On Holiday

I'm off away now for ten days or so. We're not sure where yet, we're just taking the tent and going but hopefully somewhere nice and as it's the UK, somewhere wet. Daughter wants to go flutter her eyelashes at some lad she knows who now lives in Devon, so I guess we'll be heading down the M5 then.

Garbage In, Garbage Out

Its fine this morning, so I cycle to work although still with wet feet as my cycling shoes still haven’t dried out from Thursday’s downpour.

At work we have a computer program that calculates the straight line distance between two points using their grid references, it then works out an appropriate charge for the haulage company that is undertaking the journey. It’s a pretty simple program and an old one, that’s been working happily for years. One customer though refuses to believe that the journey he has entered into the program is thirty miles, he says it should be nine miles. This demonstrates the ‘garbage in, garbage out’ theory. Having checked the data he is entering, it is pretty obvious to me that whereas his start point is on the Hampshire coast their finish point is about 18 miles off the coast of the Isle Of Wight in the middle of the Portsmouth-Le Harve ferry route, in the English Channel.

I’ve tried my best to convince the customer of this, even sending him links to various online mapping programs but to no avail. He’s right he says, I’m wrong and can I just ‘fix’ the program. Err, no. Suppose it’ll be my fault too if they drown a few truckers, who aren’t the brightest of sparks. ‘I was only following your instructions Guv, glug glug’, oh and watch out for those ferries.

There are black clouds overhead as I prepare to cycle home. Here we go again. I just know it's waiting for me to leave before it starts to rain. It also looks like tennis is going to be off again.

It actually stays fine until I get home, then it chucks it down. So no tennis but at least the dogs are thrilled because they get to go on the park.

In Trouble

Our delightful puppy rolls in something before we even leave for work this morning and has to be scrubbed. I was just about to do the scrubbing (honest) when L stepped in, so at least she’ll be the one smelling of Eau de Rolled Dog all day and not me. MD looks very apologetic but it’s just a smokescreen, I think he just likes the attention and it won’t stop him doing it again.

Daughter sets this week’s Sainsbury’s shopping challenge. Among other items, she wants me to pick her up some nude tights... L points out that ‘nude’ is the colour. Yes I knew that. What did she think I was going to come home with? Not that it’s something I usually buy, not really my colour.

Daughter also requests joghurts. I don’t know, all that money she spent on her smart phone and you don’t even get a spell checker. Unless of course somebody has invented a yoghurt that you run with.

Anyhow, I think I’m in trouble because I couldn’t even find where the tights were in Sainsbury’s. They probably put them with the bread or somewhere similar, the men’s socks are with the cleaning products but at least I got some of the other things she wanted.

When I get back to work my colleague is drip drying in our office. Ah, I did reassure him, as he headed out on foot, that the black clouds in the distance were not going to drop their contents for, oooh at least half an hour. Then ten minutes later I was trapped in the car in Sainsbury’s car park by the resulting deluge. Oops. Think I’m in trouble.

MD’s at the vets again tonight, for his booster this time. He clearly remembers last time, when he got chipped and tries to climb into my arms almost as soon as we arrive. He’s such a baby. Talking of which, I ask the vet whether, now that he’s fifteen months old, he’s stopped growing. The vet confirms what I suspected, that he has. So, once a squirt always a squirt, and it means that he’s destined to remain forever 'the puppy'. The vet also seems surprised that he’s still 'fully tackled up'. I’m a bit surprised myself to be honest, as perhaps is MD. I wonder about asking the vet if we could transplant them on to Doggo, to give him a bit more oomph but I think better of it.

Back home I do a bit of training with MD and then take the boys on the park, where MD legs it after a fox. I wonder what would happen if the fox decided to turn and confront MD, it could end in puppy, sorry I mean fully grown dog, tears but the fox doesn’t and scarpers. MD lies down in a puddle to cool off, so he won’t be popular at home.

Ha, now L’s the one in trouble and the Harry Potter book she has been reading has been confiscated. Long story but if you upset Daughter, you accept the consequences. Although I’m sure you can guess who originally paid for the book. I’d sulk if I was L; it’s what a teenager would do. Me, I’m keeping a low profile after failing to supply the thighs.

Feeling A Bit Outdone

Its 3am and L’s mobile rings. All four of us sit bolt upright in bed. Hearts beating like crazy. It’s Daughter. OMG, what’s happened? She’s just letting us know she’s staying out tonight... we already knew that... it’s good of her to confirm and I certainly don’t wish to knock a good habit but she did scare the life out of us all.

I arrive for the second day of our show and the judge whose course we tried to setup last night is moaning we got it wrong. Then when he’s adjusted it, the competitors start moaning the judge has got it wrong... thankfully I don’t have to run that particular course or manage that ring but I do have to run the next one he sets up... and that turns out to be worse. So bad in fact he has to change it twice or else at least half the competitors would have refused to have run it. I can see their point, it was potentially dangerous if you had a fast dog but I’m (secretly) a bit disappointed he gave in and changed it because I would have taken it steady (and safely) with Doggo and with most of those with faster dogs boycotting it, it would have been a hollow victory had we sneaked it but I’d have taken it.

On my ring, my judge has a bit of a reputation as a Rain God and true to form as soon as he starts judging it starts to rain. When he stops for lunch, the rain stops too and the sun briefly comes out but then he starts judging again after lunch, the rain comes back.

Back home, L reckons there might be two hangovers in our household and none of them belong to her, I think she’s feeling a bit outdone.

Doggo and I have a better day today with four clear rounds out of four, including the one set by the evil judge but no rosettes, except in the team event where we get fourth but... it should have been better than that because our first three dogs, including Doggo, all go clear. No team has got four dogs around yet, in fact the leading team has 15 faults, so all our final team member needs to do is get the dog round with less than that and we take the lead. Their dog goes over the wrong jump, which is an elimination and incurs 100 faults, then just for good measure it does it again. Thankfully 100 is the maximum you can score per dog. Amazingly it’s still good enough for fourth, even more amazingly is that the team with 15 faults ends up winning. It should have been us.

The Tour De France finishes in Paris where Mark Cavendish gets his wish and becomes the first Briton to win on the Champs Elysees, his sixth win of this tour. Despite that he lost the green points jersey to Thor Hushovd by 10 points but you can’t really argue about Hushovd winning it. Particularly after he climbed so well on Wednesday to get himself over the early mountains to win the two intermediate sprints. I think he was trying to make a point after the controversy of Cavendish’s disqualification last week. Point well made I think. Next year Cav.



Bradley Wiggins comes fourth overall equalling the best finish by a Briton in the race.

We’re out again tonight, another meal, this time at the Hand & Heart. It’s a bit much and expensive to have two meals in a week but it’s took us that long to set up a night out with these friends that the opportunity cannot be missed. The meal is good but it’s just basically posh pub food, there’s no shame in that, except that tonight I don’t have room for the cheese board.

Abandoned

I’ve a slight hangover after last night but I’m still on duty at the dog show by 7.45am. As my club is running the show it’s my job to manage one of the competition rings all day.

In between doing this, I also have to compete with Doggo. Perhaps I should blame my slight over indulgence for the reason I send Doggo towards the wrong obstacle on his first course. What his excuse is for messing up the second course I don’t know, he isn’t saying but I'm sure it was all his own doing. At least we eventually went clear in our third event.

Organisation wise the show goes well, that is until I finish the day setting up an evil looking course that will be first up for some poor souls in the morning. Working from the judge’s course plan (on paper), it just doesn’t look feasible and as the judge won’t actually be here until tomorrow, we just do the best we can and he’ll have to finish it himself in the morning. Thankfully I’m managing a different ring tomorrow. I escape and head for home.

Bradley shows some heroics on Mont Ventoux but eventually, only a couple of kilometres from the top, he got dropped by Lance Armstrong and some of the other top riders, so his thoughts of grabbing third turn to dust but he did enough to hang on to fourth place overall by a mere three seconds.

L cooks and we open the wine. Son is out all night at a 17th birthday party on Bestwood Park whilst Daughter is also out partying; she’s not coming home either. So we've been abandoned and it’s wonderful, blissfully quiet, even the dogs are calm, crashed out, fast asleep. Game on.

Quality Not Quantity

I drive in because I’ve got the afternoon off to help set-up my club’s dog agility show which is on over the weekend. L promises not to tell the dogs where I've gone without them. They wouldn’t be happy if they found out but they’ll be there with me for the rest of the weekend.

