Wouldn’t It Be Good?

It’s all getting a bit embarrassing now. Yes we all agree that the Republic of Ireland were hard done by in their World Cup play-off but injustice on the football pitch is nothing new and happens to us all. They’ve made their point and now they should let it rest but oh no, they’ve requested a spot in the World Cup finals as an extra team. Like that’s ever going to happen. Even before the handball incident Ireland were still only drawing the game, so on what basis that entitles them to qualify I’m not sure. They would of course have lost the penalty shoot-out anyway because well, that’s how football works.



We have a serious ‘problem’ on the gigs front. Well we have several but the most pressing is probably the question of L’s Mika urges, a matter that is still unresolved but has now reappeared lurking on L's Christmas list. Ok fine I think, why not, but then along comes Nik Kershaw to put his oar into the mix. They’re all coming out of L’s closet now. He’s 51 now but it could be a laugh. You remember Nik Kershaw don’t you? ‘Human Racing’ was quite a good album, and then there was ‘The Riddle’... The title track was ok but the rest of the album, oh dear. Remember the singles ‘Wide Boy’ and ‘Don Quixote’? See what I mean.



Perhaps I should have opened my own closet and insisted on a ‘Spandau Ballet’ ticket! Afraid I have to admit that I was a fan of their early stuff but their recent reunion tour was all in horrible all-seated venues and I was sure they’d play mostly their soppy later stuff. However having seen the set lists, I was surprised to see early classics such as ‘The Freeze’, ‘She Loved Like Diamond’, ‘Instinction’, ‘Paint Me Down’ and not just the expected ‘To Cut A Long Story Short’ and ‘Chant No 1’ representing the early days. In another 10 years they’ll probably have sunk down to the Rescue Rooms just like our Nik has, maybe I’ll be there.

In the evening we have a mini curry evening with L’s brother. I do a nice gentle King Prawn Patia and a mushroom bhaji side dish. L's brother brings death by curry, I think he said it was a Tindaloo. The only problem with King Prawn dishes is that they are such a rare delicacy and so limited in numbers that each one has to be counted into the pan and back out again. Everybody has to stick to their allocation!

He’s having a party for his 30th in January for which L wants a tarty dress, mid-thigh boots, and a blue wig. Oooh a tarty dress and boots. Yes please. The hair can be any colour she likes. The dress will have to be short though, higher than mid-thigh or else no one will know the boots are mid-thigh will they.

Far Too Deep For Its Own Good

We don’t go on the park this morning because despite some heavy rain dog training this afternoon is on. At which MD is hopeless, although in his defence I suppose he has had a few weeks off and also he gets into a fight, which in his defence, I would say wasn’t really his fault. I’m always sticking up for that dog.

Meanwhile L is out running and cycling. I’ve done a bit of maintenance on her bike for her, swapping her back to bog standard flat pedals and reassembled her bike computer for her, putting back the parts I had stolen to fix mine. When she gets back after an hour’s cycle she tells me she’s done a grand total of 0.38km. Ah, she likes to take it steady but not that steady. I think I may have reassembled it wrong.

Later we’re at the cinema only to find that our membership cards have expired. So we have to fork out on renewal fees. The upside is our first two films are free, so tonight’s is a freebie and what a weird one it is. Then again it is the new Coen Brothers’ film, so what did we expect.

‘A Serious Man’ is clearly a dig at the lives and faith of a Jewish community in late 1960s America but of course if you don't know a whole lot about the Jewish faith then you could be stumbling from the off.

Just to make sure you are stumbling from the off, the film opens with a possibly irrelevant, possibly not, prologue set a century or two earlier and spoken all in subtitled Yiddish. In it a woman stabs an old man because she thinks he's a dybbuk, that’s a dead person possessed by an evil spirit. She’s wrong because the old man starts to bleed before getting up and wandering off into the snow outside. Does this action perhaps lead to a curse being bestowed up on someone? There’s no way of knowing for sure.

Could this someone be Larry Gopnik, a physics professor who is the main focus of this story? Larry is hoping for a life long tenure from his University but things are slowly starting to go wrong for him. Not least of which is an anonymous letter writer trying to derail the tenure.

On top of this his family life in comfortable suburbia is rocked when his wife informs him that their marriage is over and she wants to marry someone else. This someone else is, inexplicably, Sy Ableman, supposedly a pillar stone of the local community but in reality a patronizing old git. Meanwhile his kids are proving to be even more of a handful than kids are supposed to be. His son likes to dabble in marijuana and is consequently in debt to the school bully, is running up debts on an account with a record club at his Father’s unwilling expense whilst generally being more concerned about the poor reception on the TV than his studies.



Then there’s Larry’s daughter, who is saving up for a nose job with money straight out of Larry’s wallet and spending the rest of her time washing her hair, that is when she can get in the bathroom. Larry brother is occupying the bathroom, when he’s not sleeping on the coach, bringing to the family his medical, social and gambling problems. Larry is incredibly hopeless in the face of all this adversity and his wife soon banishes both him and his brother to the Jolly Roger Motel.

At least this gets him away from his goy (non-Jew) neighbour who is encroaching on Larry’s garden with his building plans but not from the Korean student who is pushing envelopes of cash onto Larry to persuade him to upgrade the F he gave him, while simultaneously threatening to sue him for defamation...

Now let’s just stop right there shall we. If you’ve broken cinema rules and not turned your phone off, then perhaps you ought to fire up Google right now. Google ‘Schrödinger's cat’, which is something we see Larry teaching to his physics students. Do it now, rather than afterwards like I had to.

Schrödinger's rather unpleasant, and hopefully theoretical, experiment consists of a live cat, a vial of Hydrogen Cyanide and a small amount of radioactive substance all together in the same box. If even a single atom of the radioactive substance decays, a relay mechanism will break the vial with a hammer and the cat will die. The point of it all is that no one can know what is happening in the box without looking inside it. Therefore according to the laws of quantum physics, the cat must be assumed to be in a superposition of states, e.g. both dead and alive at the same time. It is only when someone opens the box that they can find out the condition of the cat.



The F grade student and his father have grasped the theory of Schrödinger's cat, if not the maths of it, which is why he got an F. Like the cat, their bribe is seemingly alive and dead at the same time until Larry decides what action he is going to take. This film is possibly far too deep for its own good.



So, Larry, along with us (the audience), is slowly going out of his mind, particularly as a mathematician he’s used to things adding up, and he goes off to consult with the local Rabbis to find out just what he’s done to upset Hashem (God).

A junior rabbi tells him 'things aren’t so bad' and cites the car park as proof of the wonders of God. Larry isn’t impressed.

A more experienced rabbi rambles on for ages about a dentist who desperately tried to find the meaning of the Hebrew words 'Help Me’ that he found engraved on the inside of a goy patient's teeth but he finds no meaning. Larry isn’t impressed. Perhaps the rabbi is telling Larry he’s better off not worrying about it, sometimes there are no reasons for things that happen in life. Perhaps the Coen brothers are telling us we’re better off not worrying about trying to find meaning in this film.

The only person in the film who threatens to come up any answers is the lawyer enlisted to solve the problems Larry is having with his neighbours encroachment but the lawyer drops down dead just as he’s about to deliver up his findings.

The most senior rabbi of all, Rabbi Marshak, won't even see Larry. He’s seemingly too busy listening to a transistor radio confiscated from Danny, Larry’s son. This, after Danny’s Bar Mitzvah to which Danny turns up stoned, is returned to him by Rabbi Marshak.

So the story rambles and roams all over the place and goes nowhere and everywhere. This isn't unusual in a Coen's film but usually the journey to nowhere is a bit more exceptional than this or perhaps you just needed to be Jewish. It has the usual dark comedy laughs but it’s certainly not hilarious. It all makes for a very strange and challenging film.

