January 2008

[Sweder]

Welcome to the old freezerio muchachos.
Dropping fifteen degrees overnight was bad enough; the knifing wind out of the west added insult to injury. Sam 'The Legend' Lambourne always tells us it's great to run on tired legs. Well good people I'm here to tell you I did a shedload of fine work this morning, staggering over the downs like an escapee from a retirement home, hunkered down in my FLM BLBLNY* windcheater looking for all the world like a big silver rubbish bag blowing helter-skelter across the skyline.

Ah Almería! The Siren's song sang loud and clear and we rejoiced in the warmth of her hospitable bossom. Worlds collided, culturally and socially, yet we emerged unscathed, bound tighter by our differences, unified by our experiences, leg-weary, eye-bleary, happy as sandboys. I'm working up to the tale of Sunday night/ Monday, savouring the gathering of memories on my tastebuds like a wino on the waggon in a wonderful daydream. There's much to tell, all of it good and much of it funny; but I'll tease you no more.

For now it's all about stretching for your life, coaxing warm blood back into battered limbs. There's a hilly, wind-blown fifteen miler out there with my name on it, and Sunday morning shall see it delivered. Somehow

[SIZE="1"]*FLM BLBLNY = Flora London Marathon Bad Luck Better Luck Next Year[/SIZE]