The Plus One's

New Years Eve and Virgin finally deliver my guaranteed delivery before Christmas wines. Their second promise had been to get it to me before New Year. I’m a little disappointed that they have, as it takes the sting out of the complaint that I was planning to send to them.

The wine arrives just in time for tonight's teenagers rave up at our house. I decide to leave the wine at work until after New Year!

During lunch we try and do our usual Thursday pub lunch, particularly as all the sandwich vans have deserted us but the kitchen staff at the pub have deserted us as well; at least they have rolls and liquid sustenance. Will be glad when things get back to normal.

Work at least show a bit of New Year spirit and let us leave at 4pm.

L and I head out early to celebrate the end of 2009. L walks the dogs to the Rodney pub, whilst I park up at out next destination the Hemlock Stone and then walk up to meet her. We have a few pints in there, both disappointing, Tiger & Directors, which reminds us why we don’t drink there anymore.

Then we head down the road to the Hemlock, shove the dogs in the car and wait for my parents. Here the Directors is better and the wine good too. The meal we have is Thai and impressive also. The pub is good too, practically jumping in here and it would have been an ok place to spend the whole evening. They have a live band on and they’re not bad at all. The place is rammed by the time we leave around 10.30.



We leave so that we can walk the dogs home where we need to check on the merriment that is occurring there. Doggo seems to know something is cracking off on his patch and he sets a furious pace home. He’s right; something is cracking off and the party is in full swing. We have put a load of stuff in the spare room for safe keeping, so that it doesn’t get broken. Unfortunately the party seems to have already over-spilled into there.

Apparently we have around 37 teenage revellers, where as usually Son invites around 15. Apparently everyone has been encouraged to bring a friend. When one girl embraces me and slurs that she’s a ‘plus one’, I’m not at first sure what she means but if she wants to hug me, then that’s fine. Turns out she means she’s one of the friend of’s. She can come again. Come midnight there’s a lot of embracing going on, even of ‘us parents’ and as a lot of it’s by teenage girls, they can all come again.

The amount of alcohol being consumed makes L and I look at our evening consumption in a better light. Then at 1pm, with things still in full swing we hit the sack, only for one of the girls to follows us into the bedroom! I wonder if she’s looking for somewhere to kip, I’m happy for her to curl up at the bottom of the bed if she wants but L might not approve. She says she’s just looking for someone and soon departs. We sleep but are awoken around 4am when it is clear the party is still going on. It goes quiet eventually but only until the cooking of breakfast commences at around 8am.

Favourite Gigs Of 2009

Second part of my review of the year, my favourite ten gigs of the past year.

It was so difficult this year to pick just ten!

So honourable mentions to the following who didn't make it:- In particularly Doves at Coventry Kasbah, it was good to have them back; The Joy Formidable at Derby Royal, always excellent and getting better all the time; That Petrol Emotion back after 15 years away and still sounding good at the Rescue Rooms and even to Marilyn Manson who impressed me recently at the Nottingham Arena.

Also regrettably no place in my ten for Bloc Party, The Voluntary Butler Scheme, Brakes, Art Brut, The Hours, The Rakes, Official Secrets Act and everyone we saw at the Leeds Festival or on the Shockwaves NME Tour.

So...

10. The Editors, Sheffield Academy, Thursday 22nd October



Finally after years of trying I get to see Editors and they're oddly flat or was it the crowd... I'll soon find out at Lincoln in March.

Read My Review

9. The Gaslight Anthem, Rock City, Tuesday 3rd March



A high energy performance from a band who show that they're a lot more than just Springteen wannabes.

Read My Review

8. The Horrors, Rescue Rooms, Thursday 3rd December



Yes believe the hype, reinvention of the year.

Read My Review

7. Gary Numan, Rock City, Wednesday 2nd December



The Pleasure Principal in its entirety is a pure pleasure and old man Gary gatecrashes my top ten.

Read My Review

6. Red Light Company, Bodega Social, Monday 16th March



Pulsating drums, meaty riffs and plenty of terrific songs, full of irresistible hooks, one of the best new bands of the year.

Read My Review

5. Handsome Furs, Brainwash Festival, Brudenell Social Club, Leeds, Saturday 31st October



We trekked all the way up to Leeds for a late night performance by these guys, in front of a rapidly thinning crowd, a closed bar and the venue's cleaning staff but it was well worth the effort.

Read My Review

4. The View, Rescue Rooms, Saturday 24th January



Astedwae ittlae ejaysdae, the View manage to complete their set and show that when they're not wasted that there are very few better live bands.

Read My Review

3. Maximo Park, Rock City, Wednesday 20th May



The albums are probably getting duller but live they just seem to get better and better.

Read My Review

2. Frank Turner, Rock City, Sunday 18th October



Who'd have thought that one of the most mental gigs at Rock City this year would belong to Frank Turner but it did. Vive La Frank.

Read My Review

1. Frightened Rabbit, The Musician, Leicester, Sunday 29th March



Frightened Rabbit are ace anyway but acoustically unplugged, as they were in Leicester, just took everything to an even higher level. So gig of the year.

Read My Review

Mental March

I get up this morning with the intention of running to work. Well... actually I don’t get up and in fact oversleep. It’s also so damn wet, so a run doesn’t particularly appeal. I get the bus in, in kit, with the intention of running home instead. As we’re just got skeleton staff in over this Christmas/New Year period everyone is treating these three days as dress down days, so I spend the day in running gear. I hope no one minds.

After work, I go off on my run because with what I’ve christened ‘Mental March’ coming up, I really have to get my finger out. ‘Mental March’ includes the 100 mile Cheshire Cat cycle ride, the 16 mile Nottingham to Derby Kilomathon run and the Sticky Toffee 18k trail run in Cumbria. L’s even proposing we front load a half marathon on to that lot, as we currently have week one in March free!

The weather is quite bright as I set off, if bright is the right word. It is after all dark. I head off from Pride Park towards Chaddesden. Running into a head wind, but then there always seems to be head wind on Pride Park, no matter which direction you go in. Once at the main road, I check the times of the R4 bus and aim to stay ahead of it, stopping to catch it just before it passes me. The electronic signs say I have a ten minute head start, so I run off towards Spondon. The bus takes a detour through the back streets there which buys me a bit more time. Eventually I make it to the edge of Borrowash, where I check the timetable and see the bus was due one minute ago. I decide that it’s best not to push on to the next stop and a few minutes later the bus appears. 6.5km covered so far.

I have a rest on the bus and get off in Stapleford, from where I run the remaining 10k home. I must say it went really well, at a really good pace as well, it was even enjoyable. So nearly 17km of running, with a bus break in the middle. The Kilomathon is 26km, so this is a quite a good start. I will hopefully increase my distance by 2km each week.

Favourite Films Of 2009

First part of my review of the year, my favourite ten films of the past year.

10. Marley And Me (April)



I hate films about dogs, they're all designed to make grown men cry and this was no exception.

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9. Fish Tank (September)



Excellent gritty drama set on an Essex housing estate.

Read My Review

8. A Serious Man (December)



Shock horror. The Coen's only at number 8. Well I'm still not sure I understood this film at all, but I'm sure it must have been good.