Folk in the know say the film is a retelling of the book of Job from the Hebrew Bible, in which God and Satan bet on whether Job will remain faithful as Satan makes life as uncomfortable for Job as he can. Apparently the three consultations, even the whirlwind that comes at the end, it’s all in there. Yep, this film is definitely far too deep for its own good.

So does Larry remain faithful? Well so far he has, unlike Sy Ableman who was attempting to take another man’s wife. Suddenly God seems to get even with Sy and he dies in a road accident, coincidentally the same road accident that Larry is involved in, but he escapes unhurt.

Finally Larry cracks. He gives into temptation with the Jewish woman next door who sunbathes nude and invites Larry to ‘take advantage of the new freedoms’. Then he rubs out the Korean’s F grade... and the cat is dead. Then it just ends, in Coens style, with a ‘come see me’ call from his Doctor and a whirlwind approaching his Son’s school.



This is probably one of those films that grow on you. In fact the more L and I discuss it and the more I Google it, the more I like it but basically it helps if you know a bit about quantum physics, a lot about the Hebrew bible and oh, perhaps a bit of familiarity with the music of Jefferson Airplane.

The Rest Of Us Are Just Bored

I’m on the park this morning with two footballs. MD has graduated to having a football of his own. We do the old pre-MD route, that Doggo hasn’t been round for 18 months. He remembers it implicitly.

In the afternoon I head off to the match whilst L and Daughter go skating. Although looking at the photos later, there’s not much evidence of much skating going on. There’s a lot of hanging over the side of the rink posing for the camera but not a lot of skating.

It’s fair to say that the majority of Derby supporters are restless but some people are always restless. They are generally the same people that assume that if we sack the manager now, we’ll automatically start winning, will storm up the league, finishing in the play-offs at least and hence get promoted. The rest of us are just bored.

My friend asks whether ‘bored’ is actually any different to ‘restless’. I think ‘restless’ implies you think things could possibly improve. Whereas ‘bored’ means you know this is as good as it’s going to get.

Half time and its 0-0. In fact neither side has done anything whatsoever, so still bored. Then suddenly at the start of the second half a flurry of excitement and three goals. Derby at first conceding but then coming from behind to win. Once in front it becomes apparent why there’s such a pandemic of restlessness in Derby. Mr Clough removes a striker to bring on a defender and hence hang on to the points. Oh the negativity. Even when Reading lose a man due to a sending off, he still doesn’t decide to go for the game ending third goal and instead removes a midfielder to put on yet another defender. I think we really have the most negative manager we’ve had for many a year.

Consequently we spend the last ten minutes penned in our own penalty box by the ten man opposition. It’s embarrassing but somehow we hang on to win.

Tonight as there’s a teenage ‘gathering’ going on at home, the dogs get an extra night out. They don’t seem to be complaining. The Brush ale at the Alcazar Brewery of the Fox & Crown is well excellent.

Tin Hat Required

It was very pleasant on the bike this morning. Cold but dry.

Had an odd happening though when I cycled past a chap with a little black terrier dog. I often see them, when cycling and when out with the dogs. I always give them a wide berth when I’ve got the dogs because MD hates the terrier but I think it’s just that the terrier hates everything and especially my bike.

It always has a go at it but this morning it ran after me with the man attached. He had to run quite fast to keep up. So I felt I ought to stop, because I was worried he was going to have a heart attack but he yelled at me not to stop, so then I pedalled off again. Most odd. Perhaps it was his morning workout. Hope he’s ok.

Oh dear. Work must be stressing L again as there’s no ‘Good’ in the title of her first email of the morning. Apparently she’s erased that word from her vocabulary. It could be a tin hat weekend.



I keep talking to people who say they are in the process of finishing off their Christmas shopping at the moment. Has the world really gone this mad? It’s still November. No wonder the shops always say they’re not selling much in the run up to Christmas, this is obviously because most people seem to do it in July. People who clearly have too much time on their hands. I have kind of started thinking about a Christmas wish list... but I’m refusing to give it anybody until 1st Dec.

L’s still stressed in the evening. I try a bit of seduction, that doesn’t seem to work. So I take her down the Plough instead.

The World Is Clearly A Better Place For It

According to TfL (Transport for London) and ok we don't live in London but they reckon that if you cycle to work you're likely to get caught in rain only eight times a year. I don't wish to put anyone off but quite frankly this is b*******. I've been probably caught eight times in the last month alone and as for cycling during the barbecue summer, well... Still, they’re probably right in that it's probably not as wet as people think.

Today I do cycle. My neck wasn’t too much of a problem except when looking behind me and only on one side. So I had to be extra careful with my right turns. I nearly made it all the way in the dry but, TfL take note, the rain caught me just as I was close to work.

University applications are go, at long last. Son has finished his personal statement, which is a load of flannel all students have to submit to allegedly impress the universities. They say it carries weight but I’m not sure. I reckon the admissions tutors just take the best ones with them on the staff night out and read amusing anecdotes from them over a few pints. The UCAS system rejects Son’s because it's too long. Blimey. Always one for the ‘quick fix’, I never thought any piece of work from Son would ever be rejected for being too long. How times have changed and the world is clearly a better place for it.

All he needs now is someone’s credit card to submit it, so L leaves him hers. That’s a rash thing to do but I’m sure his fingers won’t deviate to Amazon mid application. In the end though he can’t get it to submit anyway and we do it for him later when L and I are both on hand to witness the momentous occasion. Well actually we both just wanted a butchers at this legendary personal statement.

No squash tonight, so I agree to meet L at the gym instead. Although I’m not quite sure what I’ll do when I get there. I can’t run because of my leg, can’t row because of my shoulder. A session on the bike would be favourite but having biked there, it does seem a bit like overkill. I might have to w... a... l... k... on the treadmill.

Instead I do some leg weights, which goes better than I thought. I use three different machines that all focus on the thighs and mainly side to side movement but when I come to the one that involves actually lifting the weights via your ankles, my leg feels like it’s about to snap off at the calf and I have to stop.

Then as I wait for ages for someone to vacate one of the bikes, I bite the bullet and do the W thing on the treadmill. I really ought to do what everyone else does these days and find some to sue for my injury. It’s totally ruined my life, particularly when it comes to the humiliation of w****** on the treadmill.

At least I manage to have a bit of fun. I take it up to 7kph which seems about as fast as my leg will take. Then I notice that the girl next to is running at 7.5kph so I increase the speed of mine to be the same, just for the hell of it. Although I'm still walking and she's still running.

I finally get on the bike and the previous user has not stopped the computer, in the several hours they’ve been aboard it, they’ve only done 5k. Probably because they were reading something half the time they were on it. So I double that for them, in a fraction of the time it took them.

Give It To Me Straight

L gives it to me straight this morning; apparently I don’t look at all good. Thanks for that. She’s referring to my neck and shoulders which are admittedly not good, very stiff. So I skip the bike, it was very windy anyway, and get the bus. Of course there are many people who would have had a month off work for less than a bit of a bad neck but that is not my style. I couldn’t take the car though as a bunch of students have parked across the end of our drive blocking me in. I suppose I did give them permission and they’re now sleeping off last night in Son’s room. I then get mugged by a couple of muddy dogs on the way to the bus stop.

Once on the bus I had to smile. A young girl was moaning that she’d got herself a stalker and all she did was send a lad she ‘barely knew’ a text with a solitary ‘x’ at the end of it. Oh dear, what a mistake, she has so much to learn, one ‘x’ is really all a boy needs.

The journey to work actually helps my latest ailment and the stiffness starts to loosen up. This is where people go wrong, just sitting around waiting for things to get better on their own. I get to work and look up my symptoms. L reckons it could be something called Torticollis, I self diagnose on Google and Wikimisleadia. Well that helped, not. Now I’m really not sure what I’ve got at all. Some of the suggestions I can’t possibly have because apparently I’d already be dead if I had.

