August

[Sweder]

I stood in my bathroom watching the sun rise over the Lewes cliff and reckoned I be best advised to don a white shirt for what would surely be a scorcher. Ten minutes later, toiling up the first hill of the day, I fixed an eye on the armada of heavy grey cloud sweeping in from the west; so much for my forecasting skills.

Actually it was pretty nippy out there today, a factor not unrelated to a decent run in a hair over 44 minutes. Bent double outside my house, mustering the courage to start stretching as the sweat pools grew on the paving slabs below, I recalled Moyleman's suggestion that a sub-40 should be within my gift. Not a chance, at least not in this shape. I ran well today, hurtling back (wind assisted) in something close to 7:30 minute miles; that's pretty much flat out for me.

Still an enjoyable last hurrah before the fleshpots of Aberdeen. I head north this afternoon to join my colleagues at Offshore Europe. I'll be packing runners, togs and the barest thread of hope for one, maybe two outings in the week ahead.

Track of the day? I wasn't going to nominate one, mostly because much of fare on offer was pretty mediocre. Then up popped a beautiful song, beautifully sung; Desperado by The Eagles. And to think that came out in (gulp) 1973 . . .