Read My Review

7. The Damned United (March)



An inaccurate history lesson but still probably the best film about football ever made.

Read My Review

6. The Reader (January)



Not as good as it should have been and Kate Winslet isn't as as good as she thinks she is but still a intriguing tale.

Read My Review

5. OSS 117: Cairo, Nest of Spies (January)



This James Bond parody was one of many films that I was dragged to this year. Loved it.

Read My Review

4. Slumdog Millionaire (January)



Feel good movie of the year apparently, bloody depressing if you ask me.

Read My Review

3. The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button (February)



Brad Pitt again impresses as he lives life in reverse but still experiences all life's usual ups and downs.

Read My Review

2. Let The Right One In (April)



A great film that leaves you both repulsed and fascinated at the same time.

Read My Review

1. Inglorius Basterds (August)



Tarantino does the war, as only Tarantino can.

Read My Review

They Have No Idea Where It Is

Back at work today. There's four of us in the office but unfortunately the customers are back as well and the phone is white hot.

I ring Virgin, who inform me they have no idea where my wine is. At least they’re honest. They refund the delivery charge, which is big of them and promise delivery before New Year. Where have I heard this before?

According to the Telegraph, we could all soon be celebrating the festive season jollied up on synthetic alcohol, developed from chemicals closely related to Valium. Just like real alcohol, it’s suppose to help you have a good time, yet no matter how much you’d drink you won't get beyond a state of mild inebriation. Then at the end of the evening, it can be reversed with an antidote, leaving you immediately sober and capable of driving home.

Doesn’t sound that much fun to me. The substance is also apparently be tasteless and colourless, so would have to be flavoured. So heaven for the alcopops industry then. Don’t we already have this substance? Isn’t it called vodka? Just without the antidote.



If this is an idea to save us for boozed up city centres, I think someone’s missing the point. Alcohol is supposed to be all about the taste. If they convinced everyone of that fact, then there wouldn’t be a problem. This idea just seems to be going in the opposite direction.

We fit in a game of squash and I feel that I put 100% into it, so no injury worries any more, I think. I even win a game. My opponent tells me, that in fact, I’ve won nine whole games this year. He’s won sixty eight. So closer than I thought.

Millennium Doesn't Run On

This morning L has entered us into a race, presumably I agreed to it. It’s at Caythorpe and is called the ‘Millennium Runs On’. It’s the 11th running of the race; it was conceived in 1999 prior to all that millennium madness.

The event is so popular that we have to park in the next village, Lowdham. It’s also very cold, the temperature is below freezing and we slip and slide down the side roads to the start. Could be interesting...

Someone in sprinkling sand on the start line, not sure that’s going to make much difference. Jostling for position is going to be very exciting right from the start, if you nudge someone out of the way they could go sliding off into the nearest hedge.

In the end they make a last minute decision and an announcement comes that this year the millennium won't run on. Cancelled on safety grounds. It’s a courageous decision from the organisers but it was just too icy to run safety. Yes, people run at their own risk but it would make a mockery of the ‘race’. It would become a case of who had the most guts/stupidity to push the pace. Might have been ok in the middle of the field but the front runners would surely have pushed each other until someone fell.

So we line up to collect our t-shirts for a race we haven’t run. I note some people do still jog around the course but that’s very different to racing. Perhaps if they’d been able to hang on for an hour or so it might have been runnable, as by the time we leave after a few coffees, the ice is clearly melting away. The most annoying thing about it all is that we cut our drinking short last night.

Instead I get home and head out on a long bike ride. L practically pushes me out of the door, as if she’s after a nice quite hot bath with her new book, some Christmas cake and the bottle of Baileys we got for Christmas.

I pedal for 65km (40 miles) in around two and a half hours, so not bad. Speedo says I achieved a maximum speed of 153kph (95 mph)! Which I’m sure wasn’t right, just hope it was right about the distance. It’s only 3 degrees but the weather was fairly sunny, although it went cold when the light went.

There weren’t many other options exercise wise because the leisure centres have pinched an extra bank holiday. Today is a bank holiday for those of us who didn’t get Boxing Day off because it fell on a Saturday. Our leisure centres took both, very sneaky, so nine bank holidays for them not the usual eight.

In the evening Derby produce a thriller for once. No really, it was a nail biter resulting in a rather beautiful 0-0 draw up at Newcastle. Of course, some people would say there’s no such thing.

Beyond The White Picket Fence

The day of the usual Christmas walk with my folks. L opts out, citing food overload (we always eat out afterwards) and a craving for the gym. I take Doggo and MD, managing to palm them off on other people for most of morning. Yet again I fail to win a prize with the bingo card thing they do at the walk. Something like thirty years I’ve been doing this walk and how many times have I won something... about three times I reckon. Suppose I shouldn’t push my luck, what with the spot prize yesterday.

In the evening I go to Broadway with L, although it is with trepidation as to what she will choose for us to see... As it happens, I get to choose and then kind of wish I hadn’t.

I choose a film called ‘Humpday’ which is about a guy called Ben (Mark Duplass), who has settled down into what he describes as the ‘white picket fence’ lifestyle of marriage with his attractive young wife Anna (Alycia Delmore). Perhaps the only ingredient they are missing is a child but they’re working on that.

What they probably didn’t need was for Ben’s old college buddy Andrew (Joshua Leonard) to show up, out of the blue, on their doorstep in the middle of the night. Andrew has been away travelling, he sees himself as a bit of a ‘Kerouac’, and consequently it's been a long time since they’ve seen each other. They immediately drop back into a ‘two lads together’ type situation.

The following night, Andrew ends up at a party thrown by a girl he just happened to meet and he invites Ben over to join him. After drinking too much alcohol and smoking too much dope, they end up agreeing to make a short film for ‘HumpFest’, the local amateur pornography festival. Their idea is to produce something truly unique, a film of two straight guys having gay sex and they propose to star in it themselves. The idea being that it would not be gay, it would be beyond gay and it would not porn, it would be art...

Ben gets home to find that his night has gotten in the way of the baby making process much to Anna’s frustration. His next problem is how he’s going to square his new acting career with her. This is the best part of the film, as Ben spectacularly fails to tell Anna his plans and then Andrew spills the beans because he assumes Ben has told her. Problem is from here, the film goes downhill.

In the cold light of day, both Andrew and Ben regret what they have agreed to but neither will back down. Both feel they have something to prove. Ben that he’s not as ‘white picket fence’ as Andrew thinks he is and Andrew that perhaps he’s no ‘Kerouac’.

The ‘porn shoot’ in a hotel room is long and drawn out, we spend half an hour or so with the guys in that room, when a few minutes would have done because in the end, they don’t go through with it. They quickly realise their idea is going nowhere, the audience has already realised this fact but the director just didn’t seem to want to give it up and milked it for all it was worth. You end up just willing it all to end, in fact I nodded off towards the end and L had to nudge me awake.



The film comes to a believable conclusion but takes an inordinate amount of time getting there. It’s also immensely unsatisfying when it ends there. I for one would have liked to have seen Anna’s reaction to what they did or rather didn’t do, and would she have believed them?