L joyfully tells me she's had a good run this morning. I'm pleased for her. I fondly remember the days when I used to be able to run...

In the evening, the girls head into town for an early cinema, some film about ‘goats’ or something. Even Son joins them, so it must be good. So there’s nobody in when I get home apart from two very confused dogs, one is in the kitchen as normal, the other is freezing his paws off forgotten in the garden. Heartless children. Oh the tears from MD when they are reunited.

Unfortunately they don’t realise that it’s an ‘Orange Wednesday’, two for the price of one and all that, the queues are hideous and they have to reschedule for a later film. This leaves them with two hours to kill in town with only the late night shopping to amuse them, understandably Son aborts and comes home.

Tonight hot on the heels of last week’s Dog Club Christmas ‘party’ (human version) this week it’s the dogs turn. It’s games night. Doggo gets the gig and competes in everything, whilst MD is just wheeled out for a bark and a chase around in the gaps. Doggo isn’t really on form but despite that we win the team, come second in the pairs but get badly stitched up in the individual. It’s a head to head contest, a knock out tournament and we came second last year, so hopes are high. We lose in round one. The starter counts down 3..2..1..Go and our opponent goes on ‘2’. Still we catch them up and then they clatter two poles down, so we ease up, safe in the knowledge that a clear round will see us through. Only to the told at the finish that they’re not counting poles this year. So feeling well hard done by.

This Wasn't Such A Good Idea

It all started off a bit damp and miserable this morning but turned out quite nice eventually. It’s an uneventful ride into work apart from the one incident when I had to swerve around one of those family urban assault vehicles that was indicating right but everything about its manner indicated that it was about to turn left. Which is duly did. Good job I have a sixth sense for these sorts of things.

After work I’m at the pool where there are two women occupying the very centre of the pool, swimming side by side in perfect synchronisation. They are also swimming so slowly, that by the laws of trying to float something in water (not sure if Archimedes studied swimmers) they should have sunk. They’re the type who can do very slow breaststroke for hours on end without getting a single strand of hair on their head wet. Each to their own of course but it makes you want to swim aggressively past them, hoping to splash some water over them.

At 6.30 they put the lanes in as the session becomes a laned one. The women don’t seem to notice and the ropes are laid down either side of them, effectively corralling them in. They don’t for one second deviate from their mission. Whilst everyone else stays out of their way and their lane.

I don’t rendezvous with L, as she running late at work, but I do see her heading in as I leave. Afterwards she tells me the women were still there, exactly where they were when I left.

As I cycle home, to avoid having to cross the ring road using one of the pedestrian crossings there, the ones that never change, I decide to go straight on at Crown Island and go home though the side streets. I don’t take into account what is now quite a strong side wind. As I feel myself casually drifting sideways across three lanes, I think to myself, this wasn't such a good idea was it.

For some reason, when I get home my neck and shoulder seems to be stiff. So stiff it’s actually quite hard to turn my neck. It could be the cycling but more probably the swimming. It’s a dangerous sport swimming. I still manage to kick the ball around the garden for the dogs. This used to be Doggo’s forte and still is but he’s had enough after twenty minutes or so these days. MD though has becoming as ball obsessed as Doggo is but of course he can take it for hours. Good job I’ve not got a bad leg...

Unusually Sensible

L's not happy. She ran away from my highly immoral clutches this morning so that she could be in work early to put together some urgent reports. Then once at work, she found out that they were no longer required. I'll make it up to her later, immorally.

The weather is still awful, so I guess I should be pleased that I’ve not cycled. Problem is it isn’t supposed to get much better for the rest of the week.

I cancel squash. I then find it very difficult to tell L this development because she always assumes I play things down and will therefore jump to the conclusion that the reason I’ve cancelled is that I’m so badly injured that I can barely walk. The reality is that I’m just being unusually sensible. I could of course not tell, and then pretend to go to squash, spending a few hours in the pub instead... but that would be a bit sad. So I confess all. ‘Oh dear’, she says, ‘things are bad aren't they?’ No. I’m just being sensible.

On ‘stylish’ Ilkeston Road near us they are in the process of turning The White Horse pub into yet another take-away come restaurant, of which there are already at least 400 along this stretch of road. Most of which appear to be empty most of the time, then again most of their trade probably comes at 3am in the morning. Despite this, the council merrily rubber stamped the change of use application.

It’s a famous pub, which featured in Alan Sillitoe's ‘Saturday Night Sunday Morning’. Where the main character worked at the (now demolished) Raleigh factory and drank heavily in the pub around the corner on Saturday nights, ‘one of 52 holidays of the year’. Ending up on Sunday morning, the worse for wear, throwing up, falling down the stairs, passing out and coming to in the arms of his married lover. Do they say binge drinking is a new phenomenon? The venue for this was of course the White Horse. It’s never been that exciting when I‘ve been in.

The pub hasn’t been popular for years and several licensees have attempted to make it work without actually thinking up any such of strategy to do so. Instead they’ve persisted in trying to hang on to their core trade of the last 20 years, even though I think a lot of them passed on years ago.

It’s a shame because it’s in an ideal spot for trade, as it’s surrounded by hundreds of student flats. Students don’t head into town every night and need somewhere with good food and drink deals, pub quizzes and the like. The nearby Plough have realised this and are tapping into this market but don’t have the great location that the White Horse does. The new owner kind of admits this when he says that the students ‘haven't got a great place to go for a meal’... hmmm, not sure about that but they certainly have hardly anywhere to go for a drink.

It’s all very sad that no one has the vision to take it on. It all smacks of an opportunist sale to cash in by the previous owners who clearly didn’t want to spend any money on it. The final irony will be that someone like local brewer Castle Rock will eventually come along, see the yawning gap in the market and open a bar in what used to be a take-away and make a fortune.



In the evening I abandon Doggo and take MD for a special ‘young dogs’ training session. He needs a cage for this, which is used to enforce a bit of discipline, which he desperately needs. I have to borrow one, as we don’t have one. To be honest, I’m sceptical but it works well. That is when he discovers he can’t dig his way out of it and works out that the only way to freedom is by being a good boy. After which I have a contrite little dog for most of the evening.

The Baton Is Passed

Having conceded defeat in my quest to run today’s Parkinson's Disease Society's 40th Anniversary 10K race at Holme Pierrepont, there just remains the question of who, if anyone, uses my number. I did offer it protégé but he declined, claiming a lack of race fitness and the fact that he couldn’t possibly run around Holme Pierrepont without hurling himself into the Trent, a la Survival of the Fittest.

L, reluctantly, takes up the baton... my number, the timing chip and the not pink but it might as well have been free t-shirt. She’s a trooper or in this case, in view of the weather, perhaps a storm-trooper.

She’s already declared that she hates the course (in fact any course involving Holme Pierrepont) and hates two lap races. So just to add to her enjoyment the day dawns windy and wet, very wet.



Despite this she does a good time and it therefore no disgrace to my name which will still appear on the official results. I even get name checked by the commentator as I (she) crosses the finish line. L doesn’t run over and deck him for not noticing that she’s a girl! I’m sure he was just too busy reading out all those names.

We head back home where assorted teenagers have been coming and going at strange hours, all last night and most of this morning but the house now seems peaceful and back to something approaching normality, whatever that is.

There had been the chance of some outdoor training for MD this afternoon but it’s no surprise when news comes through that the paddy fields of South Derbyshire are not going to be conducive to good training today. Neither, for that matter, is our garden. Although MD would be up for it because he doesn’t seem at all put off by a drop of the wet stuff. Doggo’s a different matter, he would simply stand and watch from the sanctuary of the dry doorway. MD though (and I) would bring that much mud into the house it’s probably not a good idea.

Despite now being officially injured I still enter a race today. It isn’t until March, so with luck, I may be fit by then. The Sticky Toffee Trail Run in the Lakes. I’m a bit gutted this means that I can’t do the new Dambuster Duathlon as the events clash but given the choice something with Sticky Toffee in the name probably wins.