The morning is glorious but as soon as I arrive at the show it starts to rain. Someone’s annoying fifteen year old son has been left managing the front gate, checking passes as people arrive to camp for the weekend. I think he was despatched there, basically to get him out from under everybody’s feet but now he is radioing in that he wants to desert his post because he is getting soaked. Obviously being a teenager he only has a t-shirt on and hasn’t brought a coat or anything like that but nobody seems in a great rush to relieve him or even to send him out an umbrella, thinking that another ten minutes in the rain would do him good. In the end, I go out to relieve him, I can sit in the car if the rain is really bad and checking passes is a fairly easy way of spending the afternoon.

It would have been nice to have got down to Nottingham Beach this weekend, particularly in the evening, just to see what the drunks make of it, I imagine there’s going to be a lot of people vying to be first to have sex on the beach, but we’ve got a hectic schedule and we’re in Derby tonight. Its L’s Father's birthday and we take him for a posh meal out.

We last went there about a year or so ago and I think I mistakenly order exactly the same dish again. It was very good; excellent in fact, the mistake was it was also very small, unlike everyone else’s. Quality not quantity I tell myself but I have a habit of doing this and it's slightly annoying. The cheese and biscuits made up for it, particularly when the waitress overhears me slagging off Brie, I’m not keen on soft French cheeses, and replaced it with a Gorgonzola.

Win number five for Cav and it’s a real surprise because his win came on quite a mountainous stage which is not his sort of terrain. His team kept him near to the front of the peloton all the way up to the summit of the climb and once over the top, he did the business despite there still being an uphill finish to negotiate.

Oh, What It Is To Be Cool

It was a good cycle into work but that was mainly because, for once, it didn’t rain.

Naturally it gets me on the way home. I take temporary refuge in a bus shelter. The word ‘shelter’ is a bit misleading because I find that unless I squash myself up against the back wall of it I still get wet. When the rain eases I continue to my destination which is the swimming pool, of course I still get wet, especially my socks, because the roads now have rivers running down them. So I’m the only person wringing water out of their kit before I get in the pool.

I did think about going straight home to dry out and skipping the swim but L had started a rumour that some building work was going on at the leisure centre and I felt duty bound to check it out. Perhaps it was a new squash court that they were building; I know this is ridiculous as Nottingham is phasing out squash. L reckoned it was too small anyway but it could be foundations for some more bike lockers due to the huge demand... demand though has been killed since I complained that they were all permanently locked but empty as staff reserved them for their own bikes. Since then, it appears the staff daren’t use them at all.

Turns out the ‘work’ has been completed by the time I arrive. False alarm, they’ve simply concreted over a patch of waste ground. Oh well.

As I park my bike in one of the existing lockers a lad sidles up and casually jumps up onto the bike lockers and slides off again. He nonchalantly tries again and slides off again. I stifle a smile. He's too short to get on it. He looks around to see if anyone has seen him but he doesn’t look at me, as I pretend to fiddle with my bike lock, then he hitches up his baggy tracksuit bottoms that he almost lost on his last attempt and has another go. Jump up, slide, cue cursing. He tries again, jump up, slide, cue cursing etc. Hilarious. Eventually he has to admit defeat. He turns around and scrabbles up on his hands and knees. Oh, what it is to be cool.

Bradley was probably a little disappointed to only finish sixth in today’s time trial. It did look at one stage as if a top three placing may have been on the cards but, hindered by a headwind, he faded towards the end. There was also a good performance from David Millar who was fifth. Contador won of course.



It still moves Wiggins up to fourth, eleven seconds behind Lance Armstrong. It’ll be interesting to see if he attempts to get those eleven seconds back on the stage up the Mont Ventoux on Saturday.

Standing Room Only

It’s getting very busy on the Red Arrow this morning, in fact it's getting this way every time I use it. They need more buses.

Nottingham Beach opens today; I’m so looking forward to walking the dogs on it. I have a look at it on the council’s webcam. It’s chaos, standing room only and it’s raining too, just like on a real English beach.

The city of Glasgow wants to be given EU Protected Designation of Origin status for Chicken Tikka Masala, as they claim this ‘delightful’ blend of tomato soup and yoghurt was originally conceived in one of their curry houses. Oh dear, is that really something they want to own up to?

The mind boggles, traditional Glaswegian Chicken Tikka Masala, yummy.

After work I meet up with some old school friends, we’re on a cheap night because my mate has some vouchers for Antibos restaurant. They make us wait and serve the real customers first, that’s fine, we refuse to buy more than one drink.

On the trip back there’s a couple of girls coughing and sneezing on the bus, they’re also very drunk and still swigging from a bottle of Lambrusco. I cover my mouth; it could be the wine flu.

I get off the bus to be met by L and the dogs, well the dogs mainly because L is elbowed out of the way by the four legged ones. Eventually I battle my way past all the fur to be greeted by her too.

It’s a bad day for Bradley at Le Tour but it’s a sign of how well he’s doing that we see today’s seventh place as a bad day, he slips to seventh overall but will hope to pick up a few places again in tomorrow’s time trial.

The Next Plane To San Diego

L’s on a day off today and as I cycle in to work, she takes herself off on a nine-mile training run. We both get soaked of course but only one of us gets to slide into a hot bath afterwards. Now that summer is well and truly behind us, I must get myself some new overshoes.

San Diego has a problem with seals occupying a beach area that is reserved for children. They plan to move the seals on, as humanely as possible. Their method is to pay someone to walk along the beach with a public address system broadcasting the sound of barking dogs to scare off the seals. I’ve just emailed them, telling them I’m willing to put MD on the next plane, he’ll sort it out for them, he clears the local duck pond every morning.

Daughter is out at a ‘foam’ party tonight and I’m supposed to be playing tennis, so L’s planning a quiet night in with her book. Unfortunately I’ve got bad news for her. Tennis is cancelled, as much as I’d like to further test my squeegee powers, it’s simply too wet. As I cycle home, I discover that there's also a nice side wind, which would have added to the tennis experience should we have gone ahead.

The dogs have been lying low all day, pretending to be asleep, in case someone dared to suggest a walk in the rain. A walk that L, after her nine-miler, probably wasn’t capable of taking them on, but they don’t know that. They liven up a bit when I get home and after the rain has stopped.

Taking them on the park though was a bit of waste of time, as someone lost one of the balls, they have one each. I think it was MD but I can’t prove it, it could have been either of them. One ball doesn’t work because MD accedes to Doggo seniority, oddly one of the few times he does, and always lets him fetch the first ball I throw. That is when Doggo can be bothered, quite often I’ll throw it and MD ignores it because it’s Doggo’s and Doggo just shrugs a ‘can’t be ar**d’ look at me. It doesn’t end up being much fun for any of us.

So we walk around in circles but its well and truly lost, then just as we’re leaving the park we find a ball, it’s not ours but it’ll do as a replacement, problem is by now it's nearly dark.

They say women spend on average a one year of their lives getting ready to go out. That’s in total, not each time. As Daughter gets home covered in dried foam and with a wrecked hair style, you wonder why.

That Four Letter Word

L’s been to the gym this morning to loosen up and then she’s out running tonight. After yesterday I’m a bit stiff too, so perhaps I could have done with the gym myself but no, my strategy today is, and I'm not going to use that four letter word now, rest. There I’ve said it and it wasn’t too painful.

Meanwhile Daughter is in town handing out CVs, hopefully not just to anybody in the street but to likely employers. She’s stepping up the hunt for a job in a shop or something like that and good on her for that.

I head home via the dentist where I’m given a clean bill of health. The dentist says whatever you’re doing, it’s working, and so keep doing it. I don’t mention the 'one a day' but as the man says, it must be working.

After throwing something around in a pan for the kids tea, I head over to collect L from her run. We’re a bit early so I have to sit outside the pub they’re eating in with the boys and keeping a pint company. Oddly, for July, it’s a pleasant evening. Who was it who predicted a heatwave this summer? Hands up in the Met Office, was it you? Hmmm, been a tad wide of the mark so far haven’t you.

It's Not Flat You Know

Another early alarm call. 5am this time. We leave for Hathersage at 6am. L has an early start time, just after 8am. I start 48 minutes later, which is a challenge of sorts, to see if I can catch her. To be honest, it’s not going to be possible. Of course if I did overtake her it wouldn’t go down well and we’d end up sitting at opposite ends of the pub in the evening in our matching race t-shirts. The t-shirts are rather good with their slogan ‘It's not flat’ emblazoned across the back and they even have a ladies fit one for the girlies this year.

I reckon that the fact that I will be chasing her has possibly motivated L a bit and she seems intent on making sure I don’t beat her, even to the point of dropping her bike on my head as we attempt to lift it onto the roof rack. Hopefully I will be able to keep to my swim lane despite the blurred vision.

It’s raining as we drive up, not much but enough to make it interesting. The race organisers also seem to be doing as much as they can to help L and allocate me one of the few transition spots that are in a puddle. I end up using my towel not to dry my feet post-swim but to soak up the puddle.