We head off for a debrief over a few beers and we again support Scruffys, this time for their live music night, which is well busy. Regrettably we leave several beers too early because we have a race tomorrow.

Without The Aid Of Ice Axe And Crampons

The annual Boxing Day run at the Furnace is in doubt because of the icy weather. A serious worry for Doggo who is going for five in a row. At registration they are handing out little slips of paper telling you to run at your own risk, they’ve never done that before... I attempt a warm-up with both Doggo and MD, as I’m considering running attached to both of them, L sensibly doesn’t fancy hooking up to either of them.



After skidding along the ice a few times, I reassess my plans and decide to ‘boot’ (as in the car boot) the unpredictable MD, who seems incapable of maintaining a straight line. At least I think I know what Doggo is going to do, most of the time. I feel sorry for MD, he needs to do more of this running lark but the recent bad weather has prevented me practising with him.

In the end they change the course to avoid the worst patches of ice. Our run goes well, although we had to walk a few bits where it was treacherous. Other runners, the ones not tethered to dogs, managed to gracefully slide across, but I didn’t risk it. Then at the finish I ended up on the left hand side of the finish, with the finish line up an icy slope to my right. A slope that I just couldn’t scale without an ice axe and crampons, and Doggo was no help. I wanted him to pull me up it at an angle, but only his ‘forward’ gear was working.

Eventually we got there and as we cross the line, we are the first dog and handler home again. Someone hands us a bottle of wine. Finally, after five long years I get a spot prize. Ok so it’s only a bottle of Liebfraumilch but it’ll do.

We are 31st and it could have been a lot higher, perhaps 10 places or so, due to the walking we had to do.

In the afternoon, as is tradition, Derby lose their Boxing Day fixture. This year, with apparent ease, to Blackpool. It’s an awful performance but defeat perhaps has more to do with the fact that they are simply outclassed by a far superior Blackpool side.

I pop into work, just to see if Mr Branson has decided to deliver but no he hasn’t. He’s keeping his wine to himself. So we’ve still not got much in for my parents who come over this evening to help us devour the leg of lamb. We all have a good go at it, all the while under the disapproving gaze of the dogs, who are relieved that there is enough left to top up their own bowls with.

What I’ve Always Wanted

After a festive lie in, I unwrap L first and then my presents. Santa brings, what I’ve always wanted, a heart rate monitor. It is actually. A bit sad perhaps but good for my training and to check I’m still alive whilst doing it. I also get lots of books for Christmas this year. Are people trying to tell me something?

We tinsel up the dogs and take them for a run on the park before a liquid lunch down the Plough. Where they tell us it was the place to be last night. It was packed out apparently, whilst we rattled around an empty town centre.

The weather is cold and icy, with a few patches of snow still around, quite festive actually. There are flakes of snow falling elsewhere, close to us at Watnall, where the weather centre declares it officially a White Christmas.

Then its home to see what swordfish is like as Christmas dinner, pretty good as it turns out. Our only concession to Christmas TV is James May and his model railway. Not sure that really counts as a Christmas programme anyway.

It’s a cosy day just the two of us and the dogs. We fall into bed really early, full of eggnog, beer and fine wine.

Whatever Happened To Christmas Eve?

I have to work until lunchtime today where I’m also waiting for the ‘not looking good’ guaranteed delivery before Christmas from Virgin wines. I ring Mr Branson and they tell me it’s on its way but their tracking system is down so they can’t tell me where exactly it’s on its way to. Basically, they have no idea where it is.

Later we run the kids over to Derby to spend Xmas with their father and drop into work to pick up the wine... which has surely been delivered by now. Nope.

In the evening, we head into Nottingham to celebrate Christmas Eve, always one of my favourite nights of the year. We pop into Scruffys for something to eat and have a cracking meal. They have a new chef, well worth checking out, and a couple of Rosy Noseys. Then we decide to move on and tour the pubs. Big mistake.

So to the Ropewalk, nope shut, Hand and Heart? Shut. What’s going on? We walk through town. The Gatehouse? Shut. Broadway? Shut. Blimey. Loads of other pubs... shut. Langtry’s isn’t but we don’t linger because the Keans Head will be open surely... it is, and it’s busy. Relief. Then as we attempt to get served, they tell us, sorry we stopped serving at 9pm. What? They’re closing now. No! On go on then as it’s only five past, have a pint. Meanwhile other people are flooding in, relived to find somewhere open and they all get turned away. This is so weird.

We move on again. Cock and Hoop, shut. We try the Pitcher and Piano, open but ugh. The Bell looks open but let’s check out Wetherspoon’s Roebuck, must be... it is and staying open until late. We have a couple of Mickelemas’s, then move to the Bell… which is now shut. We really should have stayed at Scruffys, top place, the new owners are trying to build it up, they’re open and we deserted them. We pass the closed Hand and Heart again and notice that next door the Hawksley is open. We go in, it’s our first time in there but beggars can’t be choosers. It actually not bad, although a bit of a price shock after the cheapness of Wetherspoons.

Whatever happened to Christmas Eve? True, we haven’t actually been into town on Christmas Eve for a few years, probably five or six years, and perhaps last time we did it wasn’t what it used to be. Though, before that, back in late 80’s and throughout the 90’s we toured the pubs and usually hit Rock City afterwards. It was quite a night out and probably the biggest night of the year bar New Years Eve. So what’s gone wrong?

With buses and everything stopping around 8pm, people can’t get I suppose. Though it seems odd to me that private bus companies don’t want to run buses on Xmas Eve, they’d make a killing, except it would take years now to build town up again.

Then again, perhaps its best that this is the one night of the year that town is not in vogue. Because it seems tonight is the one night that your local can guarantee to be rammed and apparently they all were again this year. Those pubs do need all the help they can get these days.

There’s Always Tomorrow

Intended to get the bus this morning but overslept. However it’s so icy I’m kind of glad I didn’t get the bus and have to skate in to work from Derby. It’s looking like its going to be a full week in the car. It’s been a long time since I last did that. Also thankfully I didn’t have to go out attached to two collies as L did, which must have been interesting. Last night was coldest it’s been so far, -16 in Scotland apparently. They’ve had a fair dump of snow up there; Nevis Range is fully open and looking very tempting. Although as soon as we decide to go up it usually all melts.

L’s started the search for something unusual for Christmas Day as it’s just the two of us for lunch. Fish is our favoured option but Sainsbury’s has nothing that’s wild or exciting. We'll end up having a pork chop at this rate. Then she has success down the market and has to choose between Swordfish and Conger Eel. Swordfish wins and if she gets two we can draw swords at dawn and have a battle.



Back on the squash court tonight. I lose, of course but it’s just good to be back and be fit enough to do so. I can feel the lack of recent exercise in my legs afterwards though.

Then its home to spend the evening wrapping presents. I think I’ve got something for everyone, if not there’s always tomorrow...