L has decided has decided on a slightly different ‘flavour’ one to me. The Challenge run, the same course but with an extra hour to complete it, for the less serious competitors. Thing is, can I close an hours gap over 18km and catch her up? Probably not. Certainly not if I've still only got one good leg by then.

conceded defeat, Parkinson's Disease Society, Holme Pierrepont, protégé, race fitness, Survival of the Fittest, timing chip, trooper, stormtrooper, paddy fields, South Derbyshire, Sticky Toffee

Deep Dark Secrets

After quite a long and debaucherous lie-in this morning, L heads off to cycle train in the gym followed by the cinema, to see something cranky and cartoonish. Leaving me to train MD in the garden before taking both boys out onto the park.

With the boys knackered and attempting to dry themselves off on the upholstery, or Daughter’s new coat that she’s thoughtfully left out for them, I attempt a gentle run. Sort of a late fitness test for tomorrow’s race. The physio said to run at 50%. which surely must be walking pace? Anyhow I try a gentle jog, which seems ok for a while. Then something tightens up. However I’m not sure if this is one of the many leg muscles that always tightens up or whether it’s related to my recent injury. I walk a bit. Seems ok. So I jog a bit. Hmmm, tight again, I walk. Seems ok. I jog again. Oh. That’s not good. Things that shouldn’t twang are starting to twang, so I walk home to tender my resignation from tomorrow’s race.

Inspired by the lad at Daughter’s GCSE Presentation evening, I decide to check out Mumford And Sons ‘Sign No More’. To be fair, L had already recommended it to me. Well she said it was very ‘slit your wrists’ / more depressing than the Editors. E.g. totally my scene. I’d loaded it up on my ipod but hadn’t got around to listening to it yet. Now after finally giving it a whirl, I’m impressed. It’s rather good.



However unlike with L, it’s not the banjo that does it for me. In fact, I’d say it’s a little over banjo-ed to be honest but it’s good that we like different things about it.

Then L hits me with one of those revelations that you just don’t see coming. All these years we’ve been together and she’d been hiding a deep dark secret from me. Apparently as an eight-year-old she harboured an ambition to play the banjo. OMG. She’s kept this bottled up for the last 30+ years. I might need counselling. The worrying thing is, it’s never too late... and she even suggests she could dump her bedtime reading and take up late night banjo playing in bed instead... but the dogs would never stand for that.

In our quest to support all the areas under pressure establishments we’re back at Scruffys tonight. It’s good to see it busier as well. The food is good and we also have a long and debaucherous night on the Hobgoblin.

The Hills Are The Enemy

Finally get that second ride of the week, very pleasant and not too windy at all. It was made even more pleasant by a female cyclist attempting to power up one of the hills, all hammer and thongs, sorry I mean tongs, in front of me. The really enjoyable bit though, was when I overtook her a few seconds later. All the same it was good to see her going for it on the hills; a lot of folk just crawl up them. Hills are the enemy, they need to be attacked.

Yet again I upset MD, this time before he even left the house. As I pulled off the driveway, it was to the accompaniment of the dulcet tones of yapping. MD’s ‘upset threshold’ is very low.

It’s a good day to be on the bike because it appears that there’s a problem on the A52. It may be an accident or maybe they’ve simply closed it for Gordon. Yep, our pseudo Prime Minister and his gang are in town today and don’t we know it. The police are busy corralling the city and barricading up all the roads. So it’s a day of opportunity if you’re a burglar. They even preventing L’s work from using their own car park. It’s a cabinet away day or something like that. They’re all here, Darling, Mandleson, Balls, the lot and they’re all out terrorising the local schools this morning.

It’s some initiative to take the cabinet out to consult with different parts of the country before obviously they come to the usual conclusion that they know best or at least they think they do. We’ll find out the answer to that one in June eh Gordon?

I’m deserting L again tonight, although there’s no women involved this time and certainly not thirteen of them. Honest. It’s my six-monthly meet up with the boys from Trent Poly tonight. The chap whose house we crash at delivers another blast from the past and manages to recruit somebody whom we haven’t seen for fifteen years. Where does he find them all from? He also unearths some old photos and I’m horrified to see us lads posing, in stupid poses, just like Daughter and her mates do. How embarrassing. Not me personally of course.

It's a good night. The Exmoor Gold isn’t bad, the Batemans Victory even better. The late night pizza very welcome and necessary to dilute the alcohol. Derby’s away defeat at Swansea though is terribly predictable.

Detentions Can’t Touch Him Any More

After having a few sideways moments in the wind yesterday I didn't fancy a repeat today and the wind seemed even stronger this morning, so I take one of those unpunctual buses. I will save my legs and go for it on the bike tomorrow. This means of course that tomorrow it will rain.

In the evening it’s Daughter’s GCSE presentation evening. I think when we did Son’s two years ago I dubbed it the Oscars. Well this time that description is probably even more appropriate as they’ve moved the venue from the school hall to the Belfry hotel where they held their school prom, which was also off the premises for the first time.

It’s a fitting setting, there just one thing missing, a stage. We can’t actually see what’s going on. It’s a bit like being too far back at Rock City and only getting to see the tops of the heads of the band. That’s an appropriate comparison or another reason too because this bash turns out to be a bit of gig in itself.

The lad who two years ago gave us a totally inappropriate rendition, for a school setting, of the Libertines’ ‘Music When The Lights Go Out’ sets out to go one better this time with Mumford And Sons’ ‘Little Lion Man’. He’d obviously been briefed to keep it clean and aside from the odd mention of rape, he sang to us that he’s ‘really mucked it up this time’ which isn’t quite the right words but then by the final rendition of the chorus he’d realised that he’d left school now and what the hell, detentions can’t touch him any more, so he put the f-words back in. Cue a mixture of gasps and mild amusement from the assembled parents and heaps of kudos from his peer group.

Then after a saxophone rendition of ‘Because Of You’ the rubberised ex-deputy head returns to deliver a speech intended to inspire and hands out the certificates. I say rubberised because he’s supposed to have left so many times but just keeps bouncing back.

Then we get a group of students delivering the Killers’ ‘Human’ which I find infinitely more palatable than the original and a girl who sings ‘Misty’ which I think may have been a really old Johnny Mathis number.

A couple of ex-pupils return for cameos. Nottingham Forest’s David McGoldrick, recently signed from Southampton. I had no idea he was a local, let alone an old boy of the school.



Then there’s a comedian called Josh Knott who is now working the local circuit as part of a local double act and is really good. Someone else who is able to verbally embarrass a few teachers without fear of repercussions. To be fair, it’s all terribly good natured.

To close, aside from the usual from the speech from headmistress and a few scripted but badly delivered addresses from current pupils, a lad sings Kings of Leon's 'Use Somebody'. What a good choice to end an evening of school presentations, another of Caleb's songs about prostitutes. Well that's always been the general consensus, most of his songs do seem to be about that subject, until Hayley Williams from Paramore, and also some chick from American Idol, decided to cover it. God knows what the girls thought it was about. That said, Paramore's Live Lounge version is actually rather good.



So that’s a wrap on the night. Well for us anyway, it’s barely half time for Daughter. She’s off to the midnight preview of ‘New Moon’, the sequel to ‘Twilight’. If she stays awake through it she’ll be shattered tomorrow. I hear it's full of bare chested boys, so I'm sure she will.

The Unwritten Rule

I have to bike today. The unwritten rule says a minimum of two bikes a week. That’s a self-imposed rule but in any case I’m going stir crazy in the car this week. So far the traffic has been worse than horrendous both days. Naturally the weather isn’t going to co-operate and make things easy. It’s hellishly windy and wet too, although the rain is actually quite light, just hurled around at storm force. I arrive at work very windswept; cobwebs well and truly blown off.

