The Beautiful Harem

I drive to work with my bike in car. I have the afternoon off because we have Son’s parents evening tonight and in order to fit in MD’s training as well, it seemed easier to do parents evening in the late afternoon. Hence the afternoon off. It also gives me chance to finally sort out my carbon monster.

Because I’m not doing any training at all today, L steps into the breach. She seems well pleased that she’s managed an hour's cycling, which was Hathersage training I assume, as well as cycling the mile or so to work and after all that being still alive. She doesn’t actually mention whether she enjoyed it or not.

I arrive at the bike shop, taking my old bike with me so that they can take measurements from that and see my riding position on it. Then they measure me and set up me with my own pedals on a rather alluring Kuota Karma. She’s quite a sexy beast, even with me in the saddle and I’m sure she winked at me. Whilst I'm sat there all glassy eyed the chap whips my credit card out of my hand before I can change my mind. It won’t be quite as expensive as it could have been because a lot of it will be going on Cyclescheme.

It’s going to be smaller bike than my current Allez, they reckon that bike is too large for me and is set up wrong anyway. Who do I believe? The shop who sold me my old bike or the shop who are selling me my new bike? Although to be fair the old girl is in 'cycle to work' mode whilst my new acquisition is in full on race mode.

I shall take the word of this chap, as he’s the one with the beautiful harem of Karmas and he’s got my credit card.

I head off to parents evening. This goes far too well, so well in fact that it’s practically surreal. Our Son is apparently now offering answers in class without the teacher having to get the thumb screws out of their box. What's going on? How things change.

Missing Words

I feel my knees need a rest and I have squash tonight, so I take the bus. It’s packed. Apparently the previous one didn’t turn up. Just for a change.

L’s internet is down and when she finally gets on line her first message is a desperate plea for chocolate. Ah, she must have spent most of the morning on the phone to AOL then.

Once on-line she spots that I made a bit of a mess of Saturday’s blog and tells me that the bit about getting laid needs amending. I don’t remember writing that! On further inspection I think I missed the word ‘back’ out.

Talking of missing words out. I almost ended up with a ticket for the Madina Lake gig that Daughter is going to tonight. Madina Lake are basically another American teen angst band who grew up listening to Green Day but this bunch, oddly, have named themselves after a reservoir. Well I emailed L saying they sounded ‘ok but I’m jealous’, then I realised I’d missed out the vital word ‘NOT’ and almost ended up going by default. Lucky escape, although I’m sure they’ll be very good.

We risk Wetherspoons again for our pub lunch, as we still have the beer vouchers and the food is cheap. Too cheap. Even though we upgrade and pay nearly £4 a meal, it’s still another poor meal and still we get child portions. Can’t see us going again.

I get off the bus and who should walk by but two girls carrying a tree. Happens all the time... It wasn’t a small one either, obviously not a huge oak or anything like that but this was no twig. They also didn’t look like much gardeners. Dressed as they were in short skirts and ankle boots. All very odd. No idea what they were branching out in to.

More Death Threats Than Salman Rushdie

It’s good to see that the chap on the folding bike has got his normal bike back but that means there's no keeping up with him today.

Another birthday in the family today. MD is one. He’s done well to make it to that milestone; the little one’s had more death threats than Salman Rushdie. L treated him to a handful of Doggo’s 'grown up' dog food this morning, now that's he's a 'big boy', not that he's really allowed it until he's 18 months old. Mind you, Doggo's not allowed the puppy food at all but try keeping him off it.

I scout around for a candle to put on MD's food but I can't find any, which is probably for the best, he’d probably have burnt his whiskers as he devoured the lighted candle.

I have my swimming stuff with me, so after work I head to the pool. Both L and I are now in training for Hathersage, which has one of those swim things in it. L of course will be looking forward to that but dreading the bit I love, the bike.

I overtake a runner on the way to the pool and was then was a bit surprised to see them stood behind me in the queue at the leisure centre but even more surprised to see them go in the gym and then opt for a long treadmill session. Why?

It’s my first experience of the new Tuesday lane session, it’s quieter than the Wednesday one. I might make this a regular night.

I get home and go on the park where the birthday boy is his usual ebullient self. He sees off a little highland terrier, flexing those newly acquired big boy muscles.

Sheer Unathletic Decadence

Hurrah, it’s my birthday today. I’m another year older. Booo.

There isn’t a new bike gift wrapped at the bottom of my bed, which is hardly a surprise. Thankfully, L also doesn’t deliver on her threat of an entry into Alp D'Huez Tri instead. I’d have needed a new bike anyway to get up that rather large hill they have there.

Instead she buys me something bright and yellow for my cycling, a new cycling top. I buy myself something bright and blue, new cycling shorts. Together they make me look like a harlequin but hopefully the Chelsea tractors will see me.

I linger too long in bed with L, well it is my birthday and then I’m then late for work because the traffic is horrendous. Why is this always the case when I drive? I should have come on the bike and my knees ache more now all that clutch and brake work, than they did after cycling up Middleton Top on Saturday.

I think the Duathlon must have inspired L a little, although she won’t admit it, because she has accepted my offer of a gift-wrapped Hathersage Triathlon entry for her birthday. I hope there’s a t-shirt otherwise she won’t be a happy bunny. She’s threatened to be straight down River Island with her credit card if they don't hand one out. I shall get the entries in today before she changes her mind.

Even though it’s my birthday I still have to go to dog training, where they threaten to give me the bumps but thankfully don’t. I'd hate someone to put their back out on my account. MD has a good session before the proper training starts, Doggo does even better when it does. We are also promoted to the top group for training. Which is good in one way, but not so good in another, in that we now have to train from 8.30-10.00 on a Monday night, which means getting home around 11.00.

Afterwards we drive to Derby and collect L, who’s been running and drinking there. She offers to buy me a birthday pint and of course, one of the rules of life is never to turn down a girl down if she’s offering to buy you a pint. So we pop into the Victoria.

I also stop for chips on way home, which isn’t much of a treat, just sheer unathletic decadence. A bit like the Belgian Porter nightcap.

So Unlike Me

I booked Doggo in for show today, thinking that the Duathlon wouldn’t take as much out of me as it has but I’d also planned to have a bit of a lie-in and turn up mid morning because it wasn’t a particularly serious event. I was just using it as practice for a run of more important ones coming up in the next few weeks. However earlier in the week I got a pleading text, asking if I’d manage a competition ring for them and I couldn’t really say no.

The show goes ok. I manage to stay awake and my ring runs smoothly. Competition wise, we get a third and a seventh but there are two runs where we mess it up. I put that down to not really being able to concentrate fully on my own events because I had a ring to run.

I’m home for 4pm and I crash out on the bed for a kip. So unlike me.

Not for long though. Later we watch the London Marathon highlights and I’m mightily impressed by Mara Yamauchi, who’s from Oxford and very British despite the name, which she married in to. She runs an excellent race and finishes second behind the defending champion, Germany’s Irina Mikitenko. In the process she knocked two minutes off her PB. Impressive indeed.

Undulating?

5.30am. Get up, strap the bike to the roof rack, scrape L and the dogs out of bed and head up to Carsington. Easy. Well easy-ish.

