A cluster of short-ish outings this week, the best/ worst of which occurred on Saturday. A modest 8k plod ended up feeling like a brutal, hilly half marathon such was the ferocity of the wind. It was all I could do to stay upright on the rain-slicked mud. Tears torn from my eyes streamed off my flayed cheeks as I re-enacted the old Maxell cassette tapes ad. Instead of A Night On Bare Mountain my soundtrack was an apocalyptic rush, like a hundred tube trains roaring by all at once. I expected to be crushed under an uprooted tree or have a large farm vehicle drop on my head at any moment. As long as there was a chance Helen Hunt might be in the vicinity I really didn't mind. Willow, shorter of leg and furrier of coat, hugged the ground, apparently oblivious to the impending End of All Living Things. It must be nice to be a dog.
Yesterday I joined Ladyrunner for a somewhat calmer saunter through Stanmer Park. The Leggy One set a gruelling pace up a series of difficult climbs, though mercifully the dense woodland offered shelter from the relentless blast. The same could not be said for my golf match that afternoon. Playing round one of the MGS Winter Fourballs on top of the Lewes cliffs I spent four hours trying to remain vertical whilst attempting to swat an oscillating ball no larger than an egg using implements ill-designed for the purpose. There's something rather disconcerting, having smitten the blasted thing with all one's might, in seeing the little white pill get larger as it's hurled back towards you out of the racing thunderheads. More short stuff planned for this week with some rock-hammered spin at Bridge's House of Fun thrown in for good measure. A rare bleep in this O2 wilderness has just informed me that starts tonight. Oh joy.
I was saddened to learn yesterday of the death of Gary Moore.
Like many I enjoyed his work with Thin Lizzy but it was as a Man of the Blues that Moore truly excelled, gifted the ability to rend shivers and chills with a wave of his majestic Gibson Les Paul. How good was he? This good:
Treat yourself and watch it through to the end.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
