with that section coming back off the Cap clocked at 4:06.

After showers and some quality re-hydration courtesy of Badger's Best at The Pelham and Harvey's at The Lewes Arms we set off for the Dripping Pan, home of Lewes FC, the Mighty Rooks. The home side were entertaining visitors from West Ham United, albeit very much a second (if not third) string squad from the Premier League big boys. Twelve months ago our brave lower leaguers had seen off Andy's QPR by two goals to nil (it should have been more ). Based on the turgid offering before the break today we'd've been happy to see so much as a free-kick; it was pretty rotten stuff. Andy suggested as the half-time whistle blew that Lewes had shown their illustrious opposition 'too much respect' - a footballing term that accurately describes the smaller team's players being trapped like rabbits in headlights in the face of allegedly superior opposition. He was spot on - we could only hope for better in the second half.

Steve King (Lewes Manager) must have borrowed Lord Ferg's hairdryer during the interval. Lewes came out a different side, eager, bristling with aggression and endeavour. It looked for all the world as if this brave attenpot to make a game of it would end without result, but following a few unpleasant altercations and sustained pressure along West Ham's left flank in the seventy-seventh minute Craig O'Connor fired the home side into the lead. The referee in (in my view) a blatant attempt to let the Hammers back into the match elected to dismiss a home team player for what appeared to be a number of minor offences accrued during the game. I needn't have worried; Lewes continued to show more skill and desire, pinning West Ham back until the inevitable - and beautifully crafted - second goal, finished off with aplomb by regular striker Paul Booth. Another two-nil then, and another illustrious scalp falls at the Dripping Pan. Niguel, a life-long Hammer, took defeat in customary classy style.

More hydration via The Landsdown and The Brewers before firing up the barbie for a mountain of grilled meat. The much-anticipated sausage cook-off ensued, Andy's delicious pork-and-leek monsters from Pangbourne up against Surrey's own Porky Whites and the Firle Farm shop’s finest Romany Bangers. Washed down with yet more Harvey's - kindly purchased on our behalf by Mrs S, Bright Beer (top of the barrel) fresh from the Brewery tap - we ate for England. Reclined, relaxed, bellies stuffed, thirst slaked we concluded that they were all pretty darned good.

It was a lovely day, one I hope we'll repeat some time soon.

This morning I awoke in contused agony. The back had spasmed in the night; it took a full thirty minutes to work my way off the bed and into a standing position. The dogs were waiting, taking my emergence as a clear signal that we were off into the hills. I didn't want to disappoint them, and I knew that flushing the offending area with fresh, oxygenated blood was probably an excellent idea, so off we scuttled. 48 minutes is leisurely my usual standards, but given my care not aggravate the disc I'm very happy. On the way back, just along the crest of Wicker Man ridge, the defective disc gave way with an alarming jolt. For a few moments it was all I could do to run-waddle in an horrific pastiche of Max Wall and Quasimodo, until eventually I regained my posture, managing a reasonable pace back to the house.

Once more the sofa beckons. And then there's still seven litres of Harvey's Best and a small mountain of sausages to negotiate. Happily Captain Tom's on his way round to give me a hand . . .

Footnote: We missed a treat later in the evening.
Lewes ladies took on West Ham ladies at The Pan. The Hammers took an early lead before the Mighty Rookettes replied in triplicate to bag a convincing win. Come on you Rooks!

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Are there no photos of the mighty gathering?

Bad luck about the back. Might I suggest as a precautionary measure that you henceforth hold pints in both left and right hands, lest the imbalance cause further aggravation?

Enjoy the rest of the sausages.

[Sweder]

Andy was busy with his camera - hopefully he'll share the spoils (provided the results aren't too grisly) in his diary. I'll give that two-fisted approach a go this afternoon mate - it's a tough life eh?

[El Gordo]

Yeah, I've got plenty of snaps.

Here's one to be going on with. I'll put more up on Flickr later.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Yeah, I've got plenty of snaps.

Here's one to be going on with. I'll put more up on Flickr later.

You don't fool me ... these are impostors or cardboard cutouts aren't they? Clearly that can't be the fabulous four, because I cannot see a single solitary pint of anything in sight.

Come on guys, where are the real photos?

[Sweder]

Like, that was taken pre-run, Dude.
Duh!

