RunningCommentary

No one could ever accuse me of polyglottism, but I did manage to collect a bit of Yorkshire during the time I lived there. ‘E wooks while dinner, for instance. This was the response when I recently enquired what hours the estate agent valuer works on a Saturday. Translation: “He’s available until midday”. It was a short stay in Huddersfield, driving up on Friday evening and returning Saturday afternoon.… READ MORE.... …

Final night in the US, in a hotel twelve floors up, looking across the Charles River to the illuminated skyscrapers of Boston. If I could open this window I could probably hear the Rolling Stones playing at Fenway Park. I just heard an interview with the mayor on the radio, explaining that the area around the venue would be heavily policed.… READ MORE.... …

My baseball knowledge needs polishing. I left the game on Thursday under the impression that the local team had lost 6-2. Apparently they actually won, 3-1. An alcohol-free week is never as much fun as a free alcohol week. I managed to scale the working week without the distraction of a hangover, but made up for it this morning. It was the morning after last night’s session at the hotel’s gloomy island bar, where I chewed the cross-cultural fat with Frank the barman and a few locals.… READ MORE.... …

And no running today either. Instead, another slice of America life to enjoy at the local ballpark. I arrived just in time to hear the announcer intone: “Lay-deeeez and Gennelmen…. Welcome to the never-ending, non-stop, summer of fun here at the historic Holman Stadium.” And it was pretty good fun too, even if the home side, Nashua Pride, went down to a spirited display from the Long Island Ducks.… READ MORE.... …

Join me in Peabody, Massachusetts, where the country music is playing softly in the hotel ballroom. I sit directly beneath the gargantuan chandelier and stare down at the swirly carpet, trying to avoid eye contact with the other 60 or 70 suckers. Suddenly I hear footsteps approaching, and a voice cries: “Ah, and you must be Reg Varney!” Must I? Oh god, yes, I must.… READ MORE.... …

Early yesterday morning, I’m wandering round the garden with a cup of coffee, inspecting the newly-planted, but ailing, beech hedge, and offering a bit of encouragement to my sauvignon blanc vine by attacking its neighbour with some blunt secateurs. The usual thrush twitters in the usual cherry tree. All is well in rural Berkshire. A few hours later, I’m on another continent, crawling through the traffic outside Fenway Park, home of the Boston Red Sox, peering up at the top of the bleachers where a congested line of jubilant silhouettes can be seen punching the air.… READ MORE.... …

I woke at around 6 this morning and listened to the rain swishing the new gravel drive. As I sank into bed last night I promised myself to get up early and run. It didn’t happen, but I managed the next best thing. Working locally these days, I was able to wangle myself an extended lunch break – enough time to pop home, get changed, run 4 miles, shower, change back and return to work without anyone noticing I’d been gone a bit longer than usual.… READ MORE.... …

So. John Tyndall is dead. Founder of the British National Party. I met this horrible man once. No, twice. I was at the Battersea Beer Festival one year (about 1988/89) and got talking to a middle-aged Asian guy. We got on quite well, had a bit of a laugh. He was really quite pissed, and I probably wasn’t far behind him.… READ MORE.... …

I didn’t run again in Germany. I didn’t really run today either, despite my GPS watch reporting a 12 miler. It’s getting slightly worrying. For the second weekend in a row I’ve set out on my long run in very strong heat. On both occasions I’ve managed 4 steady miles before having to stop for a breather. From then on, it’s been stop-start all the way.… READ MORE.... …