I also upset MD a touch when I cycled off past him; apparently he took some calming down after that. Oh yes, by the way, discussion done, in fact operation booked. A bit of an early Xmas present for him. He’s booked in for a couple of week’s time on a Friday, to give him the weekend to recover. SO he’ll need carrying to the pub that night; that is unless we can get him a little wheelchair or something.

In today’s NME they list the Top 50 albums of the last decade. Not that it had occurred to me that we were ending a decade; it doesn’t seem that long since the end of the last one. That millennium thingy. Of course it would be going over old disputed ground to point out that a millennium actually contains a 1000 years and not 999 as they assumed at the end of 1999 and we all celebrated the new millennium a year early. This though, has relevance here and was perhaps why I didn’t think we’re at the end of a decade because we’re not. The end of the decade is the end of next year, not this year or am I just being pedantic. No matter they’ve already given the accolade to The Strokes' ‘Is This It’. Which is exactly the sort of album you’d have expected NME to give the accolade to. That is if they weren’t going to give it to the Libertines, which they nearly did, as it came in at number two.



There are lots of omissions I could mention but none jumps out at me as much as that there’s no Kings Of Leon. Ok I’m biased but really, not even one album in the top 50!

NME's Top Albums Of The Decade

1. The Strokes - Is This It
2. The Libertines - Up The Bracket
3. Primal Scream - XTRMNTR
4. Arctic Monkeys - Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not
5. Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Fever To Tell
6. PJ Harvey - Stories From The City, Stories From The Sea
7. Arcade Fire - Funeral
8. Interpol - Turn On The Bright Lights
9. The Streets - Original Pirate Material
10. Radiohead - In Rainbows

I have three quarters of the top ten in one form or another but I’m not sure I’d put any of them on my own list. It’s not even my favourite Interpol album, although obviously their most famous one.

The wind blows me home, which is a damn sight easier than cycling into it this morning.

In the evening, L lets me go out for a meal with thirteen women with just one other chap and somebody's teenage son to balance the scales of sexual equality. Yep, it's the dog club night out. In fact it's the dog club Xxxxxxmas party. Talk about early.

I’m late arriving because I attempt to use public transport which is horrendously late. In fact all the buses seem late tonight. The supposed real time electronic signs kept referring to ghost buses where they counted down the minutes to their ‘arrival’, announced them as ‘due’ and then scrubbed them off the board without any of them actually turning up. At least not until much later.

The meal is a curry, which is fine by me but isn’t very Chrismasy and the women, as you'd expect, even swiped all the after dinner chocolates before us few men had chance to move.

I slip a chunk of naan into my pocket to take home for L. I’m always thoughtful like that. If she doesn’t fancy cold naan covered in pocket fluff I'm sure the dogs will oblige in disposing of it.

Getting The Needle

Back at the physio this morning. Although I’ve all but ruled out running on Sunday, L has completely ruled me out of running on Sunday but that’s another story. The physio thinks I’ll be fine to start running in around 10 days time at 50% effort, whatever that means.

I tell her what a good, restful boy I’ve been but do confess to my attempted (mini) fell walking at the weekend. I forget to mention the squash.

This morning she offers me a course of acupuncture. Isn’t this something to do with flows of your inner Qi and all that malarkey; balancing your Yin with your Yang or something like that but I figure she ought to do something for her not inconsiderable fee.

She tells me that, mumbo jumbo aside, there is medical evidence that people can gain pain relief from it, due to the needles causing the release of endorphs into the body during the acupuncture process. Yeah whatever; just give me the needle.



It’s a bit like being under interrogation as she asks me all sorts of stuff, being chatty basically, whilst sticking pins in my legs. I try not to look but I’m sure she was at one stage using a hammer to impale them in my muscles.

A runner herself, she lives just around the corner from us, so we’ve probably bumped into her but not known it. It also means I can’t go out for a sneaky test run in case she catches me. At least I managed to interrogate her back and from the information obtained, I have worked out that her 10k time must be over the hour, so she’s not a rival.

I’ve just received our house insurance renewal forms in the post. Posted on the 4th November, our renewal date was 12th November, today is the 17th. That’s our wonderful postal service and yes I know they’ve been on strike but that’s the kind of service we’ve got used to anyhow. At least round our way.

I get an email inviting me to a special ‘contacts’ training session tonight. ‘Contacts’ being a dog agility term. It’s just what MD needs so we take up the offer and drive over to Derby for it. As I’m in the car it means I can still fit in a quick swim beforehand. L’s in the gym and I meet her for a quick one in the coffee room afterwards.

Whilst I take MD over to Derby, she takes Doggo out for a jog, something she’s not done for some time. She sensibly waits until we’ve left before she goes, to avoid the floods of tears from MD that would occur if Doggo left the house without him. He hates being left. I don’t think Doggo minds as much and certainly doesn’t take it so personally. In fact once I go through the door with MD I can visualise him high-fiving the rest of the family in glee.

At training, they present us with a nightmare scenario. They have the equipment set up in four rows with four dogs all training on equipment at the same time. This is not an ideal set of circumstances for a dog with a close to zero attention span when another dog is anywhere near his eye line. When it’s his turn MD covers the equipment in what is probably something approaching world record time but fails to stop at the end, which is what we in the trade call a ‘fault’, well five of them to be precise. So we have the embarrassing situation of the trainer telling everyone else to give their dogs a short break whilst MD has a go. So that he can do so with no distractions. Once he has centre stage with no one else training, he is brilliant.

He comes to me afterwards and looks at me with a look that I’m sure is saying that he wishes he was a bit lighter under his tail. I will discuss it with L later.

Obviously Female

I was going to bike, I really was. I even went outside and checked the weather, which at that point wasn’t raining but it had dumped some serious puddles on the roads overnight. Still I thought I’d give it a go until L pointed out the weather, obviously female, had changed its mind pronto and it was now bordering on the torrential again. So car it is then.

Oops. We delayed entering because of my injury and now the Edwinstowe 10k is full. How can that be? I didn’t think it was that popular last year. In fact checking the results, there were there were 340 of us in it last year. This year they’ve filled all 500 places with three weeks to go to the closing date.

L considers posting off an entry ‘in ignorance’. Can’t see that working, it doesn't for dog shows, I've tried it.

We’ll have to find something else Christmasy. Something with a t-shirt that we can wear. I had already made it a condition of my participation that they promise not to have red t-shirts again this year. Last year not only was it red but it had Christmas trees on it as well. Unwearable.

The horrendous traffic jam on the way home reminds me why I usually leave the car at home and probably should have biked no matter what the weather.

L heads over to Derby for a run, followed by food and drink in a pub afterwards. A few hours later she text’s to tell me she’s already on the bus, half cut. The boys and I amble up to the bus stop to aid her journey home.

She confesses that she left her breakfast at home in her haste to get to the gym this morning, only had a light lunch and then goes running. After which she hasn’t eaten anything either because one of the girls wanted to leave early, so they concentrated on the alcohol instead.

Honestly it's one rule for her, one for me. I'd be in so much trouble if that was me.

They Left Us To Drown

We find out the next day that some friends of ours, with whom we often visit the Lakes, are in the area too. We get a text from them on Sunday and it turns out they have a cottage, which is dry with spare rooms, a real fire and all mod cons yet they appear to have left us to drown. Well perhaps not, their text was delayed a day due to our lack of reception and was sent as a result of Daughter liaising with them on Facebook. Yep their cottage even had Facebook on tap. Ok so it’s not all good, although I suppose this shows that perhaps Facebook does have a use after all. Who'd have thought. All the same I’m sure the cottage wasn’t as cosy as our tent or as warm as our heating, supplied as it was by wet dog power. So I’m confident L wasn’t jealous.

I take her for Sunday lunch just to make sure and we meet up with our friends afterwards for a beer, just to show there's no hard feelings.