8.00am stand on the start line and panic. Even easier.

They start bloody early these Duathlon things. I am however by now wide awake, with terror. No not really, any race is only as hard or as easy as you make it and the pressure is off really. In a 10k I feel I have to improve my time, in this I have no idea what a good time is, although two and a half hours would be good but probably beyond me. Damn there I go again, setting another target.

I do actually take the run easy. I don’t stand anywhere near the front, where the red mist tends to linger, and once we start I run at a steady pace. A few kilometres in we pass L and the dogs who are doing a lap as well, walking and rabbit chasing. That’s the dogs doing the chasing not L, my girl has some strange hobbies but I don’t think that’s one of them.

At the briefing they described the run around the reservoir as undulating. Which sounded nice and after all reservoirs have to be flat or else all the water would fall out, so how hard can it be. Then the chap giving the briefing mentioned that whenever there was a fork in the path we were to take the one that went uphill because that’s the route they’d chosen. Hmmm. Needless to say it wasn’t flat, at all. In fact, it was bloody hilly and it also wasn’t 12k, more like 14k. It took me 57 minutes. My worst case scenario, the I’m so slow I’m almost a pedestrian scenario, was a pace of four and a half minutes per km which would only have taken 54 minutes.

I wasn’t the only one who thought it was more than 12k. I actually got chatting, yes you heard right, I was actually chatting to an opponent during a race, and they thought the same. Don't tell L but I quite enjoyed this chatting lark, not that I intend to be that laid back too often and I was comparing races with this very fit looking, hardened tri-athlete. Just as I was thinking that with his physique and chiselled looks he probably pulls all the girls and if I run into transition with him, I might look really good too, he tells me he’s just turned 60 and is in the Super Vets race. Then he jumps on a carbon monster, a Kuota for crikes sake and roars off into the distance. See you at the finish then mate.

The bike part is actually fantastic, even on my basic machine, and the advantage of not doing a ridiculously fast run is that I’m not surrounded by purpose built carbon time trail bikes as I often am, as they all reclaim the time I’ve taken out of them on the run and with interest.

Then suddenly we’re in Wirksworth and we know what’s coming next, the big climb up Middleton Top. The old legs must be in good shape because I storm up it passing a dozen or so other bikes on the way. It’s the third time I’ve climbed it, once for practice and once in the shorter race in October and it’s getting easier. So I must be getting fitter.

Then it’s time to remove the brain and descend down the other side. I expect everyone I’ve just passed to out-descend me but no one does. I even take the opportunity to stretch out my leg muscles, easing out the cramp that I’m getting. I notice that everyone else is doing the same, rather than going hell for leather. Which makes me feel a lot better.

The rest of the bike isn’t too bad at all, apart from one short sharp hill, after a downhill section, that I wasn’t expecting. By then I thought all the climbing was over. Then Super Vet comes past me, which is a surprise because last time I’d seen him, I was eating his dust. I hadn’t realised I’d got in front of him. ‘Pedal fell off’ he shouts as he flies past. Ha, you have to laugh.

Then I see the reservoir again which means that transition isn’t too far away, well around 5km away, into a head wind of course. I finally get there, dismount and try to run. Not easy. Instead I waddle along, following all the other ducks, around the final 4km run. Eventually I get my legs back and speed up to something approaching a run. I pass one person but get passed by two, therefore losing a place on the final run. Not happy about that.

I try and saunter across the finish, expecting to see Super Vet stood there with a girl on each arm but he’s already gone, and presumably took the girls with him. Oh well, at least he’s left some for the rest of us. I collect my t-shirt and drape myself over the nearest and most attractive one, which luckily turns out to be L, who seems willing to hold me up.

Two hours forty-two minutes is longer than I’d planned but it’s still comfortably mid-table. Aren’t you supposed to say ‘never again’ after a such race? Well, I’ll be back, as someone famous once said.

There’s no time for anything post race, no massage, no beer, no debrief, no anything really, as I have to make the match. Which is kind of worth it as Derby finally secure safety with a one-nil win over already relegated Charlton.

I make it back home in enough time for that delayed post-race massage before we head into town to get sloshed. L has a list of what she describes as contentious issues to discuss over a Leffe. All the best and worst decisions are made over a Leffe. Triathlons at Hathersage and Liverpool are on the list, as well as a twenty odd mile run in Devon, the Nottingham half marathon and oddly panniers. Panniers? I’m not sure I’ll ever be drunk enough to discuss panniers, do they even do them in carbon?

Our friends arrive, typically when I’m already half sloshed and then we head off to the curry house. The meal is pretty good and they have some Kenyan beer which is very nice and a bit different. It's slipped our mind to mention the curry to Daughter who's just down the road at Gen-X. She’ll probably be livid that we’ve not invited her but then she’s not invited us to Gen-X either, so fairs fair.

Catching Up With Charlie

This morning L swims and cycles, which is basically just rubbing it in, while I take the car and go shopping in Sainsbury’s. Such is life when you’re stuck in the world of tapering but then isn’t this how normal people spend their time.

After the Hellathon tomorrow, if they let me out of A&E, I intend having a few halves of shandy and a curry. We’ve booked a table at a new curry house. I did email some friends of ours last weekend inviting them because L reckoned they wouldn’t be able to resist a posh curry but we’d heard nothing back. Emails can be notoriously slow emerging from the area where he lives, they must have thinner phone lines or something. That is until today, when finally my friend, we'll call him last minute Charlie, manages to make contact asking if they can come too.

Luckily the restaurant isn't fully booked, well they reckon they can find two more chairs from somewhere. They might be in the draft from the door and they might have to have their plates on their knees but it was short notice.

Seriously though, it will be great to catch up on Charlie's news. I have no idea what he's been up since Christmas, where as he doesn't need to ask what I’ve been up to because he just reads this blog. I bet he doesn’t realise that I make it all up and really I sit at home all day.

On the drive home I finish Inspector Sejer. Not one of the best books I’ve ever ‘read’. I have however become a big fan of Sara, who sounds well fruity, and of course, of Coalbag his dog (well that’s what we thought he was called at first but it’s actually Kolberg) despite the fact he’s now had his ‘Marley moment’ and is not longer with us. RIP. Now I’m looking forward to getting back to John Grisham.

I get home and take the boys on the park for an hour. Then its home, where I cook up some energy giving pasta, attempt to be AF and sort my bike out. Then I just need to persuade someone to give me a pre-race massage. L says I can have a pre-race anything, so long as she can have a glass of wine in her hand. Sounds like a deal to me.

Dry Run

After a rest yesterday, back on the bike today. I wanted a nice gentle ride, just to keep my legs exercised, so I didn’t want any smart arses annoying me by trying to be clever on a folding bike or anything like that. Thankfully nobody tried to push their luck today. I shall take tomorrow off training, and then hopefully my legs will be for Saturday's fun.

Whilst I’ve been tapering L’s been running almost every day and tomorrow she says she might even get the bike out, mainly because her thighs now ache from all that running. They probably need a good stretch and leg stretches are my speciality. I gallantly offer to give her thighs some special attention tonight.