Its L’s first time in this event and I’m pretty hopeful she’ll love 95% percent of it, if she doesn't I'm in trouble, as entry into this was a birthday present. The bit that might not go down well is steep downhill back into Hathersage, on the bike course, which is always busy with traffic. Plus she'll have to forgo the tea and biscuits with my Dad this year, which they usually have whilst watching me swim. Instead, as I leave my running shoes at the second transition point, L leaves a flask of coffee. Just a flask of coffee that is, no running shoes, she doesn’t use cycling shoes so will already have her running shoes on. Tactically it should be quick transition as long as she saves the coffee for afterwards.

I watch L start and she has easily the best swimming stroke of anyone in the pool at that time. There’s lots of breast stroke going on and even some backstroke, which is ridiculous, people need to watch where they’re going. L has no time at all for backstrokers, advocating that they should all be shot at dawn. One flailing backstroker has his arms and legs all over the place, so perhaps someone had already put a bullet in him.

Then when she’s finished her swim and gone off on her bike, I strip for my swim. At which point it starts drizzling again. It’s a tad cold standing there waiting for my start in the rain; the pool is of course an outdoor pool.

My swim is simply awful. I forget to breathe and given only thirty seconds notice of the start I don’t get my goggles set correctly and they start to leak. Once I remember to breathe and get a rhythm going I find I can’t breathe on alternative sides because this decants water from my leaking goggles into my eye. So I have to settle for breathing every second stroke on the same side and occasionally every four. It’s a shame because I don’t encounter too much pool traffic and no backstrokers, so it could have been a good time. There’s no lane counters this year, there usually is, and I’m hopeless at keeping count, so I hope I did the correct number of lengths.

My bike goes well and I go off as fast as I can, knowing that the first few kilometres is the only place to really make up any time and I pass quite a few people. Then it’s the long drag up the climb through Froggatt, it’s a long hill but with a steady gradient, which I possibly can’t do any quicker than I usually do, despite being on my new bike today. It does seem easier on my new wheels but not necessarily faster. There's no sign of L sobbing at the side of the road with a puncture, so far so good. She’d made it clear that she expected me to stop and help her if she got a puncture, apparently just throwing her my spare inner tube and my pump wouldn’t count as helping.

Then it’s the interesting bit, the descent from what they call ‘Surprise View’, all the way down into Hathersage, which I could do faster but I’m a coward so I don’t. It’s also wet and bit windy especially on the exposed corner around Millstone Edge, where a sudden gust almost has me off. I brake forgetting that I’m on my new bike which has fiercer brakes than the one I commute on and that almost has me over the handlebars. The chap on my wheel behind me is probably having kittens at the antics of the crazy cyclist in front of him.

Then I’m rather frustratingly held up coming into Hathersage itself by Sunday drivers all doing around 15mph. Another cyclist opts to go past me and then around the outside of the cars. I’m not risking that, Mr Flat Cap behind the wheel of the Skoda in front of me looks liable to turn right at any moment, without notice or indication. The Skoda driver looks terrified when he realises he’s surrounded by bikes and slows down further. Not helpful. At least I don’t get lost in the centre of Hathersage this year.

So to the run and still no sign of L. I look for her coming back off the run but don’t see her, she’s out there somewhere. I past one chap with number three on his back, which means he was in the first start at 7.30, 90 minutes before me. Slow but to be fair he doesn’t look at all athletic and deserves credit for simply being here, it isn’t an easy event, it's not flat you know. I start the ascent of one those cheeky ‘little’ hills they have around here.

I finish and L is already there. Phew. She’s also not happy because apparently she got lost on the run and wasted around ten minutes and was worried that would enable me to catch her.

My swim and bike were actually both a little quicker than last year, although my run was quite a bit slower. This year the run was a bit longer, they took us a longer route out of transition and then made us do a loop around the field to finish, so perhaps that's understandable. My total time ended up a little down on last years, as it was the year before. It must be the ever increasing numeral disadvantage that is my age.

L survived the race with her dodgy pedals; her toe straps are broken, but then she fell off pedalling back to the car. What is she like? She should have got herself some cleats. Now she has bloody knees. It’s a kin to surviving a skiing holiday and then falling down the steps off the plane.

We head home to the dogs and I forsake a hot bath with L for the benefit of catching up with Mr Wiggins and co, today’s live coverage of the first alpine stage.

My race preparation of a night off the alcohol is put into the shade by Bradley Wiggins who hasn’t had a beer since January, now that is dedication, although he does admit to the odd glass of wine and it does appear he intends to come off the wagon once the Tour is over.

His approach certainly seems to be working. A stunning display of climbing by him meant he secured fifth on the stage up to Verbier, which moved him up to third overall behind the stage winner and hot favourite Alberto Contador.

Wiggins is now only nine seconds behind Lance Armstrong who looked to be struggling a bit and who Wiggins dropped in the final kilometres. Mind you, second place isn't too bad for an oldie.

Robert Millar achieved Britain’s best ever Tour de France finish in 1984, with a 4th but Wiggins could well beat that the way he is riding. Armstrong is there to be beaten, although Wiggins is likely to come under pressure from Andy Schleck who is currently 5th but Wiggins should thrash him in Thursday’s time trial... 2nd place anyone?

With today’s event being L’s birthday present, it’s technically still ‘her birthday’ so we walk the dogs to the Victoria to celebrate our joint survival, where Fullers ESB in on draught, need I say more.

We wander home to the accompaniment of ‘Baggy Trousers’, ‘House Of Fun’ etc etc. Madness are headlining the music festival they call ‘Splendour’ on Wollaton Park. I was nearly tempted by Ash being there, but there wasn’t much else of interest.

Bad Day At The Office

Early start, another dog show. It doesn’t go well, we have two early runs and by this rate, we could be home for lunch. Doggo didn’t even see the weaves on his first course, they were offset to one side but even so, he just wasn’t looking for them.

Then he misses the last weave pole on our second course. L suggests swapping him for MD for our third and final run. She reckons I’ve ‘got nothing to lose’. Well yeah, only my sanity.

Perhaps this threat spurs Doggo on because we are clear at last but only 18th, it wasn’t his sort of course, so we head home.

It’s also a bad day at the office for Mark Cavendish who is penalised for dangerous sprinting. He was stripped of the points he won on the stage after he was adjudged to have been attempting to introduce his rival Thor Hushovd to the barriers. At first it appeared to me that Cavendish’s whole team seemed to be trying to stitch up Hushovd but when you see it again, from above, it didn’t look too bad. A bit harsh really and it leaves Hushovd with an almost unassailable 18 point lead in the points competition.



It’s almost two years to the day since I saw the last Harry Potter film. After that film I blogged that I didn’t feel qualified to review a Harry Potter. I hadn't read any of the books then, and I still haven’t, so I have found the films all a bit confusing. After a hard day out at a dog show and only a pint of mango juice in my hand to keep me going (triathlon tomorrow), I could easily get lost in this one too.

This film though turned out to be more engaging to me than most of the Potter films have been and miles better than the last film. Book purists, and yes I’m usually one of them, will I’m sure argue that too many sub-plots and characters were left out and that even the odd scene appeared that shouldn’t have been there but, this version, stripped down it may have been, suited me better. It left you needing to know less about what had come before or even after in the series.

Most of the baffling bits came early but even I could follow the Millennium Bridge being destroyed by the Death Eaters, so it's no wonder Harry is reluctant to return to Hogwarts, where security has been tightened to keep those Death Eaters out for his sixth year and it’s not just because he’s chosen the wrong ‘A’ level subjects. That old geezer Dumbledor persuades him to go back and Harry doesn’t seem too bothered that he has to stand up the girl he’d just chatted up at the tube station. Why Harry, why? Oh yes, of course, there’s always Ginny Weasley.

The baffling bits give way to a more human story. Ron gets to become Gryffindor's number one, as in their Quidditch goalie, thanks to Harry boosting his confidence by pretending to give him a luck potion. Good job he didn’t, statutory two year ban for drug cheats these days.



Ron's success pulls the babes; well it pulls Lavender Brown. Hermione is thrilled for them, not. Meanwhile Harry continues to have the hots for Ginny. Which is hardly surprising when she meets him in her dressing gown and then when she got down on her knees in front of him we all held our breath in the cinema... and then she tied his shoelaces.



There’s perhaps too much of the plot concerned with the vagaries of young love, Oh please someone bang all their heads together, but it lightened the darkness of the rest of it. The dark parts of the film certainly were dark and moody, also just like a teenager.

I even follow the clever bit about the tampered memory of Horace Slughorn, (see I have been listening) although isn’t that something we all do, all the time. Jim Broadbent as Slughorn the potions teacher would probably have stolen the show, had it not been for the ever excellent Alan Rickman as Snape. Harry uses the tried and tested routine of getting Slughorn drunk, with the help of Hagrid to jog his memory and fill in the blankety blanks.