Overall I don’t think the weekend went too badly and L’s already booked us in for the Langdale Christmas 10k. So we’ll be back in December for that and she’s also got her eye on next year’s Sticky Toffee Run at Cartmel. Which should be a great t-shirt and you even get the legendary pudding too.



There's a choice of events. The 10km Sticky Toffee Trail Run and a 'Beauty and Beast' 18km Trail Run, which is described as 'mostly' beautiful with panoramic views of both Morecambe Bay and the surrounding peaks, runnable, mainly along waymarked footpaths and bridleways, but with short horrible, tough sections...

There seems to be a disclaimer at the bottom 'Underfoot conditions are variable with a bit of everything. Good fast sections, but it can be very sticky in places, especially if wet.' Hmmm. Sounds almost like another Survival Of The Fittest to me.

The Only One You Can Trust

We have an enforced lie in, due to the heavy rain outside the tent. No one’s complaining though, least of all the dogs and it is after all, all rather romantic. Plus there’s the added bonus that I’ve located the tent well and we’re in no danger whatsoever of being swept away by a river bursting its banks.

The weather though, is still a bit grim. So not only is my calf preventing an assault on the fells, the weather is too. Visibility is nil on the hills. We stick to a low level walk along the valley floor. It's a wet but enjoyable walk. After all, there’s something rather beautiful about an underwater Lake District. Some interesting rivers have formed where there weren't rivers before. What were once footpaths I believe?

We have a chuckle at a chap who we see pursuing his dog over the Lakeland hillside, as his dog pursues a flock of sheep. Bet he doesn’t agree with Cheryl Cole and the one in five people who agreed with her in a Kennel Club survey that their dog is the ‘only one that they can trust.’ Where do all these people get their trustworthy dogs from? Is there a special shop?



We take in the odd pit stop, a coffee shop one where L treats us to some absurdly unhealthy cakes. So much so that we have to walk those calories off on the way to the next stop, The Britannia Inn. Doggo clearly thinks that’s it for the day now and tries to snuggle up on one of the chairs in the Inn. Just what they need on their upholstery, wet muddy dog.



It’s only a stop off though; soon we carry on a bit further before retiring to... another pub. Where decent food and a pretty good new beer from the Keswick Brewery, Thirst Fall a malty 4.8er% prevail.

After several of which we head back to the tent, with the weather now much brighter, if such a thing is possible after nightfall, to crash out. The dogs snuggle up one either side of us, it is actually very cosy. Well I think so anyway.

Quite Sane By Comparison

L doesn't seem that keen about our weekend away but I'm sure the severe weather warnings of torrential rain and gales have nothing to do with it. That's all down south though and we’re heading up to the Lake District straight after work. The Lakes does what the Lakes does. It doesn't obey normal weather patterns. By the way we're camping.

L gets in touch mid afternoon to tell me she’s bought some mulled wine and a packet of dark chocolate coated ginger biscuits for the weekend. That’s the spirit. It sounds like she's getting into the swing of things.

Doggo will be gutted, ginger biscuits are his favourite but he won’t be getting any chocolate coated ones. Someone’s going to have to bite all the chocolate off for him. It'll give L something to do on the M6.

As we’re heading up the M6 it occurs to me that driving up a rain washed motorway is more exciting that a boring dry one which can get a bit dull if you’re doing mile after mile of it. I don’t think L agrees. Well she might if she opened her eyes.

I daren’t mention that it’s also Friday the 13th...

Once in the Lakes, our destination, the Langdale valley is awash with water, which is impressive even by Lakeland’s high standards. Still there's enough high ground available in the campsite still. Which is surprisingly busy, well perhaps not surprisingly, there are plenty of people madder than us. In fact up here we seem quite sane by comparison. Perhaps this is why I like it up here.

Another reason I like it up here is bar at The Old Dungeon Ghyll. With our accommodation quickly erected we walk over there and I immediately discover that walking is not so easy with my damaged calf in walking boots. I have to leave them only half done up, so it’s not looking good for hitting the hills tomorrow.

The beer also isn’t so good in The Old Dungeon Ghyll, so we don't actually drink that much. Never mind saves more units for tomorrow.

My Inner Voice Of Reason

On the bike again, this time surviving by the skin of my teeth what was a rather odd situation when I was confronted by an electric wheelchair coming the wrong way up the road, in the cycle lane and they say cyclists are inconsiderate. Its occupant, a gentleman considerably heavier than nature intended him to be, didn’t seem to see what the problem was as I was faced with either veering into the traffic or onto the pavement where a queue of schoolchildren were waiting for their bus.

L tells me she’s a Teeline girl. Turns out she’s talking about shorthand. I’m not sure if that’s when you do it one handed with a mug of tea in the other.



The rain is hammering down by the time I come to cycle home but it rather nicely stops just after I start my journey and stays stopped. At least until I get home, when it restarts. So then I can't get the dogs to go out into the garden but suppose you can’t have everything.

My inner voice of reason, L, asks whether I’m really really sure that squash is a wise thing to do this evening. She’s probably right but I intend to take it steady and not do too much dashing around. The Physio told me not to stop exercising and subject to what people think, squash isn’t supposed to involve loads of manic running around. You’re supposed to control the game from the centre of the court, taking strides from that position to play the ball and keep the running to a minimum. That is if you’re good at the game. I’m not.

We play just two games, which I lose obviously but they are very close, 15-13 and 16-14. Then I feel my calf tightening, so we just play one more at walking pace as a warm down before retiring to the pub.

Doctor's Orders

I take my Physio's recommendations on board and don’t rest up. I mean, if everyone rested up when they felt not quite 100%, nobody would ever get off the sofa. Not that some people do anyway. So I cycle in to work and take care not to strain anything. I tried to take it steady but obviously this wasn’t an easy thing to do. Not being in my nature.

Doggo’s also under Doctor’s orders. We’ve been told to increase his fibre intake, so he’s getting Weetabix for breakfast, sprinkled on top of his normal food. MD seems gutted that he isn’t getting the same and left half of his breakfast, I assume as way of protest.

Peterborough United’s manager Darren Ferguson has left the club by 'mutual consent'. e.g. been sacked. This is another bizarre sacking in the insane world of football. It’s also a bit rich as the same Chairman, who has just sacked him, refused permission for Ferguson to talk to Reading in the summer. Instead he lauded him as ‘the best young manager in the country’ and gave him a new four-year contract. Ferguson had of course just led Peterborough to back-to-back promotions.



True they currently lie bottom of the Championship with just two league wins this season but for a team that has risen so high, so fast, this is hardly a surprise to most people, even it seems to their own fans. Sometimes you have to take a step backwards to go forwards and who better to have in charge to do this than ‘the best young manager in the country’. Clearly the Chairman has other ideas. Expect to see Peterborough relegated anyway and Ferguson to land a plum job elsewhere.

After work I head into town to meet up with L. We have an early show at the Bodega Social tonight.

Galchen are an unsigned instrumental band from Glasgow, who have been going, on and off, for about eight years. In which time they have only spawned the one record, an EP called 'The Red Dot'. Which as it contains 12 tracks and is 35 minutes long is surely an LP by anyone’s standards. They're also not big on titles, in a way not seen since Forward Russia used to number all their compositions. Perhaps this isn’t surprising considering they don’t have any lyrics.

Tonight though everything has been given a name but I only know because I nabbed the set list, because they’re not big on banter or introducing songs either. In fact they haven’t even been given a microphone to thank the crowd for the applause and have to shout instead.

They open with something called ‘Audio Orgasm’ which is excellent and perhaps appropriately named. What follows is an energetic set and five more tracks, during which their drummer nearly dies at the end of each one.