The New Prison Cell

My drinking partner for tonight informs me that he’s feeling ‘rough as a pile of dog doo’. Thanks for that, just saying he was ill would have done. So that’s my evening rescheduled. So I go off Christmas card delivering and then manage to fit a swim in, for the first time in ages. I’ve got to do some kind of exercise as outdoors isn’t conducive to much. We do after all have a 10k race on the 28th and before that a lesser one on the 26th.

One of MD’s Christmas presents arrives, the one he didn’t want, his new prison cell, I mean cage.



Very quickly delivered it was, as have all my online orders this year. Since everyone stopped using the Royal Mail to deliver stuff, service levels seem to have gone up, funny that. The only thing I’m waiting for now it the traditionally tardy Virgin Wines, or else we’ll have nothing to drink on the day itself. They say its guaranteed delivery in time for Christmas, wonder if that’s even if they have to drop it down your chimney on the day?

The Search For Meths

It doesn’t look to be a good day to cycle, it’s very icy out, and so it’s the car today. Looking at the weather forecast it doesn’t look like it’s going to be good week to cycle at all or to run for that matter.

Top of my shopping list for the usual sojourn to Sainsbury’s is whisky, dark rum and meths. I sound like a right alkie. The first two are for the notorious eggnog, the latter for tonights almost as notorious cheese fondue. Notorious because the last time we did one the ceramic fondue bowl exploded spilling molten cheese everywhere. Whilst everyone ran around in a mad panic attempting to mop up the mess, Son was doing his own mopping up and finishing off the debris. Tonight we’ll be using metal fondue pots.

Thing is we have a bit of a fuel problem; it runs on methylated spirit and just where do you get meths from these days? Sainsbury’s hadn’t got any; they suggested I try white spirit which I’m not sure would work, unless we’re looking to repeat the explosion. Apparently B&Q sell it, so their website says. I might have to detour there on my way home but then, before I get chance, L saves the day with the help of good old Wilko.

She’s also acquired some mince pie flavoured candles, to mask the smell of wet dog that pervades everywhere at home. I just hope we don’t replace that with the smell of burning mince pies instead. As it happens, the smell of warm melted, burning itself to the bottom of the fondue pot, cheese masks everything.

The fondue, despite being a little burnt, goes down well but it’s not as impressive as L’s Kaiserschmarren, which is something else we’ve discovered on our alpine travels, which are basically diced pancakes and a great lunchtime pick me up after a morning on the ski slopes. They’re also not too bad after a slither along our icy streets either.



If anyone’s had too much cheese fondue and Kaiserschmarren, bear in mind it’s also the 4th Annual Global Orgasm Day for Peace, which coincides with the first day of the Winter Solstice. The aim, ‘to effect positive change in the energy field of the Earth through input of the largest possible instantaneous surge of human biological, mental and spiritual energy’, apparently. So go for it, any time in a 24-hour period from 5.47am on the 21st will do. I don’t know, one day people power and Rage Against The Machine, today this.

Raging Against The Machine

I head down to the dog training venue as today is the day they move the equipment from the old place to the new place. I lend a hand loading the lorry up which I thought would just be loading up the equipment that we usually train with. What I didn’t consider and I don’t think many others did either is that there was loads of stuff at the back of the store room that we didn’t know we had or had forgotten we had. Stuff we certainly didn’t want now but had to take anyway. At one stage it looked like we might need a bigger lorry but somehow it all went aboard.

Afterwards some of the other collies are looking for somewhere different to stretch their paws so Doggo and MD offer to show them Wollaton Park. So the boys get to run on the park with three other dogs and predictable chaos ensures but at least they’ll sleep for the rest of the day. The park itself is looking particularly scenic, covered as it is in a thin layer of last night’s snow.

We get another slight flurry of snow in the afternoon as we do a bit of shopping and I look at training cages for MD at Pets Sat at Home or whatever it’s called. Then rather naughtily I get home and order one off the internet for half the price.

Later as running and cycling are a bit dodgy because of the weather, I head to the gym with L. 5km Bike, 1km row, some leg weights and a 3km run at near race pace. Things are looking up, I couldn’t manage either a row or all the weight machines last time and I don’t bitch at anyone. According to L, my competitively in the gym would make me a gym-bitch if I was a girl. I do quite a bit of my exercise to Marilyn which is a bit risqué as I keep getting the urge to scream along to the ‘f*** you’ bits. Not really the done thing in the gym.

Talking of ‘f*** you’. The X-Factor has ‘kindly’ given us the Christmas number one for the last four years but not this time Mr Cowell. I'm no Rage Against The Machine fan and was no fan of 'Killing In The Name' first time around back in 1992 but I do admit it's become a bit of timeless classic since.

When a part-time DJ called Jon Morter decided it was time to rage against Simon Cowell’s machine, I wasn’t sure he’d picked the right record. It wasn't a song that I thought would appeal to enough people but it was certainly 'on message', 'F**k you I won't do what you tell me' indeed.

It started as so many things do now, on Facebook, with a fan page 'Rage Against The Machine For Christmas No. 1' which pointed people to music sites where the track could be downloaded.

It wasn’t though, until the band was invited on to Five Live to play the track live that it went stratospheric. Asked to play a censored version and drop the 'F**k you’, naturally they didn't and they got the publicity they needed propelling the single to number one, becoming the first one to do so on download sales alone.

Whilst Cowell will still be counting his money after coming a close second, the charity Shelter will benefit from Rage Against The Machine’s sales. Well it is Christmas, and that probably makes them worthy winners.

The Beer Is Just Too Strong

I take the dogs on a very frosty park. I would have liked to have taken the footballs but MD’s ball has got wet and has now set into a large frozen lump. Kicking it has become a kin to kicking a cannonball and about as painful.

Then a quick drive to the local farm shop to choose which leg to have for Boxing Day lunch. We weigh up the difference between the sizes of the two largest legs on offer, until the butcher points out that they’re both from the same lamb and as the lamb was not known to have an odd gait, therefore in theory they should be the same size.

As I head off to meet my brother for a probably misguided pre-match beer, hair of the dog I suppose, we still have a house full of teenagers, sleeping last night off. Haven’t they got homes to go to? L charitably does them all bacon and sausage sandwiches to try and rouse them.

The main reason I’m meeting my brother is for the ‘Santa Walk’ although to be honest, it was the beer that tempted me. Santa suits are not compulsory but all the same I bring my freebie Santa hat from last night. As we sit in the pub, in view of the starting place of the walk, we see it set off. We consider going off in pursuit but when we see only about twenty people on the walk, we opt to stay for a 2nd drink instead. It’s also far too early to head off to the match and end up standing in the freezing cold for an hour or so.

At the match, normality is restored. In that, it’s back to the negative, uninteresting football from our lot. Totally out played first half, they are better in the second half but are still deservedly beaten. Suspect tactics again though, in my opinion.

After the match I meet up with L and we head over to Burton, where we’re long overdue a night in the Cooper’s Arms. They have a real fire lit and it looks just as cosy as before but here’s a first. We leave the pub because the beer is too strong. There are a few golden hoppy numbers at the bottom of the alcohol scale but all the dark stuff and the barley wines start at 6.6% and go up to a staggering 10%. So defeated, we retreat next door, to the Devonshire Arms, where the Burton Bridge Porter and Stairway are a more sensible 4.5% and 5.0%.

