Oktober

[Sweder]

Woke up this morning (dah dah-duh dah-duh - yes, set my clocks back OK) intending to hit the trails early only to be met by unconfined chaos.

A beast of a storm had risen up in the night and was systematically smiting the hills outside my shaking bedroom window. Huddled under the duvet I reached out for the radio only to learn that up to 1000 runners are missing following even worse conditions on a fell-based two-day Ultra near Borrowdale. I offered my own Runner's Prayer (for those in peril on the hills) that all would be found safe and well before listening wide-eyed to the news that 'Arry Redknapp has taken the Spurs job, vacated in the wee small hours by the Special Juande and his cronies after one of the most calamitous starts since Custer decided to get jiggy at Little Big Horn.

What happened in that missing hour? A rift in the space/time continuum?
One thing's for sure (but is it?) - the prospect of Sol Campbell and Tony Adams moving to White Hate Lane will set the tongues a-wagging this morning.

What price Ian Dowie to Pompey?
More chance than my solitary text-bet at last night's Dog meet. I received a text whilst watching the thoroughly enjoyable (if slightly implausible) Micheal Clayton. The link takes you to El Gordo's review which I agree with in the most part (I didn't like Atonement - far too bleak for my blood), though this being my living room on a Saturday night I was perhaps rather more willing to suspend disbelief than I might otherwise have been. I was left with the over-riding feeling that Clooney really is a talented bastard and that Tilda Swinton is unnervingly attractive even when playing a scurilous corporate shitbag.

The text I received read:
Will be backing Race of Spades in next race
Confused I texted back.Eh?
The origin of the message, and the unsubtle Motorhead connection, were revealed.
Ooh! Tennner to win!
Sure?
Yep!
Came in third, a timely reminder on why I never, ever gamble. Doh!

Ten apocalyptic miles, five into the teeth of a vicious maelstrom, or a fry-up?
Decisions, decisions . . .