January 2008

[Sweder]

A windswept twelve and a half miler with the JSjers this morning. The newbies returned, bounce restored, to put in a consumate shift, leading the way around the Snake route, leaving me for dead at the finish.

I felt strangely subdued today, legs a little weary. Perhaps it's the lack of mid-week runs - one this week, one last week - but more likely it's the night out on Friday with SP and Captain Tom that did for me. Harveys Best and Badgers' new brew Pickled Partridge proved a tasty combination but I suffered considerably all yesterday and this morning. Loping home (after the run, not the night out), nipples glowing (I really must get some decent bodyglide), legs splattered with muddy streaks, I gave thanks to whoever might be listening that this particular run had reached its end; I was knackered and in need of a good lie down.

The best part by far today was the post-run visit to Mac's café. Double beans on toast, coffee and fruit cake helped restore energy levels to something like normal. Moyleman enjoyed a comfortable plod around the Residences route, wolfing down a full English in celebration. Lycra Tony and Cynthia joined me for a natter. It turns out Cynthia is a blog junkie, and a political blog junkie at that. Just for her then, here's a link to Ella's Blog, someone I 'met' via the excellent Roads of Stone site. There are some interesting (if you like that sort of thing) debates going on about Hillary and Obama on these sites. I find it interesting to get the American voters' perspective. Of course I used to take my US political reviews, along with a dash of tabasco and a large glass of gin, straight from the Great Gonzo himself. Hunter S Thompson covered Mr Bill's march to the White House in his wonderful collection of annecdotes, faxes and articles, Better Than Sex. He showed remarkable prescience, warning of Mr Bill's moral ambivalence way before the Big Lewinski hit the headlines. He forsaw Clinton's inauguration as The Night of The Whorehoppers; it was the beginning of the end for The Doc, a man who could no longer live in a world where the Democrats consistantly shot themselves in the foot, leaving the door ajar for Dubbya to sneak in at the last minute.

I suspect had he not shot himself in his Colorado mountain stronghold HST might just have imploded this time around.

Next stop Almería
It's funny, only six days to go and I've hardly thought about it lately. There's dinner tickets to arrange for non-running significant others, outfits to purchase (so I'm reliably informed by a gleeful Mrs S) and, er, probably lots of other things to sort out besides. For now it's a cuppa, my sofa and Wigan v Everton.