We are back in Derby a few hours later where I’ve agreed to rendezvous with a couple of friends for a final beer. Modern communication methods though fail us. I don’t hear my phone when he calls me; likewise he doesn’t hear his when I return his call. Mind you, he doesn’t answer my texts either.

When we left Burton it was raining there, meanwhile the weather wasn’t doing much at all in Derby but when we get back to Nottingham there was white stuff everywhere. Snow, at last.

Through The Wardrobe

I slithered into work listening to Marilyn, on a combination of bus and foot; even I think it’s a bit cold at the moment and too icy to cycle.

I may have got home ok on the bike last night but a colleague went down as he took a shortcut across one of the car lots here. Problem was they’d been washing cars and had unintentionally built an outdoor skating rink. He’s smashed his helmet, so it was a good job he was wearing it.

L’s sister sends us photos of a snowy Hertfordshire; a customer sends us photos of an even snowier Kent. They’ve had a lot more than we have. I feel outdone. There’s black clouds overhead right now. Fingers crossed.

Christmas is not just the time of year when families get together for the annual gathering of related DNA but it’s also when companies get all their staff together in one room, attempt to get them drunk, embarrass them and feed them overcooked turkey. This is the other reason I’m on the bus today.

Ours has an added twist this year, Mr Tumnus, Mr and Mrs Beaver and a lion called Aslan. Well, maybe. They’ve rather tackily called our ‘do’ ‘Winter Wonderland in Narnia’, which is immensely worrying and sounds like something you’d take your six year old to.

L insists I take my camera just in case Mr Tumnus shows up. Although I’m sure she’s naively hoping for James McAvoy.

It’s not worth me going home before the evening entertainment starts, so I pop into the pub for one, just to line my stomach. However, the Brunswick is that rammed I can’t get in the door and I end up next door in the Alexandra.

Then it’s in through the wardrobe and into Narnia. Yes they do actually have a fake wardrobe. Once inside we get offered mulled wine and Turkish delight, which I refuse, because isn’t this what turns you to stone. No sign of Mr and Mrs Beaver or Mr Tumnus for that matter. There is a singer all dressed in white who may consider herself to be the White Witch. Shame she’s more karaoke than competent artiste. Not good. Everything else is the usual fare, food ok but nothing special and the wine cheap and unspectacular. They are taking photos of the whole event, displaying them on a big screen and putting them on Facebook for download later. This causes amusement on our table, after management recently banned that popular time wasting activity.

L, who’s back from a trip to the pantomime, tells me we’re again up to the rafters with teenagers. Not sure how that happened.

Afterwards on the bus, I get the one Red Arrow driver who doesn’t automatically stop at my stop. I close my eyes momentarily and we whizz by. I’m not the only one, another chap is soon at the front of the bus remonstrating with the driver and demanding to be let off. He is told he has to now go all the way to the city centre now. We both have to walk back.

Surprisingly not too heavy an alcohol night, that is until L and I get the ill advised port out.

Nice One Brian

Still no snow, not even in East Anglia where the weather warnings were. A humid 2.5 degrees on the thermometer and a quick walk around the garden reveals no ice. So I take the bike. It’s cold but certainly not icy. My brother rings me as I’m half way to work. Which is fine but I was nicely warmed up and unfortunately conversations with my brother are rarely short. After a chat with him at the roadside, I’ve chilled off again and never get warmed up again after that.

Amazingly, in the afternoon, it actually starts snowing. Brilliant. Well apart from the fact that I have to cycle home. L bumps into Son in town, during the snow shower, in just a t-shirt but it was ok, as he had a jumper in his bag just in case it got cold. No wonder he's always ill.

I slither home on my bike, it isn’t too bad really. Soft snow isn’t that slippery but it’ll be hell if it freezes overnight.

We’re off down the Arena to see Brian tonight. Somehow I always end up at the bloody Arena just before Christmas; L tells me it’s now traditional. Hmmm. Last year it was the Quo and that wasn’t really my choice, this year it’s not been my choice either. I can’t say that I’ve ever really been a fan of our Bry, better known as Marilyn Manson, and L had to talk me into this one as well. She said it would be a rather nice oxymoron for me, which I’m sure, is a total misuse of the word. What she means is it would be a total contrast between a Marilyn gig and my company’s Christmas Party the following evening, which is entitled ‘Winter Wonderland in Narnia’ for reasons that may become apparent on Friday, although in a way, I hope not.

Once I’d agreed to this evening, purely on the grounds that it would be excellent blogging material, I had to do a bit of research to get me up to speed because I only really knew a few of his tracks.

Then on the eve of the gig, there were rumours going around that it may not happen and suggestions (by me) that they might consider switching it to the Rescue Rooms because the ticket sales had been so poor. Suppose he is over forty now and his bubble did seem to burst a few years ago. The Arena was bizarre choice anyway, particularly as the rest of his tour consists of Academys, with 2500-3000 capacities. Consequently the 8000 capacity Arena is not even half full tonight.

L's brother has joined us on this occasion and L must be a proud sister taking him to what is, apparently, his first gig. L herself is looking well vamped up, cracking open the blue hair dye (subtle) and the blue nail varnish (not so subtle).

Support is from a band called esOterica, which sounds like a sports drink. They are from Croydon and have a lead singer who has quite a big opinion of himself. Correction, a very big opinion of himself. His over confident stage presence, to be fair, goes down well with crowd. If somebody had just walked in off the street and had no idea who was playing, they’d think this lot were headlining. Their set is good though, full of energy and enthusiasm. Their sound a touch industrial and a bit heavier than I expect even Marilyn to be. Reasonably impressed.



Once the support band have finished the stage is hidden behind a large black curtain which is a bit annoying as I like to see all the kit being setup and helps pass the time between bands. The curtain stays up when the lights go out. Then strange noises and a lot of smoke start to emanate from behind it. If this was to keep you in suspense they needn’t have bothered because once the curtain has dropped and the band are well into the swing of ‘Cruci-Fiction in Space’ you still can’t see anything because of the denseness of the smoke. It must be several minutes before someone emerges from of the gloom wearing a pair of red laser gloves which he fires at the crowd. It may or may not be the man himself.

As the song ends and the mist subsides, yep it’s him. The man clearly still has presence stage although it does seem to be accompanied by a bit of a beer belly these days.



One thing I’ve learnt by researching his music is that he certainly has some good songs and his second one tonight ‘Disposable Teens’, shows how surprisingly catchy some of them are. That said, he’s not known as a crowd pleaser for his song selection, often preferring the obscure album track to the big hit and he’s no exception tonight. They are many notable exceptions from the set but I for one, being a big fan of the obscure oldie, shouldn’t complain.

Visually though, he keep us busy, employing a number of costume changes, well mainly hats and jackets, all of which seemed to be quickly discarded into the crowd at the front. There are fewer costumes and certainly less razzmatazz than I was expecting but he did still possess an interesting selection of gadgets and lights to supplement his act.



