Naked pizza eating, not much else. No run. Instead I went out for a stroll along the Headrow, past the glorious Victorian Town Hall and round the back of the Crown Court, where one of my favourite Leeds pubs can be found. The Victoria is one of the greatest pubs on the face of the earth. A classic Victorian boozer, built as a hotel to service the circuit judges and their flunkies. All the usual brass and mirrors and etched windows, and a polished mahogany island bar. Around the walls are snugs with thick velvet curtains. You wonder what intrigue must have been hatched within these walls over the last 140 years. Adultery, murder, bank robberies, you name it. And … …
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Today is something that has been happening in the room next door. I’m vaguely aware of what’s going on in there by the muffled thuds and indistinct voices, and I communicate with its occupants by whispering through the cracks appearing here and there in the wall. What a corker of a hangover. Absolutely top hole. I’d taken the recommendation of Malcolm Gluck in the Guardian this week for a cheap Chilean Cabernet Sauvignon. Too cheap really. I absorbed only one bottle, which doesn’t seem excessive for a Friday evening, but at £2.99, there was always going to be a risk of a desperate Saturday. And that’s what I got. After getting to bed at 4am I needed a good sleep … …
No run today. As so often happens, my fish and chips last night seemed to become a signal, or more than a signal – an <em>instruction</em>, to my body that good, healthy wholesomeness is over for the week. So this morning I eschewed a run and chewed a bacon sarnie instead. Then a chocolatey afternoon and some more fatty fast food as I dashed off to the cinema once more, this time to see Fahrenheit 9/11. I enjoyed this film immensely. It’s not perfect. It omits plenty of stuff that’s inconvenient for Moore’s conviction that the war was nothing but a vehicle for the economic interests of Bush and the gang pulling his strings. But it’s a brilliant piece … …
An even more reluctant run this morning. Just 2.5 miles round the ring road, past all those new apartment blocks and ‘prestige office developments’. It’s hard to pick up a newspaper these days without someone droning on about how Leeds has become a kind of provincial Knightsbridge. It was time to take a closer look at Leeds life, so this evening I treated myself to a walk through Hunslet, a suburb close to the centre, but one that hasn’t yet been informed of Leeds’s new prosperity. I bought a tray of fish and chips and ambled around the empty wind-blown streets, past the abandoned, boarded-up shops. There are still cobbles here, and back-to-backs and washing lines strung across the narrow … …
I was walking along Westgate in Wakefield, a few feet behind two nervous looking guys in their twenties. They kept peering round, but said nothing. Then without warning, they began sprinting. One of them vanished into a shopping centre to the left, while the other dashed into the road without looking, threading his way through the screeching traffic. A moment later I was surrounded by about eight young guys. All I can recall is thinking they looked strangely rustic: unkempt, and at least some wore muddy boots. One of them shouted “He’ll do”. That meant me. I was surrounded. It happened so quickly that I didn’t think to feel scared until I saw that one of them was waving a … …
Cienfuegos – another stunning colonial style Cuban city, this one clean and not too frantic. We could almost be in Spain. Most of the day is spent in its elegant squares and threadbare department stores, and having fun with the kids. I eventually give in and buy a box of Cohiba Esplendidos, Fidel Castro’s favourite brand before he eventually gave up smoking cigars (described as "the hardest battle I ever fought"). I bought this beautiful wooden box of 25 cigars from a couple of youths on a street corner. There is a strong possibility that they are fake, apparently, but at $30, I’m prepared to take the risk. In the government shops here the same box cost nearly $500, … …
Last night I dreamt I went to Mississippi. No run yesterday, but instead, one of those milestone travelling moments. It made me think of Bobo once again. In the mid-90s we took a cheap flight to Orlando, picked up a car as soon as we arrived and set off. This wasn’t intended to be a survey of American musical history but that’s how it turned out. We didn’t know what it was intended to be until it began to happen. We drove around that long, semi-tropical southern coast to New Orleans, with nights in Tallahassee, Florida and Mobile, Alabama. In New Orleans we had a couple of days of blues and trad jazz, before sinking deeper into Louisiana for some … …
Sometimes you’re better off out of it. As Zidane’s last minute penalty gave France their shock Euro2004 victory over England this afternoon, I drained my beer glass and left the hotel bar. The feast has been spoiled by the final mouthful. Not spaghetti but worms. The consolation is knowing that I’m not at home to witness the wailing and the breast-beating of a nation and her hysterical press. Instead, I wander down to the beach with my book, order another outlandish cocktail, and settle back to watch the Caribbean sunset. It’s someone else’s problem now. I managed a sort of run this morning. Up at 6 and out. The plan was a mild 40 minutes but I managed only 25. … …
A sign of growing old is that you start to notice signs of growing old. This mournful thought zimmer-framed its way across my crumbling brain this afternoon, shortly after a conversation with a tour rep in the Gatwick departure lounge. Not just any tour rep. My tour rep. Yes, it’s come to this. Here’s our excuse. We started to organise our Cuba holiday a few months ago. I pencilled in a cheap flight, and M began to research where we might go. We sketched out an itinerary that would take in most of the island’s must-sees and must-dos, and begun the usual tortuous process of looking into candidate hotels and transport options. While doing this we came across a company … …
Let’s have a break for a while. Next scheduled race is the Datchet Dash (10K) on July 3rd, by which time I should have had a decent holiday and started marathon training again. Please call back around then to learn more. Do stay in touch by using the forum, or drop me a line at andy@runningcommentary.co.uk. Au revoir, Andy… …