She also been thinking about my race preparation and has a new pre-race pudding in mind. So tonight we're having a dry run with it because you can't be too careful with race preparation, you shouldn't eat anything you're not used to, the night before a race. She promises that if it’s any good, we can have it again tomorrow and if it’s not we'll have bog standard crumble, just to be on the safe side. She's being very modest, there’s nothing bog standard about L’s legendary crumble.

In the evening we drag Son kicking and screaming to a presentation on going to University. He claims he already knows it all but if he did then he’d have told us all about it and he hasn’t. You know how teenagers love to tell you everything...

It’s not like I've not got better things to do as well, particularly as I'm expecting it to be rather dull and boring but if you don’t go, you don’t find out. So I’d given up both squash and dog training for this, so can’t see why Son should escape. We’d have looked at bit daft without him; everyone else had a Son or Daughter with them.

In the end it was actually rather good; L and I are both on the verge of signing up for a course. Even I learnt a few things and I’ve been researching University on the kids behalf ever since they were both in junior school, as well as having gone through it all myself. All we need to do now, or rather what Son needs to do, is discover a subject to study and where he wants to study it.

Front Loading

Rest day. Red Arrow.

I don’t have Inspector Seyer with me, which is a shame, I could have finished it this morning and it’s got to be better than reading the Metro.

It’s not in the Metro but someone else is discussing what they’ve just read in their paper. Apparently one of the leading champagne producers intends to phase out the traditional cork in its bottles and replace it with a ‘revolutionary’ new aluminium stopper. Well at least they're not going screw top but I hope it’s some kind of wired-on flip top because if it’s just an aluminium ‘cork’, it sounds a bit dangerous. I wouldn't want to get caught in the line of fire of one of those.

As well as front loading the training this week, I’m also front loading the alcohol. I’m out in Derby tonight with a couple of school friends. One of which is a mad keen Derby supporter, much much madder than me and he tries to persuade us to go to the reserve team cup final which is at Pride Park tonight. Derby play Sunderland. He says we might see a win for a change, which I doubt. The other friend says ‘how about another beer and then we’ll go for a pizza’. A much better idea.

Final score: Derby 1 Sunderland 3. So a good call!

The Unmistakable Tones

As I listen to the unmistakable tones of MD trying to savage the bin lorry, that had just upset him, I decide to continue with my ‘front loading’ policy. I need the car in Derby tonight, so I drive to my parents place, leave the car there and run the 5 miles into work. I take it steady and look at the view. L would have been proud of me. That is if she wasn’t too busy trying to outdo me by running to work as well.

As I run back in the opposite direction later, I get caught up by a colleague from work. Blimey I must have been going slowly. Although I suppose he was puffing a bit by the time he caught me. We run together for a while before he turns off to complete the loop back to work whilst I continue down the river.

I hate to say it but Nigel Clough seems to have lost the plot at Derby already. In fact I think he’s beginning to sound a bit like Billy Davies... and I really don’t understand his team selections. That said there’s not a lot he can do about the defence he inherited. We could have been three down inside seven minutes as Reading had the ball in the back of our net that many times but all three efforts were ruled out for offside. In the end we just lost by the mere two goals. I really can’t see us getting any more points this season which means we could go down but that relies on other teams winning all their remaining games which fortunately for Derby looks unlikely to happen.

Morning Mode

Daughter has stopped in Derby overnight so L has to do her paper round which means I get the pleasure of exercising the boys. Both the dogs automatically turn left out of the drive. Odd that, they usually turn right when I take them out as that’s the way to the park but they're obviously in 'morning mode' and that's the way L takes them in the mornings. They are such creatures of habit. I turn them around, which is a bit like turning a couple of super tankers and we head off in our usual direction, to the right. Perhaps I should have thrown in a ‘left’ or ‘right’ command as I do in their agility. The commands are a bit different for leaving the house though, ‘Plough’ for left, ‘Victoria’ for right. They know what they mean.

There are some shockingly evil photos of me on the BBC website, looking well knackered after yesterday’s race. I suppose it shows I put my all in to it. L says I should have jogged round looking at the shops, like she did me. Shops? What shops?

The old legs may be tired but I force them on to the bike all the same. With the Hellathon on Saturday I have decided to front load the training into the early part of this week and then take the end of it off.

The ride was going well until a chap on one of those folding bikes passed me. Talk about embarrassing. Thankfully he was a psycho I'm on nodding terms with; I don’t know where his usual bike was. He didn’t look embarrassed to be on it but then it’s hard to tell what he thinks as he always wears these really dark shades no matter what the weather. I wonder if he’s going to detour to Long Eaton or somewhere to get the train but he doesn’t, he cycles all the way to Derby as usual. I wonder if he’s perhaps he’s entered the Ashbourne Hellathon and that he’s developed some hellish training regime to strengthen his legs for it. I do manage to follow him quite easily as the small wheeled bike doesn’t go up hill very easily, although he seems to get some serious pace going on the flat. I have no wish to enter into a contest with him, not in my weary state, so I keep my distance.

By contrast the ride home is pretty uneventful. Then I take the boys out again, turning right out of the drive and both dogs guess correctly this time.

The Hokey Cokey

I’m in the pink this time, as opposed to being a bit blue last time. We’re talking start pen colours at the Derby 10k. This is the sub-40 start that I made sure I applied for this time, so that I get a good first 500 metres. There are only the ‘elite’ few in front of me.

Then we’re off and I can see my folks standing by the first roundabout waiting for the race to come by, in fact there’s an awful lot of people standing that side of the roundabout which is a shame because the race goes around the other side. Ooops.



I try not to go too mad at first despite the fact I find myself in the top thirty early on and I don’t resist too much when a lot of folks go past me. A top 100 finish would be great, it is a field of over 3000, but more important will be my time. Today is the day to get back under 40 minutes and hopefully record a new PB. The conditions are near perfect, a little chilly but the weather is fine. Last year it was wet and those sharp, almost hairpin, turns on the paved areas of the city centre got very slippery. Not such problems this year but I still don’t see any need for those tight turns in and out of the streets in the centre of Derby, a nice runner friendly loop would have been much better and still good for spectators of which there aren’t many anyway or perhaps I’m just too focussed to notice them.

Here’s a novelty, the sub-40 pacers go past me. Last year I left them for dust and still clocked over 40 minutes. Seems the organisers are taking no such risks this year and have employed pacers who are actually capable of doing the required time and by the look of them, they intend to be well inside it.

Someone has cunningly sent a group of drummers to the Market Square, presumably with the sole aim of trying to distract me from my goal. Well it isn’t going to work. I put my head down and ignore them, focusing instead on the backs of the sub-40 pacemakers who are trying to pull away from me. L tells me later that the drummers were there to entertain us and to spur us on. Apparently everybody further back in the field, where she was, gave them a clap. Hmmm.

Overall I enjoy the race but I do like an evil course and I think this one is particularly evil. Apart from the dizziness you get from doing the hokey cokey around the city centre, at the 5km point there’s a real hideous section. As you are nicely easing yourself downhill on Meadow Road they suddenly make you do a 180 degree turn onto a steep incline up and over the flyover. If that’s not horrific enough, a kilometre later they dangle Pride Park stadium, with its promise of the finishing line, a bottle of water and a nice t-shirt, in front of you prior to sending you out on a 3km loop before they finally let you return to the stadium.