Earlier this year a lot of people walked out of the Legends of Motown concert because the sound at the Arena was so awful, but I doubt that would ever happen at a ‘proper’ gig and Mazza may just have found the solution to the Arena’s awful acoustics. If you scream 'f*** you' at the roof, often enough and loud enough, as he does on 'The Love Song' eventually the sound reverberates back. Sorted. Works a treat too with the multiple cries of 'F*** It' on the following 'Irresponsible Hate Anthem'. As you can tell, so far it's a nice family show.

Although it’s a tour to promote his seventh studio album, ‘High End Of Low’, the majority of the set is pulled from his most famous albums, 1998’s ‘Mechanical Animals’ and 2000’s ‘Holywood: In the Shadow of the Valley of Death’. There are just three songs from the new album tonight. One of which is a nice little romantic ditty called 'Pretty As A Swastika', Mazza showing all his usual charm. Another is the wonderful ‘Devour’, which could almost be described as mellow.

The album is said to be a step back in the right direction after his previous one ‘Eat Me Drink Me’ bombed and nothing is played from that tonight. A lot of this is credited to the return of long time guitarist and co-songwriter Twiggy Ramirez who didn’t work on that particular record. Don’t know if they fell out or not but they appear to be best buddies again tonight.

Going through his back catalogue has enabled me to unearth the absolute gems that are the moody ‘Coma’ songs, ‘Coma White’ and ‘Coma Black’. I couldn’t tell you for certain whether it was just ‘Coma White’ tonight or whether he wove a bit of ‘Black’ in there as well, but it was the highlight of the evening for me.

There were also several heavier, more growling numbers, notably the stuff from his ‘Antichrist Superstar’ album, although he gives it a longer more expletive filled title but tracks such as ‘Dried Up, Tied and Dead to the World’ and ‘Little Horn’ leave me largely unmoved.

A few expletives apart, I thought Manson was rather well-behaved tonight, there was actually less swearing that that provided by the support band, there were of course plenty of drugs references but this also included a lecture against their use, maybe serious, maybe not, as he launched in to popular ‘The Dope Show’.

He obviously adapts his props to where he is, draping himself in the Union flag at one stage and even bringing on Robin Hood at one point. ‘Robbing from the bitch and giving to the whore’ he explains. Ok so perhaps there was more bad language than I thought.

With the excellent ‘Rock is Dead’ we’re clearly heading towards the conclusion and he closes with a couple of covers, not ‘Personal Jesus’ or ‘Tainted Love’, we get ‘Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)’ and Patti Smith’s ‘Rock n Roll Nigger’. As we were saying afterwards, no one really admits to liking Patti Smith but everybody seems to cover her songs.

After which it wasn’t so much an exit as a disappearance, with the smoke and the darkness it was actually hard to tell whether the band had gone or were just lurking in the shadows. They reappeared just as mysteriously to play us out with 'The Beautiful People' accompanied by streams of ticker tape pumped out from the stage. Leaving someone a lot of clearing up to do before the next Ice Hockey match.



Marilyn Manson’s star may have faded a touch but he and his band can still put on a good show. Whilst mixing in some nicely dark humour and a decent light show, although along with the smoke, the lights make it a bit naff for photography. The smoke also often makes it hard to see, was he ceremoniously burning the bible at one point? At under an hour and a half, it was also short and punchy, and all delivered with bundles of energy. Nice one Brian.

Outbid

I take the bus. I need to late night shop after work and it’s also looking wet out. This also gives me a good chance to rehearse for Marilyn tomorrow. L’s doing the same, on the exercise bike at the gym, pedalling away to his stuff.

As expected today, Nottingham wins the battle of the East Midlands to be named as one of twelve cities to be included in England's 2018 World Cup bid document. At the expensive of Derby.

The squabbling between the City and County Councils over the plans for the new stadium seem to have been ignored by the FA. In fact, it was probably fortunate for Nottingham that County Council leader Kay Cutts withdrew her support for the project and therefore the FA didn’t get to meet her. Had they done so I’m sure they would have looked elsewhere. Kay Cutts has already rejected outright the proposals to concrete over the green belt within the County Council boundary at Gamston. All other plans to build a new stadium in Nottingham have also come to nought so there’s no reason to suspect that the situation will change now.

Of course the bid was not just about a stadium. Derby of course already have the perfect stadium.



The FA's overriding concern in all this is to win the right to stage the World Cup in the first place, what it does to get to that point doesn’t really matter. It needed to sex up its bid worldwide and when it comes down to it, globally, more people have heard of Nottingham, it’s even a tourist destination of sorts. Foreigners would look at the map and if Derby got the nod say ‘where?’. Then there’s the infrastructure, the number of hotels, the restaurants, the transport links and all the existing sporting venues. Derby didn’t have a chance.

As it happens being in the bid document probably means little, several cities will be dropped at a later date anyway. So if Nottingham's stadium does not happen, unfortunately it will mean no World Cup for anyone in the East Midlands. Unless of course they ask Derby to step in at the last moment. Now that would be funny.

In the evening I skip training MD, although perhaps despite the ok from the vet a few more days off wouldn’t hurt in his recovery, and swimming too, to go on a bear hunt in Derby or more correctly, for the winter outfit the bear wants. Christmas clothes shopping for a bear whatever next. It wants a puffer jacket, along with furry boots etc etc... FFS as Daughter would say. L asks if I need her to get me anything from Nottingham, well no, but if she sees a bear wearing a puffer jacket, mug it.

All’s Fair In Love And Cycling

The promised freeze and potential snowfall (!) doesn’t materialise and the ride in to work is actually rather pleasant, helped by the fact that there’s not much traffic. As ever winter cycling is a constant battle between being too hot and too cold. If anything today, I’ve too much on and I’m too warm. Some people go too far the other way and I see one guy in just a t-shirt, albeit a long sleeved one. He was very lucky the weather wasn’t as cold as they promised or else he may have lost a nipple or two in the wind chill.

I often get slightly annoyed by a particular cyclist whom I see most days. He’s older than me, well I think he is because he’s got a solid head of grey hair, but he always has to overtake me and then try to disappear into the distance. It’s not too bad getting passed by youngsters but it’s a bit rich when they’re a lot older but all’s fair in love and cycling as they say. What really annoys me is that when he’s ahead of me and doesn’t know I’m there, I catch him up with ease. So it’s obviously just an act for my benefit and presumably other cyclists too. He just doesn’t like being behind someone. Doesn’t apply to me of course.

After work, L takes MD for his final check up at the vets. He’s passed fit and when I get home he's already out running with L. She’s been out with them in shifts; Doggo's already done a fifteen minute stint. MD's stint is much shorter and L returns complaining of all four paws being off the ground all the time. He's yet to get the hang of running on the lead but to be fair we haven't done that much of it with him. We have until the Boxing Day run, which both dogs will compete in, to lick him into shape.

The family is all out together tonight en mass, a rare treat, must be something festive in the air. We meet up with some friends and go for one of those all you can stuff down you face for a tenner Chinese meals and it actually isn’t too bad either.

Not A Good Day For Teenage Organisation

There’s very little traffic on the roads this morning. I think a lot of people are already on their Christmas break, the 112 days of Christmas and all that.