Of course it all lost me a bit again at the end with all this talk of Horcruxes but L and Wikipedia put me straight later.

So not a bad film although I notice with each one they use more and more CGI in the sets whereas I’m sure the earlier films were basically set in real castles. They’ll probably CGI the cast next, so they can keep making films beyond the last book. A CGI Helena Bonham Carter could possibly be even scarier than the real thing, and she’s pretty scary already as the mightily strange Bellatrix Lestrange.

The lack of an ending makes it obvious there’s more to come... but of course you knew that already.

Guilty Pleasures

Not much to report today. Not even much in the paper that I read on the bus on the way in. There is a story about the Culloden Battlefield, which is complaining of families using the grave mounds as picnic sites. A father of one family clan was seen leaning against a headstone eating a scotch egg and smoking a cigarette. I know, I know, scotch eggs are disgusting and a guilty pleasure but they’re also a weakness of mine too.

L complains of another guilty pleasure and last night setting a new world record for the most number of fish fingers in one sandwich, after we got back from the pub. I didn’t notice; I was too busy eating up the leftovers from the curries we had on Wednesday but ‘one sandwich’ seems almost saintly to me and think of the good it did for her omega whatsit levels.

I’ve come on the bus today as I have a works night out which doesn’t start until 7.30 but it’s a waste of time and effort to go home and come back, so I do a bit of post-work shopping and then settle down in the Brunswick with a magazine and a pint of Railway Porter to kill the time.

Our works meal is at a new curry restaurant called the Viceroy, it’s their second branch in Derby but I haven’t been to the other one. It was ok, nothing wrong with it but there was nothing special about it either. There are that many ‘posh’ curry houses these days it takes something special to stand out and this one didn’t manage that feat. Still a good night though.

Ever The Sceptic

After a good night’s sleep my phone seems to be working again, fingers crossed. Although L, ever the sceptic, reckons I’m just looking for an excuse to buy a fancy smart phone like Daughter’s. It would be nice but I'm not as rich as Daughter.

As I cycle along this morning, I feel something tugging at my foot, gradually gripping it tighter and tighter, squeezing it. I finally look down and stop pedalling as I realise that I’ve managed to trap a strand from my sock in my cleats and the action of pedalling has unravelled it and wrapped it around my foot. Time for some new socks I think.

I spend all morning in a meeting, which was as dull as expected. I nodded off a few times until eventually someone served me a second cup of coffee which enabled me to see it through.

L’s having a bad day and offers two options for this evening. Either I take her to the pub, or she brings home the stickiest pudding she can find and downs it with a few glasses of wine.

I think the pub might be the safest option. So I take the boys on the park for a quick session and then we head up to meet L at Middleton’s. She's running there, having left her bike at work, which I hope isn’t a tactic to try and get her out of Hathersage on Sunday. Hmmm, no bike, no triathlon.

As we are leaving the park it starts raining, not heavily, not cats and dogs, more a case of small mice and a few gerbils. We pass a group of teenagers sheltering under a tree; one of the girls is trying to talk one of the lads out of his shirt, because she is getting cold and wet. He chivalrously, naturally hoping such an act of kindness will be reciprocated in ways to his benefit, takes it off and hands it to her. She put it over her shoulders, leaving him standing bare-chested in the rain, naive fool.

As we walk along to Middleton’s, the cats and dogs duly arrive and we are glad to get under shelter in their porch with a pint of Cumberland. It’s actually quite a romantic setting if only I had female company, then a few minutes later I see L swimming down the street towards us. My company is on its way.

We had only intended to stay for one or two but we have to buy more beer in the hope that the weather will fine up. It doesn’t and we gradually get more and more oiled. We don’t even mind that much when we get chatted up by a former professional tennis player (allegedly) who claims to have a 150mph serve and penchant for threesomes. He seems disappointed when we don’t appear keen for him to demonstrate either but we let him buy the dogs a bag of mini cheddars just to show there’s no ill feeling.

Not Pretty But Effective

It’s drizzling as I cycle in, which isn’t too bad, until I get within ten minutes of work at which point the weather moves out of tease mode into full blown downpour mode. L says she got soaked too, as she cycled to the gym and now she smells like a damp collie. Me too.

A nineteen-year-old British backpacker has been found after twelve days missing in the Australia outback. His father kind of apologies for causing such a big and expensive search when he describes his son as the ‘the only teenager in the world who goes on a 10-mile hike and leaves his mobile phone behind.’ Well he may have been right up until the 'and' but he's definitely wrong about the second part, I assume he only has the one child.

Talking of mobiles, mine has packed up, although I'm not sure if it’s the phone or the battery. I’m not happy because it’s only twenty-ish years old, so it’s a bit soon to get a new one.

L reckons I must have got it wet when I was playing water tennis last night because I didn’t follow the tried and trusted method of wrapping it in one of the dog’s poo bags. Not pretty but effective.

Deciding what new one to get would be traumatic. What may be even more traumatic is if I end up having to ask Daughter if I can borrow her old one, which is pink and has puppy teeth marks on it. L makes me promise, that should I borrow it, that I won't use it when I’m with her. I also hate to think what the ring tone is, but whatever it is I’m sure I’ll be changing it.

After going for a swim, which is my final swim session before this year's one and only triathlon on Sunday, I head off with the boys for our last Wednesday night training before the summer break. That's agility training for Doggo, barking training for MD.

Suddenly there’s a ‘beep’ from my pocket where my mobile phone is, as it springs back to life for a few minutes before dying again.

How many can the boy land? Well, at least four. Cav wins again.

Forecast's Looking Grim Again

Daughter keeps emailing me to see if her camera has been delivered yet. Of course it hasn’t, it was only despatched yesterday and it’s coming via Royal Mail. Need I say more? Oh, hang on a sec, a parcel has just arrived. I’ll open it later, it could be anything. I do like winding Daughter up.

Under pressure I open it. 'How does it look?' she asks. Durr, like a camera. It’s a shame I haven’t cycled, because then I wouldn't have been able to carry it home then. As I said I do like winding Daughter up.

As does MD, we thought he’d given up the rolling himself in dung malarkey but he seems to have got back in the swing of it recently. So it’s yet another shampoo or blow dry for him. Unfortunately we’ve run out of dog shampoo, so Daughter washes him in Head & Shoulders which smells much better than his usual stuff and brings his coat up a treat.

My friend emails to inform me ‘the forecast is looking grim again’. I assume he’s referring to the weather prospects for tennis tonight and not Leeds’ prospects for next season. Though, it’s fine and dry here at the moment, fairly sunny but there are a few black clouds looming.

Half an hour later just the looming is left... then after I get home the looming turns to rain. The shower is heavy but brief, so we decide to give the tennis a go. The court we are allocated is underwater so we hunt around for one that is above the flood plain. Some folks are just climbing out of the shallow end of one that doesn’t look too bad, so we take that one instead. After a bit of work with the provided mopping up tools we are ready to roll until two guys turn up who have booked this particular court. They are impressed to find such a dry one. Yes, because we’ve just spent ten minutes mopping it. Naturally we have no intention of giving it up and we stage a sit in, and they reluctantly move on to do some mopping of their own, elsewhere. Then just as we start playing, the heavens open again which renders all court preparation redundant.

Bravely, we play through the storm and I quite enjoy it, the weather is a great leveller and most games go with serve. Probably because a damp ball doesn’t bounce too well. My particular favourite game is one on my opponents serve when I keep dragging the game back to deuce and even occasionally go advantage up. I lose it in the end but only after six deuces but it’s enjoyable more for the look of continuous frustration on his face rather than the final outcome. At 3-6 3-4 down, although going with serve in that second set, we’re out of time and someone else wants our court. We no longer feel we have the moral high ground to hang on to our still impressively dry court so we let them have it. Normally we would have finished off on another court but the prospect of having to mop another one dry and then possibly have someone chuck us off because they’ve booked it, would be too soul destroying, so we retire to the pub.

I know our council is tight with its money, except when it comes to fake beaches in the Market Square of course, but you would think that an investment in some motorised device to dry the courts would be a good idea bearing in mind the British weather and how much business it must lose them.

After a swift one, I head home for some food. In honour of meat-free Mondays, I have christened today and all Tuesdays, must-have-meat Tuesday.

Meanwhile in France, it’s win number three for Cav. With the route back on the flat all this week, just how many wins can the boy land?

Is It All Over For Apples?

I cycled in bathed in glorious sunshine, so good I had to get the shades out. An hour later the British summer is back in its box and it’s raining again. Although on this occasion it’s partly Son’s fault, as he’s been away camping for the last two nights at two semi-secret locations in Nottingham, even he doesn’t seem totally sure where he was.