The band’s name is derived from the names of bass player Gal and guitarist Chenzo. This was apparently all decided before Peter, their energetic drummer, joined them. It’s a shame because he deserves recognition as he puts his all into everything tonight, despite having a symbol that has a sizeable chunk missing out of it. Looks like a rabbit has taken a nibble out of it.



They have some great tunes but for all their brilliance tonight, and call me old (old) fashioned if you like, but I like a vocalist. They need someone like Scott Hutchison to write some words for them. It’s not going to happen though; they are a dedicated instrumental band and committed to the cause. All the members are also in other bands as well, presumably with vocals, so perhaps they don’t feel the need. All the same, good luck to them.

Frightened Rabbit have the best lyrics on the planet. We could discuss this but it's almost certainly beyond debate. There's only one thing better than wallowing in the wordiness of a Frightened Rabbit CD and that's by having Scott Hutchison stood two feet in front of you singing them to you live. This is by sheer coincidence the approximate distance I am from him tonight at the cosy and sold out Bodega Social. So close I can watch his sweat fall into my beer. There’s always a downside isn’t there.

If you've never seen Frightened Rabbit live I strongly recommend that you do unless, of course, you've just split up with someone whom you were rather fond of. In which case avoid like the plague, you'll be sobbing into your pint within seconds before probably glassing yourself with it during the encore when they usually play ‘Keep Yourself Warm’, but more about that later.

Happy stuff then? Nope. So it’s a perfect night out for an old misery like me. Their album ‘The Midnight Organ Fight’ (great title, think about it for a minute) was probably the best album I never heard in 2008 because it was early 2009 before it got on my radar. It’s a record almost exclusively devoted to the bitter breakdown of a relationship. Which is not a new idea for sure but it is written with such feeling and rawness that it cuts deep, twists the knife, and then pours salt in the open wound. It’s pretty affecting stuff.

When we last saw them they were unplugged, totally acoustic, and, with apologies to the rest of the band, they were all about Scott Hutchison, whose singing reached even more powerful and yes, sadder levels in that format. Tonight, plugged in, and with a new member Gordon, they’re a different animal yet again. They quite simply rock. At one stage they had four guitars going at the same time, tonight they’re rabbits on steroids.

‘Modern Leper’ kicks things off and it sounds great. Obviously more powerful than acoustic but also more potent than on CD. Depression really can sound this good.

This is a pattern that repeats as we get pretty much a rundown of the pain and despair of their last album. A run though of an obviously emotional phase in Scott Hutchinson’s life.

‘Fast Blood’ with its direct lyrics about intimacy, seems well, faster. ‘Good Arms vs. Bad Arms’ is as poignant as ever. A song about his girl not needing his bad arms now that that she's found a better pair. Is he bitter about that? Oh yes, armed with the past, and the will, and a brick.



Then there’s the ultimate sadness of 'My Backwards Walk', great to listen to, great to sing along to but impossible to read the lyric sheet to without feeling for Scott and reaching for the bottle. All ending with the revelation that 'you're the shit and I'm knee deep in it'

They include two new songs and the new single ‘Swim Until You Can't See Land’ sounded particularly good and dare I say it, a little more cheerful.



Good though they are tonight, I have to say I kind of prefer the unplugged style. The band and particularly the drums drown out Hutchinson’s wonderful Scottish accent, which came over as so vulnerable and had such impact acoustically. It also doesn't encourage crowd participation, who would have willingly sung along with every word but perhaps that’s a good thing. Listening to the audience sing when you’ve come to hear a singer can get tiresome after a while.



The slower and quieter start to ‘The Twist’ is an exception and allows Hutchinson’s vocals and his wonderful use of words to shine through on a song that is as gorgeous a cry for love as you’ll ever hear.

Then there’s ‘Poke’, so good acoustic but it actually seems even better with the full band behind it and a souped up ‘Square 9’ is a great one to finish with.



Then they find themselves up against curfew time, you should have come on earlier boys, and have to cut a song from the encore. It’s frustrating because I could see their set list but couldn't quite work out what it should have been because someone has bad hand writing. Another new song perhaps.

This leaves us with a rather rushed but still wonderfully biting ‘Keep Yourself Warm’ with everyone if not singing, mouthing, the words and joining Scott in telling his ex-girlfriend to well, F-Off, or perhaps everyone has got their own ex they wanted to pass the same message to but had never had Hutchinson’s capacity for words to do it in such style.

Wherever his ex is these days, her ears must have been well and truly ringing since he started touring this record back in 2008. Don’t be too hard on her though, without her there would never have been ‘The Midnight Organ Fight’ but it does make you wonder how anyone could get close to him again. If you fall out with him, you're going be immortalised in song.

Well I never thought I'd come back partially deaf from a FR gig. Tonight the band showed that not only can they make us cry but that they can make us rock too.

Afterwards we pop into a new pub called the Roundhouse, near Nottingham Castle, last time we looked it was a struggling Indian restaurant. Inside it looks suspiciously like the Hand And Heart right down to the plentiful but predictable selection of ales. It’s also very quiet. Oh no, another place we'll have to support to keep open.

I’m Not Going To Die

I have my physio appointment this morning which allows a bit longer in bed but also forces the necessity of using the car on one of my designated cycling days. Oh well, I suppose I am supposed to be injured. I get in the car and find that somebody has left a CD of Christmas music in the player. Oh hang on, no it isn't, it's just Panda Bear. Yep you heard correctly. There's an artist called that.



Not to be confused with the totally different animal (and band) Grizzly Bear. I don't think they're related. Panda is better known as a member of Animal Collective. His mother didn’t christen him that obviously but she might as well have done, his real name is Noah. So I guess he hadn’t got much credibility to lose by changing it.

Well, apparently I’m not going to die and might possibly be fit for my race next Sunday, if I really push my luck but the physio wouldn’t recommend it. I’ve a slight tear in my calf muscle. Thankfully my tendons are fine. In fact she said I’d got very nice strong tendons but I know she was only buttering me up for my money.

Ideally I need to not run for three weeks, so she knows her stuff and reads the same websites as me. The good news though is that cycling, swimming, hang gliding etc are all fine and should be encouraged, as she says I do need to exercise it. So I should be fit to mosh at the Rabbit on Wednesday.

She also reckons that I over pronate and should think about get some different running shoes to deal with this. So only half a dozen pairs to replace then.

She also wasn’t an evil person like the last physio I went to, she was far gentler, not that I’m adverse to the occasional bit of rough. She did have colder hands than L, which I didn’t think was physically possible. She also didn’t use a rolling pin and I didn’t broach the subject of whether it’s a good idea or not to continue to let L batter me with one. It must have gone ok, as I’m going back next week. Either that or I’m just desperate to get fit for my race.

I was gutted to learn today that The Charlotte music venue in Leicester is due to be demolished to make way for student flats.



Formerly known as The Princess Charlotte, for over two decades it has been a nationally recognised stop off on the small bands circuit, otherwise known as the ‘toilet circuit’. Located on the inner ring road opposite De Montfort University, it has the trade mark dark, slimy walls and the appropriately dingy toilets to match but it had charm. It also had concrete pillars that blocked your view and the sound was so bad that their resident sound engineer became known as Feedback Phil.

Bands though performed in a space the size of your own front room which allowed you to get up close and personal with them. The place always rocked and will sadly missed if it goes.

The place only reopened last month after going into administration and closing back in January. It is currently being leased on a temporary six month contract but the new manager was hoping to get a longer deal.

The Charlotte, more than any other venue in Leicester, put the city on the map. Some of the most famous bands in the country started out there. Oasis played there in 1995, Muse in 1999, Coldplay in 2000, the Arctic Monkeys in 2005 and Leicester's own Kasabian played early gigs there. Among others, Blur, Manic Street Preachers and Pulp have also played there. Legendary Leicester band Diesel Park West were always there. Noel Gallagher in fact once listed it as his second favourite Oasis gig.