I’ve not often seen eye to eye with Billy Bragg but I had to nod in agreement the other day as he laid into the Government’s plans to disconnect file-sharers. Billy sees downloading as ‘not about piracy, it’s about promotion’, pointing out that the music industry ‘in danger of persecuting people for listening to records’ and therefore alienating potential customers.

I agree. What he means is that these days’ people go on to buy the music of artists that they first listened to via ‘free’ downloads. Personally I've acquired quite a bit of music ‘free’ in the last few years and consequently go on to buy the stuff I like, whilst not bothering with the stuff I don’t. A consequence of this is that I’m buying more music now than ever before but there’s also the fact that I can now afford to do so. When I was the age of your typical downloader, I didn’t buy as much, we used to get our music by home taping off other people’s records. So probably not that much has changed. Funnily enough, I’m now going out and buying CD versions of those albums that I taped years ago because I want a better copy and can now afford it. What goes around comes around.

Whilst ultimately people need to be persuaded to pay, otherwise musicians won’t get paid and therefore they’ll be no music because they’ll all become bin men instead, the industry needs to work out a method of how they’re going to do it. Hopefully these folks will start to buy more as they get older and wealthier, that is provided the industry doesn’t totally alienate them first.

L has a Christmas party at lunchtime; she’s really been slacking, considering how many I’ve already had. Not that that’s much to brag about. The emails I get off her in the afternoon seem to have the slant of a couple of glasses of wine about them. She doesn’t want to be drunk driving her PC, even if she’s only doing Christmas shopping on it, who knows what we might all end up with for presents.

We have one appointment to remember tonight, as does Son. Ours is at his college, Parents Evening part two. We’re there and on time, although our appointment doesn’t actually materialise. Son's appointment is at the opticians, which he totally forgets about. So it’s not a good day for teenage organisation. Thankfully he did belatedly text us through a couple of other appointments for us, which at least saves us from a wasted journey.

Back home the tree goes up and L makes the Christmas cake. I just hope no one spots the lack of currants, there's been a rush on them and Sainsbury’s were all out. The cake is supposed to be fortified with brandy every two weeks but due to the closeness of Christmas, I think we're going to have to accelerate this process to perhaps every two days, or maybe even every two hours. We’ll see how it goes.

Body Heat

It’s another cold night in a tent in the Lakeland valleys with temperatures plunging well below zero. Another night of having to share body heat to keep warm and L wonders why I talked her into camping.

Due to its increasing popularity the Langdale 10k now consists of not one but two races of 10k, run on consecutive days. We’ve only entered the Saturday one but we wander down to spectate at the second one.



The weather may be cold but it’s also absolutely glorious. Clear blue sky and actually perfect walking weather, which it always is when we arrive with no intention of doing a killer walk. MD isn’t fit enough and nor, after yesterdays excursions, am I. I seem to have spent most of yesterday’s race putting all my weight on my good leg, protecting my bad one, with the predictable effect that I’ve now overstretched my good leg. It now aches more than my bad one.



All the way up the M6 on Friday and all the way back down again this evening, I’ve been speed reading the audio book of Small Island before tonight’s concluding part of the TV dramatisation. Which although fascinating for its look at the lives of Jamaican soldiers during and after the war, all ends up with a baffling conclusion or un-conclusion, for me anyway. I feel sorry for our Jamaican hero Gilbert who ends up with that annoying Hortense girl, the who coerced him into marrying her in the first place, and a child that isn’t even theirs. Whilst our British heroine Queenie takes her life full circle, ending up back at square one and still married to the hopeless Bernard. What I assumed was the whole point of the whole story, the identity of Queenie’s illegitimate child, remains un-pointed out to the very end. Aghhhh. Loved it. Kind of.

Before that I catch the end of the usual bizarreness that is Sports Personality Of The Year. Yes we all known the show has been dire for years even before they drafted in the X-Factor audience to decide the victor. I suppose in a year with no obvious winners, you can’t blame Joe Public for converting it to effectively a lifetime achievement award and giving it to Ryan Giggs, a player who probably had just cause to win it ten years ago but not now.



The prize should most obviously have gone to Jess Ennis’s dress, now that had personality and she’s not too bad to look at either.

As for the team of the year which went to the England men's cricket... well, they may have won back the Ashes but they were less than impressive in everything else and still show little sign of grasping the principal of either one day or Twenty-20 cricket. This must really have hacked off the women’s side whose achievements put the men’s team totally in the shade. They too hold the Ashes but in 2009 also landed the World Cup and the inaugural Twenty-20 World Championship as well.

Not ‘Well Done’

The day dawns cold and white-over with frost. It’s all very pretty and festive. It’s also the first time I’ve felt Christmassy so far this year but I’ll soon get over it.



There is always something about the Lakes in winter that means it has to be done just before Christmas. It just feels festive and there are no trappings of a commercial Christmas up here. Just a few lights, a few Christmas trees and a few Santas running the Christmas 10k, nothing too outrageous. Although admittedly we haven’t been down Windermere high street.



Ah yes race day. Thankfully kick off isn’t until 12.00. Time enough to get the fog of the mulled wine out of my head. Now, how hard do I go? Not very as it turns out. I’m not even near enough the front at the start to see the great Ron Hill start the race.

The course turns out to be slightly hazardous, a bit icy and slippery underfoot in places; it looks like they’ve had a slight covering of snow sometime in the last few days. Other hazards include negotiating the local bus (twice), a tractor full of manure and half a dozen tourists in their cars. Just a typical 10k in Lakeland then.

I amble along at what I think is the back and get ready to join in the festive singing that I imagine goes on in the ‘autobus’ of those just hoping to get through the distance. People though appear just as poker faced and serious as they do nearer the front. Perhaps I’m still going too fast and I ease up a little more, expecting L or even worse, someone dressed as an elf, to come bombing past me singing Jingle Bells at any second. It doesn’t happen though; despite the fact most of my km times were a good twenty seconds down on my usual pace.

Despite my tardiness, people are clapping and cheering as I pass, shouting well done. Well no actually, if it was ‘well done’ I’d have gone past several minutes ago. Strange people.

At 7km I decide to try going a bit faster, after all if something fell off now, I could at least still crawl to the finish and get there before the pubs close. By 8km I’m actually reeling in a group of around seven runners and feeling more like my old self. The group includes three women, a man clearly the wrong side of sixty and a chap in a silly hat with tinsel on it. All people who, should everything be correctly aligned in the world, ought to be behind me.

I put on a spurt on a short uphill stretch, the kind of terrain where I normally make good gains and start to chase them down but something starts to protest in my dodgy leg and I think better of it. They’ll all just have to be on my list for annihilation next year instead. I ease up even more in the last km, thinking ahead now to my next race and even letting two people pass me on the run in. I smile at them, through gritted teeth. I don’t even try and trip them up.

As I cross the line I’m handed my Christmas pud. Asda this year, I still wish they’d supply local ones. I don’t get a mince pie because someone is remiss in getting them to the finish line in time.

They do arrive in time for when L finishes, so she gets extra, making up for the one I didn’t get and enough to share with the dogs. Then its hot chocolate with rum in the Stickle Barn bar, all very welcome. Suddenly I’m feeling festive again.