Talking of teenagers, incredibly the NHS in Sheffield has brought out a new leaflet advising youngsters ‘that an orgasm a day keeps the doctor away’. Now I may be getting on a bit but when I was a lad it was an apple. Which isn’t the same thing at all and I’ve no idea whether it worked or not because I’ve never been that fond of apples. Perhaps apples are no longer relevant because people are achieving their five portions of fruit and veg a day. So is it all over for apples?

At least it will do wonders for the Government’s teenage pregnancy targets. Not.

Typically the next downpour comes just as I’m leaving work. I hang on a bit and it does stop, but still I have to splash home through the puddles, which of course equals wet feet.

L’s running with MD tonight whilst I take Doggo training, so there’s bound to be at least one more rain shower to come.

Then after training its home for meat-free Monday, which aids the five portions of fruit and veg, and hopefully a spot of doctor evasion.

Crystal Clear

After an extended lie in, I resist the temptation of the 10k out Newark way, it doesn’t really take much resisting and I had assumed I’d be too hung over from last night’s Beer Festival anyway but due to the fact that we spent most of the night hunting down beer rather than drinking it the old head is crystal clear.

When we finally get up I train MD in the garden. His weaves are really coming on great. I’m sure his jumping would be too if I could train him properly on the course I’ve set up. Problem is someone has sabotaged it by digging great holes all over it... MD himself. Does he really want to learn I ask myself? And then there’s Doggo repeatedly getting in our way and throwing his ball under my feet. What with him, his ball and all the holes, it’s a wonder I haven’t broken an ankle.

In the end I have to put Doggo inside the house which means he looks crestfallen and his bottom lip is dragging on the floor, so then I have to make it up to him.

Both dogs are now creased and I have to postpone our park session for half an hour so, so that they can recover. Then it’s a rush because I want to get back for the live Tour coverage at 2pm.

It’s been a relatively quite week in Le Tour, the organisers have scheduled a relatively easy three days in the Pyrenees and apart from a brief attack by Spaniard Alberto Contador, the race favourite, basically just to wind up his team mate and seven times winner Lance Armstrong but boy did it work.

Armstrong admitted later that there was ‘tension’ between the duo but Contador disagreed, judging from the interview Armstrong gave the tension is clearly in Armstrong’s jaw as he tries to say much by saying little. Wonderful to watch. Armstrong’s displeased face has been the highlight of the race so far.

Consequently I’ve been a bit worried about Contador’s safety, Armstrong doesn’t like anyone getting the better of him and I was glued to the TV coverage today because I thoroughly expected to see Contador disappearing head over heels off the edge of the Col du Tourmalet during the descent with a smiling Armstrong giving him a cheery wave as he bounced all the way down to the valley floor. Sensibly Contador appeared to opt to keep a team mate between him and Armstrong all day long. Very wise. This one's going to run and run. Meanwhile little known Italian Rinaldo Nocentini keeps the yellow jersey warm.

On the British front, even more impressive than two stage winner Mark Cavendish has been the admirable Bradley Wiggins who has stayed with the race favourites all week and is currently fifth overall. Can he stay up there for the whole race, it's going to be fascinating to see.

When the tour coverage was over, I switched across to the cricket and some superb negative play by England meant they survived the first Ashes Test and got a draw. Unfortunately it was the only thing they did well over the five days.

Then I go out for a run. Inspired after a good result last week which was on tired legs, I feel I ought to train a bit more. L reckons I’d be deadly if I trained. Usually I my races are my training, for the next race.

The run goes well, I do at least 10k. I’ve never gotten around to calibrating my Nike+ device, I just know it reads short and it says 10k, so it’s probably nearer 11k. I’m knackered now.

It’s Written In The Tea Leaves

Today it’s the second attempt for our agility team to attempt to qualify for Crufts, this time in Rugby. Again Doggo and I post our reliable clear round but it doesn’t go well for some of the other team members. Although it’s written in the tea leaves that one day the other three team members will put in storming clear rounds and we’ll knock a pole or something.

So we now need to decide whether to travel up to one or both of the two qualifiers in the North East later this summer.

The highlight of the day was though a really nasty (tough) course in the Olympia qualifying event. Possibly the best (e.g. most evil) course I've ever seen. We like that sort of thing, it gives us a chance against the faster dogs. They put four pieces of different agility equipment side by side so that each time you came to this section you had to very clear with your instructions to your dog to make sure they got the right one. Most didn’t but Doggo was brilliant and we did it all effortlessly. Well not effortlessly, it was very stressful, but we did it. So we were cruising for a clear round but then I cocked up a simple bit right at the end. Doggo I’m sure was furious which was probably why he messed up his last run of the day or it could just have been the heat. It was really hot and sunny by then, after a lot of rain earlier on. At least with getting nothing we were home nice and early.

Later we head off to Derby Beer Festival which was ok; I found some nice beers, although L was less impressed. The big problem with it all was the horrendous queues at the bars and the fact the beers starting running out almost as soon as we arrived. There were a lot of disgruntled folk who had paid £6 to get in, thankfully as members we get in free. I know it’s the last night but the choice was seriously limited and with all the queuing we spent more time hunting out something to drink and queuing for it than actually sitting, drinking and being sociable to each other. I know years ago, our 'one for the road' used to be a pint of Ansell’s or something equally unpalatable because nothing else was left but that was at 11pm not at 8.30pm! Think we’ll avoid Saturday’s in future.

All Is Not Lost

Today is Green Britain Day, as promoted by a carbon-free and lycra-less Vicky Pendleton, so naturally I’m keen to do my bit and I cycle into work.



I might even have given her a run for her money had I seen her cycling on my commute in that combo.

Oh dear. L emails me to say she's going to have a whinge and advises me to not read any further. So I don't but I assume this means she didn't get to the gym this morning. On the plus side she appears to be on her bike, so all is not lost.

In her next email, which doesn’t contain any unsuitable content warnings, she says she’ll have to do so much fitness work tomorrow to catch up that she'll be crawling into the Beer Festival and landing head first in a pint of beer. That’s as it should be. All fitness regimes should finish head first in a pint of beer. It’s as life was intended.

Here’s an odd story. A family have resorted to very unorthodox methods in order to try and be reunited with their pet Labrador Simon, who has gone AWOL. Their novel approach was to leave a scent trail for him, leading back to their house. How did they leave this scent trail? Well the same way dogs do and the whole family have apparently been contributing. It’s innovative for sure but their local council weren’t terribly impressed.

They have stressed that they didn’t use the direct approach favoured by late night revellers in Nottingham City Centre but instead put a little bit in a bottle and then diluted it with water before spraying it on the streets.

Vets are not optimistic the plan would succeed but if it works, the flood gates could open...

On my way home, as I wheel my bike across the bridge out of Pride Park, I am accosted by two teenage cyclists coming the other way. They don’t seem about to mug me and instead greet me in what appears to be jovial tones.

‘Whazzarup’ one of them says to me.

Well at first I didn’t think they were talking to me but they were. OMG, is that Albanian? Belarusian? Perhaps it’s Chav? or just Teenage? I never was any good at languages. I do what I always do abroad and just return the greeting verbatim, offering a ‘Whazzarup’ in return. Phew. It works. They smile and seem happy with this.

‘Chezzerez’ they offer or something like that but I’ve already pedalled away, hoping I wasn’t too rude.

Then as I approach Nottingham at the busy Priory Island a woman steps out into the road in front of me. I miss her by millimetres; the chap in the white van in the next lane almost has more luck. Her husband will be asking her tonight how she got the Mercedes logo imprinted on her forehead but WTF, there’s a pedestrian crossing literally five metres away. I’d have hated to have had to have cycled past another one those road side memorials every day.

All is not lost. L has her One-2-One gym session and earns her towel. Free water bottle last week, towel this week, t-shirt next week. This must be why the council has had to cut back on leisure centre opening hours because they’ve spent their entire budget on gym related freebies. True, it’s only half a towel, if you stick two together you’d have a proper grown-up towel but it’s bigger than the handkerchief sized thing we were expecting.

After gym, she runs to meet me at the pub. So as I said, all was not lost. She sends me with a bag of clothes for her to change into. She obviously trusts me not to unpack the clothes she’s selected and swap them for a short skirt in instead... hmmm tempting.

Fear Of Repercussions

Censorship is a terrible thing, as is blackmail, but I suppose we all succumb to it. There is so much that I would blog but I don’t, out of fear of repercussions. Daughter is always uttering the words ‘blog that and you’re dead’ whereas L tells me something tasty and then warns me ‘blog that and I’m dead’. So you can see where the violence lies in our household.