There are rumours going around that they’ve changed the route but so far it seems to have been the same as last year. It appears that the only alteration was to remove the mysterious extra 200m that appeared last year and which also made all the km markers out of sync. The markers seem ok this year and with a kilometre to go I’m on pace for a 39.45. I try and push on to get that down to 39.40.

It’s not to be though. Perhaps there’s just too many turns as you twist around JJB Sports and then round the stadium. 39.52 though is a PB by 3 seconds and although I miss the top 100 by 2 places, I’m still pleased. I think.

Afterwards I drop L off at home before I go back out to take MD training. It would be nice to have had a rest but training opportunities for the little one are limited and the traditional warm down with L will have to wait. They’ll be time later before we head down the Plough for the other tradition, the well earned post-race refreshment.

We'll Just Have To Get A Bigger Bed

I drop L at the pool at 7.30 for her Swimathon. I would like to take the dogs for an early park session but the council won’t open the park for another hour and a half, despite the fact that it’s a glorious morning. I collect her a little later after she soon chalks off the 82 lengths need for her 2.5k swim. She seems very pleased with her self, almost high after her achievement. I would have joined her had the shortest distance available not been 1.5K. 48 lengths still sounds like a long way to me. L describes the distance as is nothing to a hardened athlete like you. Wizened would be better description.

We do a bit of shopping. Our local farm shop, followed by Evans Cycles for my birthday pressie. Then I drop L off at home whilst I go to go see a man in Hucknall about a new ‘toy’... they might have a two wheeled thing I’m interested in... The long lusted after Kuota Karma. He says he can get hold of it and they'll even do part of it on cyclescheme.

Back home I cut the lawns with one dog attached to the front wheels of the mower by its teeth, voluntarily I hasten to add. MD that is. Whilst Doggo tries to further impede progress by dumping his football in front of us. We stagger down the lawn in unstraight lines, kick ball, remove puppy from front wheels, mow, kick ball, remove puppy... etc etc. Bliss. Pretty knackering as well I tell you. Job done we all head inside to crash on the bed where L was quietly reading a book. Then I kick the dogs off so that I can have her to myself.

L asks me where I'll be storing my new toy. That's a silly question; it'll be sleeping with us of course. I'll have my arms round both it and L at the same time with the dogs on my feet as usual. If there's not room we'll just have to get a bigger bed.

In the evening, in the interests of a AF night with the Derby 10k tomorrow we take in ‘Låt den rätte komma in’ (Let the Right One In) at Broadway.

Two 12-year-olds meet one evening in the courtyard outside the apartment block where they live. He is Oskar, a sad and lonely little boy who is constantly bullied at school and has a scrapbook full of stories about murders that he’s cut from the newspaper. She is Eli, the new girl next door. She advises him on how to deal with the bullies and tells him that if standing up to them doesn’t work, she'll help him herself.



They are two misfits drawn to each other and you perhaps expect a typical ‘coming of age’ movie as Oskar's fascination with her, develops into a full blown crush but all is not what it seems with Eli. We are in Stockholm in the middle of winter but Eli is not wearing a coat or shoes even though there’s snow on the ground. She also smells real bad and all the windows to her flat have been covered with cardboard to block out the light. Her ‘Dad’ goes out at night stringing people up by their feet, slitting their throats and draining their blood into a bottle that he takes home for Eli. She may be 12 but she tells Oskar she’s been 12 for a very long time. Yep it’s the same old story, boy meet vampire and falls in love.

So it’s a horror movie but it isn’t. It’s like no other vampire movie that I’ve seen before. It is at times quite horrific but the film doesn’t rely upon cheap scenes of gore and unlike most horror movies, it has a plot. The main element of which is the close friendship between Oscar and Eli.

Her ‘Dad’ is not very good at the blood gathering lark and after one particular botched attempt, knowing that he is about to be found out, he pours acid on his face so that he can't be identified. When he is taken to the hospital, Eli climbs up to his room where she feasts on him before he falls to his death through the open window.

Her ‘gatherer’ gone, Eli goes to Oskar’s apartment and knocks on his window, asking to be let him. A vampire can only enter a home when they are invited in. It is good to see that throughout the film, the ‘vampire rules’ are upheld.



They spend that night together and Oskar asks her whether she'd like to go steady with him. Even though Eli tells him that she’s ‘not a girl’, he isn’t deterred, boys never are, so they go steady anyway. Oskar cuts his own palm to seal their new found status in blood but she falls to the floor and begins to drink up the blood. Oskar, smart boy that he is, suddenly sees her for what she is but still they go steady.

When Eli attacks a woman but the woman is rescued, all it does is condemn her to become a vampire too. She is viciously attacked by her friend’s cats and develops an aversion to light. She knows something is badly wrong and doesn't want to live. When her doctor open the blinds to her room she impressively combusts. A great moment.



Almost as good is the closing swimming pool scene where the elder brother of the bully, who Oskar finally fought back against, intends to dish out some retribution but he gets much more than he bargained for as Eli holds good her offer to come to Oskar’s aid. A loving gesture... perhaps, if such brutality be seen as an act of love.

At the end, as our two young ‘lovers’ elope together, we are left to ponder the future. Oskar may have escaped the bullies but what has he traded this for? Is he simply stepping into the shoes of her ‘Dad’? Is this how she works? Seduce a young boy to help her survive until he has grown old and outlived his usefulness, at which point she can replace him with a younger model... hmmm sounds familiar, but I digress. All the way thorough the film is played as a romance but the end is, when you think about it, simply chilling.

‘Let the Right One In’ is a great film that leaves you both repulsed and fascinated at the same time and asks, among other things, whether good and evil can coexist in the same person. It’s also the scariest thing since Daughter’s photo yesterday.

Hollywood, of course, has seen the money making potential here and will remake this film next year, without the subtitles. Presumably also with a lower certificate to make even more money and presumably with a lot of the darkness and especially the sexual undertones removed, so as not to offend anyone. Of course they’ll also have to add a happy ending and I for one, hate happy endings. Avoid like the plague, see this instead.

The Exiles

Rest day. I take the bus into work.

All day emails fly between L and I as we debate what to do this evening, as we are being exiled from our own home because Son has organised a get together with his mates. It was supposed to be whilst we were away last weekend but his organisational skills have never been the best.

We would usually have simply hid in the pub all evening but L's on an AF night because she has her swimathon tomorrow, so it’s not that easy. Daughter is exiled too. Thankfully she’s managed to coerce a friend into ogling Zac Efron with her. Thankfully because finding somewhere to go for four hours that will take Daughter and the dogs wouldn’t have been easy and the collies probably don’t much care for Zachary anyway. I shall call him Zachary, it makes him sound so much less 'cool'. L’s already been to see him, so the worry was that I might have had to accompany Daughter.

