Are we there yet? No one knows for certain, but it’s sure beginning to smell like Armageddon. Forgive the typos; it’s dark in this bunker. So the much-predicted, much-derided day of financial meltdown may, we think, have finally appeared. It’s like the ghastly fiend whose threat invisibly haunts the first two thirds of a horror film. We don’t want the ghoul to appear, but we know it’s there, and when it does finally step from the shadows, darting a deathly hand towards the jugular, it’s almost a relief. At least we know what we’re fighting at last. It will all work out just dandy in the end, but there’s a fair bit of torture and fear to withstand first. And … …
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The party to celebrate my neighbour’s fortieth birthday went on late. I drank so much wine that I was persuaded to totter round the dance floor waving my arms in the air to Dancing Queen. Yep, that bad. I went to bed drunk, at 3:30 a.m., regaining consciousness around 4 hours later to be reminded that we had a long drive down to East Sussex ahead of us. It wasn’t what I wanted to hear at that moment, but duty intervened and demanded I deliver my wife and friend Sally to Brighton for a day’s shopping, and myself to nearby Lewes for another day’s carousing with forum legends Sweder and Seafront Plodder. Or Ash and Andy, as they are … …
Bah! On second thoughts, I’ll spare the world. Is anyone here really that interested in my new, signed Dylan prints? My tear-splashed review of the Cohen gig in Manchester? Our knee-knocking visits to the gorgeously preserved childhood homes of Lennon and McCartney? Nah. Just a word on the ‘Pool though. It would seem to be overstating the case to say it’s a place I love: I’ve been there only half a dozen times — not including the Anfield experiences (another five). No visit has lasted longer than two days, and I’ve stopped overnight only twice. It’s great sprawling monument of a place, old and grubby and so proud of itself that it never fails to leave a positive impression. It … …
Another bloody crossroads. It’s been an interesting week. But first, I’d better plug a gap or two. It was all going so well. The first three weeks of the marathon plan had gone as planned, with no missed runs that weren’t compensated for. Then 8th June arrived. The schedule called for a step-back week, with a long run of only 6 or 7 miles. It’s what I nearly did, and should have done, on the Saturday morning. Instead, I spent the day working in the garden, which may well have been the sort of effort required by the schedule, though it didn’t occur to me on the day. Sunday was sunny and hot — the warmest day of the year … …
Here’s an unmissable deal, available at Boots in Nottingham. “Listerine mouthwash: £2.45 per bottle, or 2 for £5.00” It caught my eye while I was glumly traversing the fluorescent aisles this evening, buying a complete set of toiletries to replace the ones in the bag that I’d managed to leave at home. After the pharmacy, it was on to the underpants emporium (though I think it had a snappier name than that) next door, to fill my boots with smalls. The unscheduled diversion delayed my run, but [most of] it got done. I’m back near the city centre this time, so no country parks on hand. Instead, the mean streets of Nottingham had to take the brunt of my lingering … …
If life is a to-do list, I managed a big tick on Friday evening, in Nottingham, when I finally got to see the glorious Liza Minnelli. Cabaret — the movie — was a portal to my adulthood. It won Best Film Oscar in 1973, and I clearly recall bunking off school to see it. What drew me to it? Don’t know. I guess it seemed avant-garde and intellectual, which sums up the adolescent, antisocial phase I was passing through at the time. What I do know is that a child entered the Odeon Leicester Square that day — and was never seen again. It’s hard to identify exactly what it is about the movie that bludgeoned away so much of … …
One track mind Having discovered the secret of eternal youth, I’m feeling pleased with myself. Last entry, I mentioned my success in running with the Kaiser Chiefs. This led me to try putting together a playlist of music of a similar pace, in the hope of extending the effect. But I couldn’t get it to work seamlessly enough. Then I remembered podrunner, a free service provided by DJ Steve Boyett. He mixes 60 minutes worth of beat-laden electronica into one continuous track but (and here’s the clever bit) each chunk of music is the same pace from start to finish. Today I plugged myself into ‘a churning urn of burning funk’ — a throbbing hour at 150 beats-per-minute (bpm) … …
As a pasty-faced youth, I was handed down a chemistry set by a swotty cousin. It was never clear to me what I should do with this boxful of powders and vials, but that didn’t stop me occasionally mixing up a few chemicals in arbitrary fashion, along with some water and usually, for some unknown reason, a splash of malt vinegar and a fistful of sugar. I suppose that vinegar was the most volatile liquid available to me at that age, and so became a key ingredient in my quest for a ceiling-busting explosion. These concoctions also gave me an insight into the art of the German wine maker, but this incidental benefit was lost on me until some years … …
Always brightest before the dawn The landscape may look kinda familiar. We’ve been here before. I’m in that odd position of trying to rally the inner troops, while knowing that the last few battles have been lost. Boston, Dublin, Two Oceans… all had high-decibel fanfares, but all dwindled into ponderous bass horn finales. I sent out all the invitations but didn’t turn up at the party. But things are different this time. Oh yes. I may have managed to crank up the determination and enthusiasm again but I’m still reluctant to seem too gung-ho. I’ll offer just a few flakes of information: I’m keen to run a marathon this year. I’ve entered Nottingham (September 14), largely because I go there … …
The Cliff edge The trouble with a lost weekend is that the ripples of loss extend way beyond its apparent temporal bounds. At the time of reckoning, you find it’s a lost week. Mine finished two days ago, but I can still sense it. And along with mere time, plenty more gets swept out to sea: momentum, fascination, appetite, engagement. Plans and good intentions. There wasn’t a whole lot of rediscovered fitness, but what there was, went. The only thing gained was around 5 pounds of pure lard. The sort that drips from takeaway curries, late-night cheese and biscuits, pizza, ice cream, bacon sandwiches, chocolate, crisps and peanuts, beer and wine. But you know me, I like to look on … …