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Like, that was taken pre-run, Dude.
Duh!

Exactly.

So why aren't you hydrating? You know the rules.

[El Gordo]

Snaps now online.

I've also made some corrections to my entry. Man, this forum diary thing is pretty unforgiving.

And MLCM -- you popped up in our conversation more than once. If you felt a sudden glow at around 14:45 GMT, no, it wasn't early-onset male menopause. It was the boys offering you a rather enthusiastic toast.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Snaps now online.

I've also made some corrections to my entry. Man, this forum diary thing is pretty unforgiving.

And MLCM -- you popped up in our conversation more than once. If you felt a sudden glow at around 14:45 GMT, no, it wasn't early-onset male menopause. It was the boys offering you a rather enthusiastic toast.

Ah, I wondered why I suddenly felt thirsty. Great snaps btw, man that looks like a great run!

Reality, in the form of work beckons, I must be off.

Cheers, everyone.

[Sweder]

A third trek to the Cap in three days. There's a good reason for this, and it has nothing to do with ramping up training; the back was in spasm yet again this morning. I figured the best thing to do was wash down a couple of nurofen and haul it up Wicker Man Hill to see if a bood infusion would do the trick. It did - sort of.

Perfect conditions at 7am - Battle of Britain skies, thin cloud clinging to the egde of the stratosphere, sun burning brightly in the east. The merest hint of a deliciously cool breeze wafted across soft trailes, turf damp and spongy thanks to another overnight deluge. I took it easy, completing the round trip in fifty-one minutes. I figured that at this pace I could probably make this a daily event, and with no prospect of visiting the gym this week - most appliances involve back-bending to some degree - this looks likely.

Music-wise I was spoiled. My good friend Alice regaled us with tales of early Led Zeppelin. Turns out their first bass player was the former Yardbirds rhythm guitarist Chris Dreja, allowing the promising youngster Jimmy Page to move from bass to lead. When Creja left to take up a creer in photography Jimmy's mate John Paul Jones took up the four-string and the ensemble was complete. How Many More Times followed the history lesson. I considered this for the Track du jour spot but decided to wait - HMMT, despite being a favorite Zeppelin track, was after all a former winner. It's nice to spread to the love.

Whilst I was thinking all this Mr. Cooper read out an e-mail. It was mine from two weeks ago. Regular readers will know what - or rather whom - this was about. He read it verbatim, added his own warm accolade, and played Yeah, Right!, a Girlschool single featuring Pythonesque mid-song dialogue, some particularly fine, anarchic lead guitar and Kelly's infectious giggle right at the end; the perfect choice. Thanks Alice.

4.99 miles, 51 minutes
TDJ: Yeah, Right! Girlschool.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Whilst I was thinking all this Mr. Cooper read out an e-mail. It was mine from two weeks ago. Regular readers will know what - or rather whom - this was about. He read it verbatim, added his own warm accolade, and played Yeah, Right!, a Girlschool single featuring Pythonesque mid-song dialogue, some particularly fine, anarchic lead guitar and Kelly's infectious giggle right at the end; the perfect choice. Thanks Alice.

Ah, another of those strange coincidences! Mr. Cooper was down here at the end of the-world-where-God-resides last week for the last gig of the Australasian leg of his current world tour. I couldn't get to see him but he was interviewed extensively of course by the media outlet I work for and he was: witty, lucid, intelligent, charming, forthright and amazingly entertaining. Reminded me in a lot of ways of Marilyn Manson - mentioned in another thread recently here - in being the thinking person's dino-rock-star. Mr Seafront Plodder will doubtless be impressed to hear that said Mr.Cooper plays 36 holes of golf every day ... although others may be disturbed to learn that he no longer drinks alcohol at all.

He didn't mention you though Sweder - I guess that bit was edited out as too few of the locals are privileged enough to have stumbled across these here forums and wouldn't have understood who he meant.

Anyway, it was great to have him back in town. He's one of the few major world acts who venture this far south, and we love him for it.

[El Gordo]

.........Mr.Cooper plays 36 holes of golf every day ... although others may be disturbed to learn that he no longer drinks alcohol at all.

Alice Cooper plays golf?

Sigh.

Another hero bites the dust.

Well, perhaps never quite a hero, but I saw him a couple of times back whenever -- probably the 70s -- and always loved his shows.