Daughter also gets herself a new sassy hairdo, either because we have guests tonight or simply for her usual weekend flirtations at Rock City. She sends a photo of the new look to L on her ‘heap of junk’ as she affectionately calls it, that’s her T-Mobile G-thing, it's called a G1 or a G-string, something like that. It’s quite an expensive ‘heap of junk’ actually. Regrettably I’m not allowed to blog the photo. It’s worth seeing, not for the hairdo, which is fine but for the scary look on Daughter’s face. It’s as if she wasn’t expecting someone (herself) to take a photo of her.

In the end we took the dogs on the usual long walk to Beeston with the plan of having a brief half in the Victoria before strolling back. We leave the house in the 'safe' hands of six teenage boys and a few bottles and cans, although it appears that a further 100 or so cans of Strongbow seem to have materialised. Could get interesting. Did you know Strongbow is 5.3% in cans but it's only 4.5% in pubs. No wonder we have a 'take out' drinking problem.

L didn’t like her brief half of 5% Magpie Porter, luckily for her swimathon I suppose, so she tipped it in to my brief pint which was nice because it made it not so brief. She was very good after that and stuck to Coke but I had a few more brief ones before we strolled back.

By the time we rolled in back home, the party of the century was over and they had all departed. So we only have Daughter's word for the debauchery she found when she got home and Daughter is occasionally prone to over embellish things. I'm sure a lot of xbox style shooting went on and obviously a fair bit of drinking, although we now have more Strongbox in the house than what we purchased in the first place. It could be around for years, unless Son can drink his way through it and he’s not usually a big drinker.

We did have to scrape the donner kebab and chips out of the recycling bin, much to the dogs delight. Recycled donner isn’t a service the council provides yet but I’m sure they’d be a market for it, from some of the dubious take-away premises around here, if they did.

Too Many Bottles Of Moisturiser

As I cycle to work this morning another cyclist pulls level with me and strikes up a conversation. My initial thoughts are of embarrassment when I notice that he’s caught me up on a MTB. Then after we've exchanged a few pleasantries, I recognise him. I’m sure he used to have a racer. The poor chap, it must be in for a service and he’s had to borrow his wife’s MTB. No, he corrects me; he’s just bought it, so that he can use the path down by the river as a short cut. Which is all fair enough but it still doesn't explain how come he caught me up on it. A few minutes later the heavens open and I make my apologies to stop in a bus shelter to get my wet weather gear on.

I get to work to find out, to my surprise, that L has also been on two wheels today. She didn't pick a good day for it and she didn’t have wet weather gear with her either. So she had that horrible experience of having to put wet stuff back on again after she’d been to the gym. She’s obviously carrying around too many bottles of moisturiser and the like and not enough kit.

Apparently a parish council in Essex wants potholes left unfilled to act as a natural traffic calming measure. Oooh can you imagine the court cases but I think they're bluffing and it's worked because the county council has now promised to fill all their holes in asap.

After work I head across to my parents place by bike, where L meets me with the dogs, so that I can take MD for a new training session that’s started up on a Thursday. At the same time, she takes Doggo for a run along the canal. Only I hadn’t checked my home emails today and our session had been cancelled. Well at least L and Doggo got a run out of it. I also got a long bike session because I then have to bike home.

Son’s In General

I take the boring and lazy way to work today, as I have to do a bit of jetting around, and drive in. I rush back from work for a meeting with a chap about a paltry investment I have, otherwise known as my pension, which prompts L to book a cinema trip with Daughter so that she can be out of the house whilst the odious beast is being fed (note: odious beast being her term for all things financial). Then I dash to the pool for a swim before coming home again to start work on reconstructing Son’s computer. I’ve finally managed to source a new motherboard for him. Daughter has been getting increasingly desperate because ever since his PC has been out of action he’s been downstairs monopolising the TV, which is her job. So she’ll be thrilled if I can get it working.

Talking of Son’s in general, today it is in the news that a third of grown men live with their parents. I suppose the parents should see it as a compliment, they must all be so contented but I don’t think this is a new thing. I would say that ratio wouldn’t have been far wrong when I was 20. I could name quite people I know who were still home at 30. L and I have a strategy to hopefully avoid this, move house. Then if either of the kids want to stay home they’ll have to come with us and our sort of location isn’t really going to be their sort of location.

I have to break off from the ‘surgery’ on his PC to take Doggo to class and then I return to finish it off. Reloading Windows and all its updates naturally takes ages, until about 1.30am actually but at least it’s sorted now.

Bruised Pineapple

Probably against my better judgement, after yesterdays saunter around the park, I take the bike into work. My legs are tired but better than I expected. Still I need to get some training in early this week as it’s the Derby 10k on Sunday and I’d like a few days off beforehand. L has an even busier week ahead. She has a swimathon on Saturday and then the 10k the next day. Not sure if you taper for a swimathon or not. Thankfully I’m not doing it, far too much water involved for me.

On the day that I get an email from British Sea Power, Eamon Hamilton’s former band, informing me that BSP will be playing Regents Park, where they allege Eamon buried 24 cans of Kestrel draught-flow in 2003 but can’t remember where. We happen to be in Derby to see Eamon and his band, Brakes.

Eamon is obviously a fan of The Voluntary Butler Scheme because again this one-man-band is supporting him. Rob doesn’t appear quite as shy as when we saw him last year and is quite chatty with the crowd but he’s still doesn’t look exactly comfortable up there. He’s probably trying too hard now and should just let his considerable talent do the talking. He tells us that he has actually been playing as part of a band but tonight it’s once again just him.

He must be doing better because he can now afford a chair, so that he can sit down as he tinkers away. Not that he can sell us any CD’s still; they’re out of stock, again. Finally though some of his stuff may be freely available, as he promises us he got an album finished and ready to come out.

If you’re not seen him, do so, what he does is really quite original. He’s a very skilful multi-instrumentalist. He uses a recording loop on what he calls his ‘no mates’ box to add his own backing tracks and backing vocals to his music. This would just be a gimmick if he wasn’t so damn good at it. He also plays a few simpler songs tonight, just him, his piano and some wonderfully whimsical lyrics. His half an hour is up far too soon.

Eamon must also be a fan of Camper Van Beethoven as the Brakes open up with ‘Shut Us Down’ a cover of one of their songs, not the first time he’s done a song of theirs. Then we’re into more familiar territory with the traditional opener (or always close to it) ‘Hi! How Are You?’. The recent single ‘Hey Hey’ follows and perhaps hints at a rockier, more frantic side to their third album ‘Touchdown’ which is due out next week. Generally though it’s business as usual, that is as in the usual eccentricity, insanity, fascinating lyrics and great tunes. The usual banter is there and we find out that Eamon is worryingly familiar with the Normanton area of Derby.



L remarks that they seem to now have more songs, rather than just segments of songs. Some Brakes tracks famously last only a matter of seconds but some of the new stuff makes it over two minutes. That said the ultra brief ‘Consumer Producer’ is played twice back to back because the first rendition wasn’t tight enough. The equally short ‘Comma Comma Comma Full Stop’, a real crowd pleaser, is also played twice although the consensus here was that the first version was better but they resist a third. The briefness of some of their songs enables them to play 29 songs in just over an hour.