My time is four minutes down on last year, over 44 minutes, which L assures me is still pretty good and isn’t just cause to seek out the nearest gas oven for my head. Finishing fifty places lower in the low eighties is less easy to stomach and this will take several pints to get over.

That evening in the pub, as the Coniston Stout and the Chilli Con Carne go down really well, the evening entertainment is provided by some stupid woman who befriends Doggo. At first she is happily fondling his ears, which he enjoys greatly but then for reasons known only to herself she tries to kiss him. How many people do you know who go around kissing dogs they’ve only just met? Some people don’t even kiss other humans on a first date. Luckily he’s not a vicious dog and doesn’t have her face off although he does tell her where to get off. She’s seems shocked although apologetic. Lesson learnt I hope.

Negative Figures

L is impressed by a cyclist that she saw today, in full kit, on a very professional looking bike but with fairy lights entwined around the bike frame. A girl naturally. I’m not sure if the girl was trying to be festive or just trying to stay alive. Problem is, lit up like that, someone would probably run into her deliberately. I can imagine what I’ll be getting in my Christmas stocking now.

I have actually seen a chap a few times with a similar setup; he had those coloured light tube things wrapped around his frame, like you get at gigs. Don’t know how he powered them because the cost in batteries would be huge. I’ve also not seen him for ages, so not sure what happened to him, hope his light tubes worked and that no one wiped him out.

In the evening we head up to the Lakes for our usual pre-festive season jaunt around the Langdale 10k course. Usually we’re up there with friends in a nice warm cottage but this year we’re on our own, so we decided to camp. As we tick off the junctions on an unusually quiet M6, L watches the thermometer on the car dropping alarming into negative figures, nestling somewhere around minus three or four as we pull into the Great Langdale campsite. Think we might need to get the hammer out to get the pegs into the hard ground.

It’s not actually that bad, the ground is quite soft underneath, must be all the rain they’ve had. Our cosy home is soon erected and we’re off for a few warming beers in the pub. That’s only half the story though; the bottle of mulled wine in the tent after last orders is the other half. All rather nice, festive and warming but ideal race preparation? Perhaps not.

All Systems Go

No bloody traffic this morning, I was well early. There really is no predicting it. It will be hell tonight when I’m in a rush to get to parents evening at the college.

Having the car at least means we make the pub at lunch time.

At parents evening, Daughter gets a glowing report, well for the times when she’s not been on her mobile during class that is. Which hopefully she’s not now doing after we pulled her up on this a few weeks ago and told her to turn it off during lesson time. She did pass my not so sneaky test this morning when I had emailed her phone and she didn’t reply until the lunch break. Of course she could have just been being a bit smart, delaying to give the impression it was off but I’m sure she’s not that devious.

L still looks jealous that she’s not on Daughter’s literature course. She could be, she already owns most of the books on the course anyway, Pride & Prejudice, Death of a Salesman, Kite Runner and King Lear.

Daughter’s report is not quite as sickeningly glowing as the one we get from one of Son’s tutors about him but we won’t go there. We’re pleased really, of course, but we don’t want him getting big headed. No one likes a smart arse.

Afterwards I finally go for that long delayed run and L joins me. Which is nice, it’s not that often we run together these days. It goes well. There’s no reaction from my calf, so it’s all systems go for Saturday. The only question now is how hard do I run the race... I was 31st last year in a very good time, quite a lot to live up to.

Par For The Course

The weather is dry for the bike in, therefore I can’t complain about that. So as I’ve not had a whinge about car drivers for a while I think it’s about due.

People are always complaining about cyclists ignoring red lights, overtaking on the inside (perfectly legal in stationary traffic as it happens), turning without signalling, racing along pavements... stuff like that. I think they said cyclists and not car drivers, although I think more drivers do those things than cyclists do actually. Well apart from the racing along pavements bit... but only because it's not wide enough... Then again where it is, such as along the pavement/cycle path alongside the Nottingham ring road near where I live, its fair game and today I almost got wiped out by a chap driving along it, quite fast too. He was also showcasing another complaint that’s always levelled at cyclists, he didn’t have any lights on and I’m sure that Mercedes come equipped with them.



So I wish an unhappy festive season on him and also on the chap who earlier had nearly ‘doored’ me because he had neglected to look before getting out of his car. All par for the course really.

It’s about time we started thinking about something obscure for Christmas Day. We usually have goose, as neither of us is that wild about turkey and goose is actually more traditional. This year L mentions venison or something like that. I wonder for a moment if the dogs would be happy mopping up the scraps if it was venison. Of course they would. They've chased a bit of live venison on the park often enough.



In the evening I attempt to do a few bits of Christmas shopping, not over the internet and therefore not successful. Even with the monosyllabic professional sales advice from the teenager welded to her mobile phone on the Customer Services desk. This is so familiar... I’m sorry but what did I expect at the Customer Services desk, help? Silly me.

MD isn’t fit enough for tonight’s training session, so I take the old git instead. It’s Doggo’s last chance to get sanded up at the old training venue. He then comes home and spreads it around the house. Although I admit, I too do tend to get blamed for this. It’s his last chance that is if he isn’t again called off the subs bench again to replace MD next week, in what is the final session before the move to the new venue in the New Year. Doggo is well rusty, which I suppose is what I get for not training him so much and taking him into semi-retirement. Particularly in the weaves. So more training for you mate, I’ve not completely done with you yet.

Multiple Santas, Loud Christmas Music And Rattling Collection Tins

Traffic absolutely awful, just because I’m in the car and late leaving as well. Radio Derby reckon traffic is queuing heading from Derby to Nottingham, which isn’t my direction, the reason they say, is a vehicle has broken down on the westbound carriageway, which is the other way. My way! Wish they’d make their minds up. So decided to risk it, as was late anyway. It was actually grid locked both ways, so why didn’t they just say that. Oh for a nice bicycle.

L reports feeling quite fired up as she runs to work, which is good to hear. They’ll be no holding her at this weekend’s event. Meanwhile I still haven’t got out to test my calf over a longer distance.

In the evening MD is back at the vets for a check-up after his op. I reckon he’s recovered well, too well. He is back to being his old self now, which wasn't the aim but its early days I suppose.

MD finds the check-up terrifying, he’s probably wondering what they’re going to take off him this time. He’s safe; they say he’s doing ok but has to go back for another check-up in seven days and has to stay on the lead in the meantime. He isn’t going to be happy about that.

Afterwards I take them both for a walk. Where it rains on us and we get chased by the Lions Club’s sleigh, complete with multiple Santas, loud Christmas music and rattling collection tins. Doggo has tried to silence it in the past, as we always seem to run into this every year. He’s over all that now but MD might have a go, so we cut our walk short and head home. I confuse them by chucking them both in the car and driving off to rescue L who is walking home from the gym in the rain.

Derby are at Preston tonight and because our away form has been so appalling, we’re actually quite ‘thrilled’ to come away with a 0-0 draw. The ‘thrill’ aspect of a 0-0 draw is sadly often overlooked.