As I drive in, because it’s pub day, I try and finish my audio book, ‘Narrow Dog to Carcassonne’, but no, it’s still going. It’s the true story of two pensioners and their whippet called Jim who set out against all advice to sail in their narrowboat from Staffordshire to the Mediterranean. It was a top ten bestseller but I’m afraid I found it rather long, drawn out and actually rather dull.

The idea of them crossing the Channel in a narrowboat was fascinating and the lead up to it was gripping but once that was achieved early on in the book and without mishap, it was all downhill for the book really. I’ll be glad to get it finished, which will hopefully be tonight.



For my next book I need something a bit more controversial or at least with some death in it. I’m sure L will deliver.

I’ve had my pub lunch but we’ve also got L’s brother coming round for a curry tonight. In between I’ve got MD’s training. L says it ought to be me taking the training to burn off my lunch and make room for my curry. Suppose I could run the course while MD stands and directs from the sidelines. He'd love that, being gobby and all.

On the way to training, I collide with another cyclist. I was in the car. We have a cycle path along the pavement of the Nottingham ring road, which runs across the end of our street and the chap just came tanking along, head down and didn’t even check to see me coming out of the side road. Luckily I saw him at the last moment, stopped and only caught him with the front of my bumper, spilling him onto the tarmac. If I’d been further forward, he would have either gone over my bonnet or been bounced on to the ring road. He was lucky but, if he wanted to do that sort of speed, he really should have been on the road, where he wouldn’t have had to worry about giving way to side roads. Another reason why councils should be concentrating their efforts on on-road cycle paths and not encouraging pavement sharing.

Training goes well, MD does the big boys ‘dog walk’ raised high off the ground and he’s not fazed in the slightest. Somehow I'm not surprised. Our curry night also goes well and L’s delivered already, she's got me a new book. Blimey that was quick and it’s got a murder in it.

Well Lacquered

Protests are abound in Nottingham. City centre shops have been banned from using A-boards on the streets to advertise their premises. The council reckons that the A-boards pose a risk to people who are visually impaired or in a wheelchair. Shouldn’t the council first focus on filling in all the pot holes and fixing all the raised paving slabs and manhole covers that pose a risk to everybody, not just the people who have the misfortune to be disabled. I mean isn’t that what we pay council tax for? Then when they’ve done that, they’ll need to review the often random and/or unnecessary placements of all the other items of street furniture, most of which they’ve put there in the first place, such as benches, bollards, litter bins and even street lights, all of which can cause an obstruction. Whilst they’re at it they’ll need to look at all those outdoor seating areas, stop cars parking on the pavement, possibly remove several sets of steps and perhaps even look at flattening all the curbs. Then perhaps it’ll be time to discuss A-boards.

Apparently shops are also not allowed to use walking sandwich boards, hang signs from buildings or hand leaflets out. So it sounds like there's more to this that meets the eye, sounds a bit like the big shops influencing the council again at the expense of the little guy.

I’m in the car today, so I manage to get to the pool nice and early for a swim. It’s a bit quieter at this time of the evening or perhaps it’s just because the students have now gone home. Horrifically there’s a chap in the lane next to mine who appears to be wearing a pair of flesh coloured Speedos. He succeeds in getting himself noticed, although I'm not sure he’s getting any positive reactions.

I get home and fight my way in through a choking cloud of noxious fumes. OMG. I battle my way in, so that I can rescue the dogs and perhaps even the kids. The fumes sting my eyes and would you believe it the damn smoke alarms aren’t even going off. What a waste of money. Oh, hang on, there’s someone in the bathroom doing their hair, wielding a huge can of hair spray... panic over.

Sorry, couldn't resist and I've not upset Daughter for a while, I thought it was bit overdue.

Its disco night at the Ice Arena, L has been tempted, just for the skating apparently, and goes straight from work to join the much lacquered one and her friend. So I get to watch the cycling at its allotted time rather than in the middle of the night on video. It’s a mixed blessing because both the dogs continually nag me to take them out. I will, honest, I’m taking both dogs training just as soon as the cycling’s over.

Fining Up Nicely...

I think I've misjudged the weather a touch this morning but then I do love a spot of winter cycling, it’s just a shame it’s supposed to be July, or rather I would enjoy it if my overshoes hadn’t given up the ghost and I didn’t therefore have wet feet.

The weather has certainly gone downhill or uphill if like me you’re not partial to the heat. L likes the hot weather and describes it as 'like sitting next to a lovely warm radiator wherever you go', as well as revelling in the prospect of getting a tan. Of course I won’t tan because I’ve been permanently covered in a sheen of sweat. I only have to move a few feet and I start dripping. Oh to be cold blooded like L.

Apparently Nottingham’s famous alternative night club Rock City has applied to stage boxing and wrestling as well as concerts but the police have objected to it. Of course, some of us might be of the opinion that boxing and wrestling has always gone on there and I've still got some of the scars to prove it.

Time to cycle home and the weather’s fining up nicely. Not. It’s a shame we didn’t book a game of tennis for tonight... Yep, it’s still raining and it's thundering. I might consider taking back my criticism of the hot weather now.

It does ease off eventually and even stops as I cycle home and I get to take the dogs on the park.

Later I’m looking at some of the photos that the official photographer (no not my father) took of the Grand Prix race series. They do say that life holds no greater disappointment than seeing yourself as others see you, which is so perfectly captured in a photograph. Blimey I look old. Of course close friends, relatives and people you’re sleeping with have to deny this and say you look great but even L can’t pull that one off tonight.

Sometimes It Pays To Be Cautious

As I cycle to work this morning I pass one of those drivers who you just know isn’t paying attention. For a start, as he attempts to emerge from a side road, he has two wheels over the white line and he is staring straight ahead into space, not checking left and right for traffic, let alone bikes. I inch past him with extreme caution. Coming down the hill towards me is another cyclist, we exchange the customary greeting but then almost immediately I hear him yell out a string of obscenities. This is accompanied by a squealing of cycle brakes. I close my eyes and wait for the crunch. Thankfully the crunch doesn’t come. I turn around to see the cyclist on the pavement and still vertical, having avoided the same motorist I had been worried about. Sometimes it pays to be cautious if you wish to avoid those ‘hello tarmac’ moments.

L is working from home today which may or may not be a success, what with the dogs and both the kids now on extended vacation. She reports in that it is going well and she technically has the house to herself, both dogs are asleep and the kids out. That is until the thunder starts and she has to start consoling a quivering collie, that’s the old man by the way, not the fearless puppy. I’m the same. It’s thundering, lightning and chucking it down here as well. I’m hiding under my desk... terrified... at the thought of cycling home.

Thankfully there does seem to be a break in the weather around 5pm and I take full advantage, posting a rapid time for the journey home.

In the evening we are down the Rescue Rooms for a bit of a special occasion, the reunion tour of That Petrol Emotion. Guitarist Raymond Gorman posted on the band’s forum the question 'What if you announced a tour after 15 years and nobody came?' A good point. L and I are ticket numbers four and five, which I suppose is better than when it was originally announced but then cancelled last year, when we were numbers one and two. Not that we’re keen or anything. I know a couple of mates of ours who are going but it's a real possibility that there could be less than a dozen of us there. Where are the rest of the true believers when you need them? Problem is there weren't enough of us in the first place. The band were always lauded by the critics but never really sold many records. When they split up in 1994 I got the impression that it was more out of frustration than anything else.

Of course you should never go 'back', many do of course but things are never the same. Still, it's good to wallow in a bit of nostalgia, which is, I guess, why we are here. I couldn’t do anything else really having been there at their farewell gig at The Clapham Grand in 1994. As they say, been there, bought the t-shirt, wearing it tonight.

First though, a support band of a similar age. A Nottingham band called The Amber Herd, their slogan ‘tune in, turn on, herd up’ with yet another Craig Finn lookalike on vocals. Is there a factory churning these people out? They’re very good and put in a polished rather than a spectacular performance. It does seem to be the case that musicians get better as they get older even if they do lose a bit of edginess.

We miss the start of their set but the first track we hear reminds me of the Doors, the second of the Flaming Lips, well on a Velvet Underground day, the third L says is James, I would add the caveat that it’s James after having lunch with the Jesus and Mary Chain. The rest of the set is a varied mix too... Neil Young, Pink Floyd... oh I don’t know.



They finish with a track called 'Stage Fright', their debut single. Not bad at all. Although perhaps they’re a bit on the old side to make it big but you never know.

Rather worryingly as they leave the stage the already only half full Rescue Rooms suddenly becomes even less populated. Well at least we can kill any rumours that the Petrol’s are just doing this reunion tour for the money. I hope everyone’s just popped out for a smoke and not gone home early. Thankfully as 9.30 approaches it starts to fill up again.