The fact that they can only pull small crowds like tonight, at the lesser of the two rooms at the Royal is mystifying. They’re odd to pigeon hole because they cross so many musical genres, often within the same song but a finer and more talented guitar band you would not find. Not that they seem bothered by the small attendance. You get the impression that Eamon and the boys would play to an empty room and still enjoy themselves.

I have positioned myself at guitarist Thomas White’s right elbow in full view of the set list for reference purposes and to pinch later of course. It makes blogging so much easier. They’re not normally a band that bothers with such order in their lives and the temptation for Eamon to deviate from the list visibly grows as the night goes on. 'Stick to the set list' urges Tom, yes please, not too many diversions, I need to blog this.

There’s a mini crisis when they realise that the pineapple isn’t on stage and playing ‘Porcupine or Pineapple?’ without it is unthinkable. Someone fetches it from the dressing room and then after a short appearance on stage, it is thrown back at him which he fumbles. Bruised pineapple then for tomorrow night's gig.



Then after their quirky new single ‘Don't Take Me To Space (Man)’, they do deviate and swap one of their new songs for another new song, which isn’t named, so stuffing up my set listing. Cheers boys.

Then they seem to have more time that they thought so ‘Hold Me In The River’ is added, how could they have thought not to play it. ‘No Return’ is as good and as poignant as ever, except perhaps when Eamon does it solo and oddly some people behind us go all Quo on us during ‘Jackson’. There’s slight consternation when ‘Cheney’ is omitted but as they say, there’s no point, the man's gone.

Then that’s about it, a couple of newies to finish including something called ‘Huevos Rancheros’, which I believe is a Mexican breakfast of eggs!

The Brakes are still producing consistent good, solid music and remain one of the most under appreciated live acts in the country, which is fine. Somehow seeing them somewhere less intimate just wouldn't be right.

A Challenging Environment

I'm back now from something called Hare n Hounds which was a dog show in a muddy field near Barnard Castle. Actually it wasn't that muddy, it rained on Friday but Saturday was sunny and Sunday was a near heatwave. That's not quite as L and Daughter saw it but it was definitely t-shirt weather, for me at least. We camped in the same field that the show was being held in and the facilities can best be described as basic. When they arrived that is, the shower block was only delivered the day after we arrived and even then it took them all day to get it plumbed in. MD continually told them to get a move on but they didn’t take any notice of him. Who does? When they were finally operational we found we were next door to the generator for them, so they were very handy. The noise wasn’t really noticeable, what with all the dogs barking. Oddly everyone had a dog and at least one.

Daughter loved the whole weekend, she does love a challenging environment that she can flex her well honed opinions on and of course, we love listening to her views. It’s interesting to note though how her standards have risen over the years. We take full credit for this, having treated her to muddy campsite after muddy campsite across the length and breadth of the UK for the last fifteen years, or perhaps we've just scarred her for life.

I did three days of dogging to keep myself amused, whilst L kept Daughter entertained. They even went sightseeing and shopping in the cultural hot bed of Darlington, from where Daughter came back loaded with bags and L didn't but I imagine it was L’s plastic that was being flexed. As L would says ‘that’s what daughters are for’.

Doggo did very well, ten clears out of twelve runs over three days and only two bad incidents with the weave poles. No rosettes though, 8th was our best and that day the rosettes stopped at 7th. It's tough in our grade. Looking at the results, if we hadn't got our upgrading we'd have come home with quite a few rosettes and possibly a trophy or two as well. MD of course, reckons he could have done a lot better. By this time next year we should see if it's all talk from him or not.

When we got home Doggo refused to get out of the car. Perhaps he was enjoying himself that much he didn't want to come home, even L hasn't refused to get out of the car at the end of a holiday and she hates coming home from holidays. Hope he hasn’t given her ideas.

Then this morning, after four days of no training but plenty of eating and drinking we have a race and both of us do the Wollaton Park Easter 10k. I see it as preparation for the Hellathon and intend to run it at the slightly slower pace that I intend to use there.

That works out ok until that girl sort of thing happens. I can hear her panting in my ear and that ruins my intended pace by making me run quicker. This takes me past another chap and so she gets to pant in his ear for a bit. This naturally kicks him on and he goes back past me. I decide that this is stupid, so I let them both go on ahead and revert to my sensible pace. It is only a training run after all. My thoughts are on the theoretical 40k bike ride up some of Carsington's finest hills that is to come next. Then with half a lap to go she isn't that far ahead and I decide to have her after all. Thing is she wins the ladies race and I'm ahead of her, so not a bad result really. That said it wasn't a great time, 42 minutes to win the Ladies race but it’ll do ok for me.

I even enjoyed the race, a lot more than I thought I would. Running where you train can be dull but Wollaton Park is far from flat and that makes it a lot more interesting than a typical road race.

L runs three minutes quicker than she did last year despite last nights prep of spam curry with beer/wine. She didn't reckon that preparation worked for her but it went ok for me, I'm thinking of requesting the same before Derby next weekend.

I head over to Derby for the match. Derby put in a great showing and out play league leaders Wolves for most of the game. We’re 2-1 up with around fifteen minutes to play when the schoolboy defending kicks in. Our awful defence has the final say and they turn it around for a 3-2 win.

Back home, Doggo seems more cheerful and both the boys manage a park session, although they both look a tad tired. Not that MD’s got any excuse, it's not as if he's done any competing.

Out of Office Autoreply

Gone camping and dogging (no not that sort) in a muddy field somewhere in Durham.

Back after Easter.

Old Foes

My cycle in today was bloody hard work, in to a head wind all the way. Despite that, I raced two of my old foes up the ‘mountain pass’ between Risley and Borrowash. Then I managed to hang on the 'lead' the rest of the way to work. Smug but knackered now, it'll take more than a bowl of porridge to revive me. It was so Tour de France, not. Still no rain, it must be saving it for my weekend away.

It's mad at work. There's the Easter break coming up and I don't want to leave things half done but everything conspires against me - customers, colleagues, my computer and if anything, things are more unfinished at the end of the day than they were at the start of it.

I work off my frustration on the bike and then in the pool. Then I take both dogs training to work off their own frustrations, if dogs have such things or are they just sent to frustrate us.

Tomorrow we head north for Easter. We are camping, so I assume the rains will finally arrive, and also doing three days at a dog show, in between the usual eating and drinking of course. Back soon.

Help For The Flashback Averse

The weather forecast seems to be wrong, no rain yet and a good cycle into work. Although I believe it’s supposed to be foul later, for the ride home I assume.

Oddly the weather is still good by the time it comes to ride home. I've still got gear slip but not as bad as I thought after I spent a bit of time adjusting and kicking them last night.

Later we head off to Quad to use our complimentary tickets, gained when Revolutionary Road went pear shaped on us. We meet my parents there who are suddenly cinema buffs after last weeks excursion to Marley.

Daughter isn't with us; she's gone to a foam party at Halo. L is dead jealous. Hmmm. I assume not because she's missing out on Fugative playing live (ahem I bet) and a personal appearance by Cook from Skins. It's not making me jealous.

Our film choice tonight is the 'Damned United' which is supposedly about Brian Clough's infamous 44 days in charge at Leeds United in 1974 but actually turns out to be more about his time at Derby County. This certainly endears it to me. Perhaps they had to cut all the Leeds stuff out after all the lawsuits that have been mooted. The film is based on the book by David Peace, which is a mixture of the facts and his own ideas of what might have been going on behind the scenes.