It started to go downhill when they demolished the separate bar area and knocked it through into one. Although it was never going to win any good pub awards, people used to go there to meet up and have a drink, then if they liked the sound of what was happening in the small 200 capacity back room, they’d go through for a look.

I took L to The Charlotte once but I don't think she was too impressed. I remember clinging to a wall with a foot on a water pipe to get a good view for Elastica's ill fated comeback in 2000.

Admittedly I haven't been there for a while. Why is that? Probably because nobody seems to play Leicester any more. For years I seemed to be going over there every other week. Where once bands would play in both Nottingham and Leicester because both could pull the crowds with both cities having two universities, now they don’t bother.

This is the bigger problem for Leicester. The city has been committing gig suicide for some years now. Far too many of their music venues have disappeared. Granby Halls went in 1999. The Magazine club probably even before that. Then there was the demise of the old Leicester Poly/De Montfort University student union building. I have such fond members of that place.



The Percy Gee building, as it was known, had a large arena, great viewing and a great atmosphere. It was my all time favourite live venue and incidentally one of the late John Peel's as well. They closed it in 2003. The stupid thing is that the building has been sat there, empty, ever since until finally in May of this year plans for its redevelopment were unveiled. These plans will include a new 1750 capacity venue but obviously it won’t be the same and doesn’t address the need for venues for bands wanting to play to crowds smaller than this.

Where can medium sized bands go without the old Poly Arena and where will the small new bands play without the Charlotte? Well apart from the excellent Musician. Answer: Nottingham.

A city needs the whole range of venues with different capacities so that successful bands can move up the scale, if not the promoters will look elsewhere. If you haven't got the small venues for them to start off in they won't come in the first place. Nottingham seems to have learnt this lesson and has seriously raised its game in the last decade. Leicester has gone the other way and has gone about dismantling the infrastructure required to accommodate bands at different stages of development.

At the moment, apart from the original Leicester University there’s nothing size wise until the De Montfort Hall. Although neither the De Montfort or the Uni seem to get the gigs now. That said, I’m just booking a gig at the Uni and it’ll be good to go back.

Not Cavalier In The Slightest

Today I make an appointment to visit a physio. That shocked L, who thinks that, in common with most males, I have a cavalier attitude to my health. What tosh. It is vitally important that I get this injury seen to as soon as possible, so that I know how soon I can go out and aggravate, I mean, test it.

There was the possibility of the interestingly named ‘NHS fast track referral system’ but I’m told even that would take weeks. This admittedly is fast compared with months, as was the norm before. However my appointment, which is tomorrow at 9am, is what I call fast. In fact I could have gone today; the downside of course is that it’s going to cost me a fair amount of money.

A word for Coventry City manager Chris Coleman, who I bet had a traumatic weekend after his side LOST to Derby on Friday. We’ve recently seen what happens to managers when they BEAT Derby, so he must be really sweating.



After work, Doggo is at the vets, having another ‘squeeze’. The poor chap. L comes along to offer moral support. Yet again we considered the DIY option. It’s all on the internet. All you need is protective clothing, rubber gloves and a muzzle. So the vets it is then.

This puts him in better shape, and presumably also much lighter, for his final Monday training session. It’s a shame he’s quitting really, the Alsatian in our group really fires him up (e.g. annoys him) and he goes like a rocket. Unfortunately in competition, without the Alsatian rubbing him up the wrong way he can’t reproduce the same speed. This won’t, I don’t think, be a problem with MD. Absolutely anything and everything winds him up.

As regards my bad leg, I take inspiration from Liverpool’s Fernando Torres. He’s been limping around on one leg for weeks, struggling his way through an hour or so of their matches but still managing to bang in the odd goal with his good leg. With his help I have managed to clamber to the top of our ‘Fantasy Football' league last week, now all I need is a goal or an assist from him tonight, to keep me there.



He’s doesn’t play! The complete and utter waster. That’s him off my inspiration list. Thanks for nothing mate.

Now I’m One Of Them

It’s a bit of a low key weekend really. MD was supposed to be making his competition debut this weekend at a small scale local event but I left my entry too later and didn’t get in. Probably for the best, gives me more time to work on him. Which I do this morning before taking them both around the park again.

Despite my injury I join L at the gym and do 15k on the exercise bike. Which isn’t anywhere near as dull as I feared it would be.

At first L takes the bike next to me, which is brave of her considering she’s previously been told off by the gym instructor for slow cadence when she reckoned she was peddling her socks off. She's safe. I won’t show her up because I start slowly out of injured necessity. Then after I while, I up my revolutions. I can’t put the thing in a ‘hard’ setting in case I sheer off completely whatever I’ve torn in my leg. So I slap it in ‘high street mountain bike’ mode (you know stupidly low gear, intended only for assents of Ben Nevis and then spin your legs like bees wings and go nowhere fast).

L has long since moved on to another piece of equipment as I go through 80 revs, 90 revs, then 100. Beside me another girl has taken L’s place. She’s selected ‘pootling down to the shops’ mode on her exercise bike and is trying hard not to let the wind mess up her hair. L has nothing to worry about in the cadence department compared with her. Then she gets off after two minutes, clearly wrecked.

Then to warm down I go for a walk on the treadmill. I sneer at people who walk on treadmills. I mean why not just go for walk around your local park? Now I’m one of them. How embarrassing. The same girl is there too, obviously having left her bike at the shops, she's decided to walk back, windowing shopping as she goes. I shouldn’t be so cutting really, at least she’s doing something.

We shouldn’t really be consuming any more alcohol this weekend but our local pub has been running a beer festival all weekend but we haven’t been in, due to having other things on. We really ought to go in and support it. Otherwise they might not run another one. It’s a tough life. As I said yesterday this ‘supporting’ business isn’t good for you.

It Isn’t Pink

My race t-shirt for next weekend arrives and it isn’t pink. It’s white. Although it’s still kind of awful but I won’t look too ridiculous as I hop round on my good foot.

I resist the hard sell at the opticians. Why does everybody have to try and sell you something you don’t want these days? Just do your job, tell me my eyes are ok and then I’ll leave thank you very much.

I get in a training session with MD and a park session with both of them before L takes me off to see a film with subtitles. I’m not that good with subtitles and I’m also a tad knackered, so it could be hard work. The film is ‘Katalin Varga’ which is set in ‘upbeat’ Transylvania, Romania.

Katalin lives in a remote Transylvanian village with her husband and her son. However her husband has found out her big secret and throws her out. So Katalin, together with her 10-year-old, take to the road on a horse drawn cart.



She decides to track down a chap called Gergely, a man who was an accessory when she was raped 10 years ago. A rape that produced her Son. She extracts out of him where she might find her actual assailant before she bludgeons him to death with a rock.

When she finds the man, Antal, but both he and his wife are very friendly towards her. They take both her and her son in. We find out that they have been unable to produce children of their own but they don’t know which of them is at fault. Katalin has a pretty good idea.



She recounts her whole story to them when she is taken on a boat trip by the couple, although she omits names. Katalin has clearly come to kill Antal but things take a twist when his wife works it out. Then to complicate matters further, Katalin herself is being pursued by the brother of the first man she killed, in an act of counter revenge.



It’s a dark movie, in terms of mood as well as subject matter and quite brutal too when the violence comes but it was also at times difficult to follow and to fully understand people motives. This was a shame because the story had potential. I mean, why wait for 10 years if it was all so important to her. Why come to kill them, wouldn’t some other form of retribution had been better? Throughout the film I never felt like I was rooting for her. The film ends with two more deaths, neither of which particularly added up to me, but still, not bad though and it certainly scores points for being gloomy.

The beer and food we had afterwards was good as well. Then, on the way home, we popped in at Scruffys purely to try and support them. We ended up staying for two beers, which wasn’t what we intended. This ‘supporting’ business isn’t good for your liver and they hadn’t even got the Hobgoblin on.