The band amble on stage with little fuss. As lead singer Steve Mack fiddles with his loop tape, I realise he probably looks less haggard now that he did at their prime. Loop tape sorted, they open up with two tracks off 1990’s Chemicrazy album, ‘Blue To Black’ easing us into the livelier ‘Gnaw Mark’. It seems the boys still know how to rock and Mack having lost none of his old enthusiasm is soon bounding around the stage.

The band originally formed in 1983 from the ashes of the Undertones. The O'Neill brothers, Sean and Damian joined up with fellow Irish men Ciaran McLaughlin and Raymond Gorman and then added an oddball American front man in the shape of Mack. Sean O'Neill left after their second album and the current bassist is Brendan Kelly who joined them in 1990.



Next up, real nostalgia and a cheer greets the opening to the early (ish) single 'It's a Good Thing'. Is it really 23 years since I sat in the Student Union bar wondering what that perfect pop song was as it was played on the jukebox?

This is following by their ‘big’ hit... 'Big Decision' reached a massive number 43 in the charts in 1987. Given how well 'Big Decision' goes down it's a surprise they don't plunder its album 'Babble' for more. 'Swamp' anyone? 'Spin Cycle'? or the epic 'Creeping From The Cross', perhaps they're just not into revisiting the political agenda of that album anymore.

Their debut 'Manic Pop Thrill' fairs a little better but only because the excellent 'Lifeblood' gets an airing.

Nothing comes from the ‘disco’ experiment that was 'End Of the Millennium Psychosis Blues', an album that probably alienated a few people, sadly not even ‘Under The Sky’, although I gather it’s been played elsewhere on this tour.

Their fifth and final album, also one of their best, ‘Fireproof’ only provides two in ‘Catch A Fire’, their final single and ‘Last Of the True Believers’. No ‘Detonate My Dreams’ despite it being on the set list at Mack’s feet.

The rest of the night, that’s the last five songs of the main set and both songs of the first encore, are pulled exclusively from Chemicrazy, making a disproportionate nine songs in total. So one can only assume that the band see this as their best piece of work. Others may say that there are three other candidates for that accolade. It is probably their most commercial but it still managed to undersell its three predecessors.

All in all it’s a terrific performance all round, particularly considering they’ve been apart for so long. O'Neill and Gorman combine well with their guitars and Mack shows that he can still sing those high notes, as well as dance and drink what appeared to be a tumbler of whisky at the same time.



The crowd are appreciative but not riotous. There’s a bit of light bopping down the front but nothing too strenuous, some of those waistlines won’t permit much more these days. The band remark on how well the crowd have aged. Are they sure about that?

They are cheered back for a second encore, which is, wait for it, ‘Chemicrazy’, an obscure b-side that although it bares the same name as the album didn’t make it on to the record. It’s probably not terribly well known and it’s very difficult to get hold of, I know I’ve tried. I got it eventually, last week.

The band look genuinely pleased with the overall reaction and Mack is quickly at the t-shirt stall afterwards, shaking everyone’s hand. If this is their second obituary then so be it but if so, we'll all be the worse for it.



Afterwards, we meet up with our friends for a few beers and then we head home. I stay awake long enough to catch up on the Tour and yep, its Cavendish again.

Buy Local?

L leaps, well kind of, out of bed early to do some Hathersage training. She goes out for a 20km bike and then follows this with a 7km run. Not fazed, I take it easy and walk down to the local shop for a paper and some milk. I’m thrilled to pick up milk labelled as being from Tomlinson’s Dairy. Great I think, local produce, in our local store. Then I read the label more closely, ‘Welsh Milk’ it says... in Nottingham? Oh please. I think I’d rather buy anonymous milk from the Co-op.

Then after taking the dogs on the park, because L has thoughtfully taken Daughter out, I try to remember how the TV works and have an afternoon of sport. I watch the start of the tennis and then switch over to watch Mark Cavendish and his team win the second stage of the Tour de France with ease.



When I turn back to the tennis two hours later, it’s still going on. Andy Roddick is just levelling it up at two sets all. The final set isn’t the greatest but it’s still enthralling as they both try and get the break of serve that will win the match. After thirty games in that final set, Federer finally grinds Roddick down and takes it 16-14. I feel a bit cheated to have sat through such a marathon and Federer still won but never mind. I’ve nothing against the guy but I like to see these things shared around a bit.

In the evening, we watch a DVD, ‘Il y a longtemps que je t'aime’ better known as ‘I Loved You So Long’ featuring Kristen Scott Thomas speaking French. She plays Juliette Fontaine, just out of prison after fifteen years inside. Juliette is taken under the wing of her younger sister Léa, who goes out of her way to make her feel part of her family. Juliette seems a bit unnerved with this unexpected goodwill and at first, barely speaks at all and never mentions her life inside or what took her there. Whatever happened seems to weigh heavy on her and everyone skirting around the subject makes it worse.

She goes through the motions with a social worker and with her parole officer. An odd chap, who is obsessed with visiting the Orinoco that is until we are told that he inexplicably put a gun in his mouth and shot himself. She tries to get a job, not easy when the employers want to know why she’d been in jail but eventually she prevails. Getting back into something else she’s taken a sabbatical from for fifteen years proves a lot easier when she gets propositioned in a bar.



Right from the start, you know that there’s some big revelation on its way but the film makers keep it under wraps until the end. Details do come out but slowly. It turns out that Juliette was in prison for killing her six year old Son. Why? Well that’s the big secret. We are told that she offered nothing in her defence during her trial and that her husband testified against her.

Being a ‘child killer’ makes her a dubious guest for her sister to have in her house. Léa trusts her, which is a tremendous leap of faith considering she has two children, both adopted from Vietnam. Léa’s husband Luc clearly does not share his wife's trust, well certainly not at first, and he understandably fears leaving his kids alone with her. As the viewer, you're not sure who to side with.



As the film progresses along Juliette slowly opens up and starts to enjoy being back in the real world again. So far, so good, it’s a strong story and well told but it starts to go awry when she discloses at a dinner party that she was in prison for murder. Almost everyone assumes it’s a joke, illustrating I suppose that the French media hadn't given her case the saturation coverage it would have got over here and that nobody has had the forethought to ‘Google’ Léa’s mysterious sister who appeared from nowhere.

I feel a little cheated at the end because having been dangling on a thread for ninety minutes, wondering what the big secret was and I have to say enjoying it... bang, the film falls down a large plot hole.

Léa finds a picture of the murdered child along with a note written on the back of his medical card. Lea gets her doctor to check out the medical card and it is revealed that the child had a fatal illness, probably from birth. It appears that somehow Juliette chose to keep this secret from her husband, her sister and her parents.

Instead, being a doctor herself, she ended his suffering by injecting him with an overdose of something and then let everyone believe that she was a child murderer. For what reason? It is suggested to punish herself. For what? Saving her son undue suffering? Whilst at the same time she punishes everyone else around her by not telling them the truth. Then there’s what her fellow prisoners would have thought of her and they would of course had tried to inflict their own justice on her. She must really like self-punishment.

After her trial her parents disowned her and told Léa to do the same. Her father took this misunderstanding to his grave, in fact it probably helped kill him, and her mother took it with her into Alzheimer’s. They will never know the truth.

Even more unlikely was the fact she managed to keep her reasons secret. It’s just not plausible. Which failed A level law student defended her? Even the prosecution would have gone digging for a motive. Didn’t they perform an autopsy? Consult doctor’s notes? It’s just like in ‘The Reader’ but more so.

This implausibility ruined an otherwise good film, which is a shame because otherwise it was excellent!

The Shower Problem

I delay getting out of bed for as long as possible, for several reasons. One of them being I’m not sure my tired legs can climb into the bath tub to have a shower and if I do manage that I’m not sure I would be able to get out again.

In the end, all goes well on the shower front and I encore by cutting the grass, which exercises the dogs at the same time.

Then I settle down to watch the opening time trial of the Tour de France. Ours boys have got a lot to live up to with a GB professional team launched next year, an aim of winning Le Tour within five years and the fact that our women are already winning their version. Emma Pooley won this year’s, emulating Nicole Cooke who won it in 2006 and 2007.

In the end, the expected happens, Fabian Cancellara yet again but Bradley Wiggins comes in third. Bradley will have aspirations of snatching the lead in the next time trial, the team one, which comes on Tuesday, but first there are a couple of stages for Mr Cavendish to get his teeth in to.

My legs are still bearing up well, so we wander into town for a few jars.

Reverse Psychology

I take the bus into work with all my running kit; I shall go straight to tonight’s race, my fifth in ten days. Yeah I know, madness.