I had quite a few reservations about going to see it. They said a lot of it was made up and they portrayed Clough in a bad light but I disagree. The Derby side of the story was mostly accurate and I thought Clough came out of it pretty favourably. There was only one scene of him drinking, they hardly portrayed him as a drunk, as apparently the book did.

Michael Sheen plays Clough, he who did Tony Blair in The Queen, so at first it's a little difficult to take him seriously but he is actually rather good as Cloughie, delivering all those famous Clough quotes.



Don Revie (well played by Colm Meaney) was once Clough's idol but the reason he grew to hate Revie was apparently because he did not shake his hand when Leeds came to Derby and beat them in the FA Cup Third Round in 1968.

The film flicks backwards and forwards between his brief time at Leeds and his much longer spell at Derby but there is a helpful graphic that rolls the years backwards and forwards so that flashback averse folk like me can keep up. The film uses a lot of archive footage, to which they cleverly superimposed the actors from the film over their real life equivalents.

The 1970's football scene is captured well and the stadiums recreated in all their dilapidated glory. Not sure Derby's Baseball Ground was ever quite that ramshackle but it was a good effort. Did 1970's dressing rooms really have ashtrays for each player? It was an age when many tackles were actually cases of GBH of which Leeds were (allegedly) the masters but they were also a very good side, as two championships show. Although it's hard to believe that when you look at the physical state of some of the actors chosen to play the Leeds players. Many of them seemed too old; Bremner and Clarke wouldn’t see 40 again. Others though were good likenesses.



If anything, it would have been nice to have had more of the Leeds side of the story. The players were described as Revie's surrogate sons but little was shown of the Don Revie era, so we don't really get a feel for that.



Yes, there were inaccuracies and also some stuff surprisingly left out. No mention was made of the fact that the teams met again in 1968 in the League Cup Semi-Final as Clough started to weave his magic at Derby. Although Leeds won both legs, Clough's revenge did actually came much quicker than in the film, as Derby beat Leeds 4-1 in their first home game against them after being promoted in 1969. The 2-1 win in the film never happened and the 5-0 drubbing that was highlighted actually came much later in the 1972-73 season after Derby were crowned champions.
In fact little is made of Derby pipping Leeds to the title that year, you'd have thought Clough would have crowed a bit about that particular victory.

Jim Broadbent is excellent as Sam Longson, Derby's chairman and Clough leaves Derby when 'Uncle' Sam takes seriously his resignation attempt. In truth Longson is glad to be shut of him. Clough's assistant Peter Taylor (Timothy Spall) persuades him to take over at lowly Brighton and the sequence of events was changed here too. I've no idea why. Clough and Taylor were actually in charge at Brighton for 32 games and not as the film implied, that Clough left before he even started work there. They could have included some of their time at Brighton and he also didn't go back after he left Leeds.



The film suggests that he took the Leeds job because he wanted to eclipse Revie's achievements there. Not that it works out that way at Leeds. He upset all the players from day one when he told them to throw all their medals in the bin because they hadn't won any of them fairly. He never got the dressing room back after that and was dismissed after seven games.

He got the last laugh in the end and did pretty well at Nottingham Forest, whilst Revie failed as England manager and was then charged with bringing the game into disrepute when he left to manage the UAE.

The film is less of a film, more of an interesting history lesson and despite the inaccuracies, it's a good one. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

A Victory Of Sorts

For once it's a pleasant drive to work, as it's the school holidays, the absence of all those people carriers makes such a difference.

No Hellathon training today but I do fit in a game of squash. I resolve to get more motivated this week and to serve a lot harder and deeper. My rejuvenated enthusiasm seems to catch my opponent out. I win the first game and then lose a close second that I really should have won. Normality seems to be restored when he wins the third but as he's leading the fourth, time is called by the next people due on court. Now invoking his own rules, used on those rare occasions when I've been leading at the end of play, that's a draw, as neither of us have won the required three games for victory. 'No result' he calls it instead. No matter what he sees it as, I see it as a victory of sorts.

After the match I'm practically AF, as I have a 3.6% mild, hardly counts as alcohol and I know L will be necking something on her running/eating/drinking night out in Derby. Then he tips his Belgian beer collection into the boot of my car. He's sold me over 30 bottles that he's not been drinking and all for a fiver because they're all well out of date. Not that that tends to matter with Belgian ale. Should keep us going for a bit.

Gunfire And Guitar Noise

The best way of avoiding the nagging dogs, who both want to go on the park, is to stay in bed. Oh the hardship. Not that it stops them nagging but it's more manageable because generally they're happy to curl with us. The reason I don't want to take them out is because MD has to go training at 1pm and it would be a waste of time if he was tired out, which is hard luck on Doggo who has no such plans. Then L offers to take him a run while I train MD, so that's him sorted.

We are dismissed early from training but this is because everything went so well. There's no point repeating things if he keeps getting everything right. So an A* for MD at class today.

Afterwards we meet up at my parent's place who give the dogs Sunday lunch, leftovers apparently. Though I doubt there would have been any leftovers had they not known the dogs were coming round. There's nothing 'left over' for L or I, obviously.

When we get back home, it's my time to run and I do 7km, which is good. I have managed to train through the weekend so now I can take Monday off with a clear conscience.

Daughter's out clubbing as is the norm on a Sunday but Son steps into the breach with his Xbox 360, which means gunfire and guitar noise (not at the same time) reverberate around the lounge. Yep Son's PC is still out of action. Which is my fault because I ordered the motherboard he needs from Amazon and Amazon hate me. It still hasn't arrived.

So we still don't get control of the TV so that we can watch a DVD or something. L doesn't look too bothered and takes Inspector Sejer to bed instead. At least I've discovered what Sejer's got that I haven't. It's big, furry and called a Leonberger. No, we're not having one, there certainly isn't room on the bed for one of them.

Slaying the Wolf

Firstly I have to say that we were actually rather good last night. We had pasta before we went out, gave the crisps and the scratching to the dogs (well most of them) and didn't have the cheese on toast. The beer though, which was called 'Wolf' and was 5.5%, I'm not apologising for.

We only quickly do the park because the dogs still look knackered from last night and then I slay last night's 'Wolf' by cycling to and from the match. Another 30 miles. The match is even worth it as Derby power in an equaliser in the third minute of injury time.

On the way back though my gears start playing up, which is not good with the Hellathon only three weeks away.

L's out at gym when I get home, slaying her own 'Wolf' obviously. I meet her afterwards at Johnsons, we feel the 'Wolf' needs company. Then we head up to the Ropewalk where perhaps we have too much wine. We haven't been in the Ropewalk for a while, well not really since they re-opened the excellent Hand And Heart a few doors down.

Here's a bit of trivia for you, the Ropewalk looks out onto what used to be (and still technically is) a crossroads, where they used to bury suicides at the end of the eighteenth century. It is now a modern mess of a junction. Crossroads were used for suicides because suicide was seen as a bad thing and according to legend when the spirit leaves the body it is filled with a desire to get back home. So they buried them at crossroads in the hope that the spirit would get lost and be unable to find its way back to its relatives. This is also apparently why people disguise themselves in black at funerals, so that the dead won't recognise them and follow them home.

None of this was going through my head as we finished the wine and managed to choose the right junction to stagger home.

A Bolt Out Of The Blue

It wasn't actually raining this morning but it was still a damp, foggy and misty cycle in. Plus I felt really tired, although I don’t know why. I had a day off yesterday and I didn’t even play squash. My shoulder seems to have recovered though, perhaps as L reckons, it was just sore because she spent the whole of the last half of Marley sobbing on it.

L and Daughter do the paper round in German. She has her GCSE German Oral exam today. Not that L knows any German, so whether it was correct or not, who knows but at least L's done her bit to help.

Here's a bolt out of the blue. Researchers reckon that those who grow up with sisters in their family are more likely to be happy and balanced. Try telling that one to Son.

The weather brightens up considerably from this morning and I take a long and pleasant detour on the way home.

L reckons that we've had an unhealthy food week and proposes that we eat something healthier than a fish finger sandwich tonight. Personally I think a long walk is what we both need. This will naturally end up at the pub; where we'll feast on a big bag of Tyrrells and some pork scratchings. All washed down with copious amounts of beer, with cheese on toast when we get home...

'Heaven' cries L. She sounds like my sort of girl. Are you free tonight?

Going Down Well In Barcelona

I drive into work listening to my latest audio book, an Inspector Sejer mystery. There's two mystery's to solve here, firstly the one in the book and secondly why L says she's developed a liking for Sejer himself. Suspiciously she's retiring early to bed with this fictional character. So I have to see it through now, if only to find out what he's got.

Odd happening number two as regards L. There was a hint of intention the other day when she mentioned buying a reflective cycling jacket. Of course, if she bought one, she’d have to get some use out of it. Well today, she got the bike out of the shed but she's not happy about it. Just relieved to be alive she says and yes, the Daily Mail is correct, it has made her hungry.

We go to Wetherspoon's for lunch, lured by the cheap food and the fact I've got some 50p off a pint vouchers. So we get two pints for £2.78. The cottage pie was ok, considering it was only £2.99 although it reminded me of school dinners and wasn’t very large. We might have to upgrade to the £3.99 menu next time.

I get back to the office where I have a banana and a yoghurt but I'm still hungry, so I have a cereal bar. Still hungry. It's a good job I'm not on the bike; I'd faint. The Daily Mail will be writing articles called 'eating at the pub makes you fat'. Though I’m sure they already have.

Worse news still is that there's no cheese or fish fingers at home. How can a man live without cheese and fish fingers? L promises to sneak a packet of fish fingers home. Great minds think alike and I stop off for a block of cheese.

Woody Allen has always been a taste that I've never quite acquired but tonight we go see 'Vicky Cristina Barcelona', his latest 'return to form'. Don't they say that every time? It's basically another of his films about relationships.

Vicky (Rebecca Hall) and Cristina (Scarlett Johansson) are spending the summer in Barcelona. Vicky is there to study and at the end of the summer she is committed to marrying Doug, probably the safest man in the Northern Hemisphere. Cristina meanwhile is committed to nothing and only knows what she doesn't want, rather than what she does. They are two girls with differing views on a lot of things but especially on the subject of love and relationships.

They meet a divorced painter called Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem) who propositions them. He invites them to spend a weekend with him in Oviedo, where they will sightsee, drink wine, and, he hopes, make love. Cristina being the adventurous type and intrigued by Juan Antonio, who is rumoured to have a violent marriage behind him, accepts at once. Vicky is the opposite, straight-laced, conventional, and cautious. She is appalled at the very idea and refuses but reluctantly comes along to keep Cristina company.



Juan Antonio is as good as his word. He takes them sightseeing, plies them with wine, and invites both girls to his room. Vicky still declines and although Cristina tries to play hard to get, she isn't very good at it. Then just when they are about to get it on (or off, if you prefer) Cristina develops an ulcer and is too ill for any passion.



So for the rest of the weekend Vicky has to take up the baton and go sightseeing with Juan Antonio but of course without the passion. Cue yet more wine and when Juan Antonio discovers that she has a weakness for the romantic sound of the Spanish guitar, you just know where it's going to end up. After a guitar concert in the park, Vicky succumbs to his charms. This is where the film lost me. It just seemed so out of character for staid old Vicky to give in so easily and after so little effort from Juan Antonio or perhaps all women that easily swayed, if you strum the right strings.



When they return to Barcelona, Vicky reverts to type and keeps quiet about queue jumping her friend, so Juan Antonio returns to plan A and the much easier to seduce Cristina. Glad of a second chance, Cristina wastes no time jumping into his bed and then moves into his house. Sorted. Until the ex-wife appears.

The ex-wife, Maria Elena (Penelope Cruz), has attempted suicide and Juan Antonio lets her move back in with him... and Cristina. Cristina seems to not be bothered about this.

Now things get a bit crazy, Maria Elena completely rewrites the situation by suggesting that Cristina was in fact the missing link in her marriage. Cue the three indulging in sexual tryst. Cristina confesses all to Vicky, who seems secretly jealous of her friend, stuck as she is with boring old Doug who she has now married after he came out to Barcelona.



All though is not well in the love triangle for Cristina and she moves out, cue another bust up between Juan Antonio and Maria Elena. Oh well thinks Juan Antonio back to Plan B and invites Vicky to his home for lunch. Just as she is about to allow herself to be ravished again in walks a gun toting Maria Elena. Vicky is shot in the hand and in the process finally gets over her Spanish lover boy.

So Vicky goes back to dull Doug and Cristina is still Cristina not knowing what she wants. They all end up back where they began.

Odd fare. A film with many unexpected but never very gripping plot twists. It was an implausible story about some pretty uninteresting characters and I think that was the problem. The acting was decent, though I can't work out whether Scarlett Johansson is a good actress playing a dumb blonde or a dumb blonde playing a dumb blonde.

We head home and debrief over a glass of two of the red stuff that had been going down so well in Barcelona.

Shell Shocked

I wake up still feeling shell-shocked after the emotional kicking dished out by Marley last night. It could take me weeks to recover but I manage to cycle in and again the weather was good.

There's a rumour going around that Alan Shearer is going to take over at Newcastle but everyone's refusing to be taken in by what is obviously an April Fool.

Business must be tough; my usual garage rings me up, touting for service and offering £30 off my MOT and service if I book it now. Thing is it’s not due until July.

After work I head to the pool but my swim is curtailed by my shoulder, which really aches. I assume it's just a by-product of cycling, I've done nothing else to aggravate it. To make things worse no ones chats me up. Well it happened to L this morning. She's been working on getting a 'Sharon Davies sort of figure', so perhaps its working. Although personally, no offence Sharon, I'd push her into the pool to get to L any day. Although L saw it as an interruption to her training and almost got overtook. I can relate to that. She sounds almost competitive.

Then dog training with Doggo. Who's really on his game tonight and then home to L who's drowning her hard day in a whiskey but I'm good. I'm AF.