Mid-morning the heavens open and stay open. This could make it all very interesting. The BBC assures me that it’s going to be fine and sunny from 4pm... but what do they know.

L gets the bus over later, after work and after a session with her One-2-One trainer. I meet her off the bus near the Market Square in Derby, where there’s quite a crowd assembled because Derby are launching their new shirt today. Not really sure why there’s such a fuss, it’s going to be mainly white with a bit of black on it again, as it has been for the last 125 years. Well at least I hope so but I suppose you can’t take these things for granted any more.

As we walk across Darley Park to the race start, it’s odd to note that the BBC are actually right about the weather. It’s now fine and even quite sunny. I’m wearing my Nottingham Grand Prix T-shirt and I make sure that as many people as possible see it. Just so that they know why I’m going to be slow tonight. Get your excuses in early that’s what I say. L has no such hangups and has promised herself a meal out somewhere posh if she's last. Which seems an odd bit of reverse psychology, or is it?

The race starts at Haslams, the home of Derby Rugby club, on the edge of Darley Park. In the bar they are showing the tennis and I just get chance to see the final death throes of Andy Murray’s Wimbledon before I head to the start.

The race is known as the Colin Potter Memorial 10k. Colin passed away in early 2006, at the age of 40 only weeks after being diagnosed with an aggressive cancer. This is the fourth running of the race in his memory and to raise money for local cancer charities.

At 7.15pm we start and head across the River Derwent, by bridge, towards the village of Darley Abbey. We run past the temptation of the Abbey Pub, swearing that we’ll be back once we’ve dealt with the race. The punishment for not stopping at the pub is just around the corner in the form of one hell of a hill. Once scaled you turn left and arrive panting on Darley Park, where Wa-hey, it’s slippery. The organiser had mentioned something about slippery sap on the path and I hadn’t quite grasped what he was on about until now.

It’s also a bit narrow here and quite a bottleneck builds up as the course continues uphill, that is if you can get any grip and then Wa-hey again, because it’s downhill, steeply or so it seems. There's more slippery sap, lots of potholes and because it’s congested I can’t see where I’m going. Suddenly the runners in front of me part and one of those barriers that are designed to take the heads off cyclists comes towards me at a rate of knots. Seems they’re also quite adept at having a go at maiming runners too but a quick shimmy and I’m laughing in the face of danger as I slip through that particular decapitation device with only slight bruising to my elbow. I breathe a sigh of relief and count my limbs, just to double check. So I’m not prepared for the next one. I can just imagine the organisers plotting the course, thinking, if the first one doesn’t get them the second one will.

Suddenly I see the chap in front of me move to the right which reveals the next barrier to me, I watch him as he hurdles the wall next to the barrier. I either do a dive followed by a forward roll under this one or I follow him over the wall. After milliseconds of deep thought, I follow him over the wall, which doesn’t have anything nasty waiting on the other side. Phew. Safe. What’s next?

Quite a bit of flat as it happens, followed by a drinks station at 4km which is a bit early, so I don’t partake. Then at 5km we’re back at the rugby club which means we’re go to do it all over again and I’m not a great fan of two lap courses. Thankfully or not, I know what’s coming, so we slog up that hill again where I pass the leading lady, who, horror of horrors is walking up it. So even the best walk, do they? Or is she so confident she knows she’ll win anyway? Ha, well she won't beat me.

Then it’s the descent and because the field has now thinned out, I can see the barriers coming and they don’t seem too bad when you get more than half a seconds notice.

The rest of the second lap goes ok, apart from the absence of a 9km marker which is a bit disorientating.

I think my time of 42.27 was quite good. Slow for a 10k for me but it was a toughie and I had raced five miles only the day before. I go back on the course to cheer L on and see a couple of women just completing the first lap in 55 minutes which is a tad slow but I have to give them credit for getting out there, competing and running for what will be around two hours by the time they finish. Problem is L’s not going to get that posh meal unless she seriously slows down.

L comes in way too quickly and we decide not to wait to cheer the two girls at the back home which is unforgivable really but it’s already nearly 9pm and drinking time is slipping by. We pop into the Abbey for one and then have a few more in the Flowerpot.

Then we get the bus home and as L has failed in her bid to land a posh meal we go for a curry instead.

Someone Needs A New Tape Measure

L's off for an early gym, so I get to walk the boys. It’s already hot and the three of us probably look like a triumvirate of old men as we wander listlessly down the street.

When we get back there's still no sign of Son, who’s been out on an all-nighter but has vowed to be home in time to do his papers. Though he's still got half an hour or so before his deadline.

It’s the final race of my four tonight, five miles around Colwick Park. I intend to run very slowly, in fact it’ll probably be dark before I finish. Well perhaps not that slowly but I quite fancy doing a 10k in Derby tomorrow. Yes I know, yet another race but I’ve wanted to do this one for a while, it’s just a shame it comes at the end of the Grand Prix fortnight.

L wants me to be slow because she can’t make it in time for the start but hopes to get there in time to see me finish, she’s running down from work. She's promised herself that if she runs to the race she can have some nice chilled wine afterwards. Ooh, chilled wine, in this heat I’ll be taking it off her and pouring it over my head.

It’s too hot again to bring the dogs, so they have to stay at home, not that they look too bothered. They both still look a bit listless. I consider asking Daughter to come and dog-sit at the race but if she held the dogs they might drag her round the course after me or worse, Doggo would drag her after me, whereas MD would probably drag her in the opposite direction after some imaginary cat, which would be a grisly scenario. The risk of being ripped in two by a couple of daft collies doesn’t bare thinking about.

Again they’ve put the start on a narrow footpath, when they have a whole field at their disposal. Don't understand that. So I start at the front and then let all the fast ones pass me. 6.40 for the first mile is still a bit quick and the 12.00 for two miles is... err, hang on, that’s wrong. There’s some seriously bad mile marking going on here. I couldn't run that fast if I sprinted a mile, stopped my watch half-way, had the rest of the day off and then sprinted the second mile the next day.

At half way, they’ve add a water station because it's hot but then tell everyone not to take any unless there are really desperate. So I feel a bit naughty when I take a cup and pour it over my head but I was really desperate and they don’t have any nice chilled wine.

The mile markers seem to have sorted themselves out by the third one but then it takes me over nine minutes to run the fourth mile, I couldn’t run that slow... if I walked, well perhaps a slightly exaggeration. Then it takes me a blinding four minutes to do the last mile, gosh now that really must have been some seriously quick sprinting and I didn’t even know I was doing it. I think someone needs to get a new tape measure.

My time is more or less the same as the five miles I ran recently at Long Eaton, which was slow but I was really knackered after that and tried hard all the way around, whereas I took this one quite steady. So I'm quite pleased really and L is there to meet me at the line, which is always a nice boost.

Now to collect the t-shirt for doing the race series. Each year the t-shirt's are different colours and I reckon we’re due green or possibly grey this year. Neither of which sets the pulse racing. In the end it’s boring white but with red trim like a retro football shirt from the seventies. It’s not brilliant but it could have been worse I suppose.

A lot of runners have cycled here, perhaps that’s what my challenge for next year should be, to cycle to all four races. Not that that would do much for my times but it’d be an interesting project.

Now for that wine.

Perfect Cycling Weather

The plan was to cycle this morning but it’s raining when I get up. So I go for the bus option instead. At which point the sun immediately comes out. Bloody annoying weather, its perfect cycling weather now and there was a row of bikes at the office when I arrive. Admittedly from those coming shorter distances and who could make a later decision. Mind you, my legs are stiff and it took me all my time to walk to the bus stop, so perhaps it was for the best.

L takes advantage of the 'good' weather and runs to work, carrying her work files. There’s nothing like making it difficult and all on old trainers. I’ve promised to take her up to the running shop at the weekend so that she can get some new ones. She’s says she’s lost all her bounce. I won’t pass comment on L's bounce.

Kids are so hip these days, err, well, so they say. Daughter is actually the last one in our family to sign up to Facebook. Son’s been on a while, although he hasn’t mentioned it and none us dare try and ‘friend’ him in case he refuses. Personally, I don’t actually like Facebook much, I find seeing everyone else’s non-news a bit depressing but the site does have its uses.

Andy Murray wins with ease today and all whilst we can watch it at work.

Tonight’s trainer is ill, so Doggo’s session is cancelled and a ‘do your own thing’ session replaces it. This is good in a way because it means I can put MD through his paces as well. When we get there, it seems that not many people want to do their own thing because there’s only three of us there whereas a trained session would have pulled in 20+. Never mind, all the better for MD, who finally gets his baptism with the red and white collie, who's a Crufts team mate of Doggo’s but not one he has on his Christmas card list. MD chases after this collie, hoping to play and gets a right telling off, stroppy collie style. Wonder if that’ll teach him. Probably not.