29th April. Biological Age.

A questionaire in one of Isabelle's magazines purports to calculate one's biological age.

Non smoker? deduct X years, exercise regularly? take away Y years, sleep more than 8 hours a night add Z years, etc etc.

Isabelle's age came out at something around 92, which is an exaggeration of course but not that much.

"You look like a clown without the make-up." Is the going opinion about my visage.

You get the face you deserve at 40.

At 50 you get the face you didn't really deserve at all?

28th April. Stirling Triathlon Countdown.

I see The Walrus is bragging about how easy the 5k run is becoming with a time of 27mins something.

I decide to punish myself with 10k so it'll make 5k seem more like the sprint it's supposed to be.

48 mins.

The Walrus ploughs through the waves with a swim time estimate about 3 mins less than mine which evens out the current running positions.

But then I'm so crap at the cycling.

Mind you the Walrus hasn't actually seen a Triathlon whereas I'm due for the fifth one this year on Sunday.

"You've been fit all your life."

"Yes but I'd already started at college before you'd started feeding at the breast."

24th April. Penguin V. Walrus.

'Phase 2' at the Bone Crunchers and 'things have recovered nicely'.

I said it was definitely easier trying to breathe to the right hand side when I was at the Leisure Pool.

He gives me another going over followed by the inevitable "CRUNCH" and "CRUNCH" again

Ignoring the wilder Chiropractic claims, I find I can now whirl my left arm around the same as the right, which is a distinct improvement.

Swallowing water should be much reduced and the stroke evened out, I should be able to power through the water like a flipping penguin.

After all that the 'Bulk' claims he only breathes to one side and even then only every fourth stroke, far too leisurely for my liking, probably like a Walrus.

Isabelle tells me my shoulders are too narrow, one of several handicaps.

Women prefer men with broad shoulders unless they've got a huge beer gut.

23rd April. 'Sustainability'

Despite the lack of a steering wheel I felt the need to lie down on the K's newly sanded living room floor this afternoon, as if to sleep.

Unprofessional admittedly but last nights disturbances combined with an evenings extensive one arm front crawl in the leisure pool seemed to have taken it's toll...

The K's outlook is all about 'Sustainability' - wood pellet central heating, recycling, composting, ethical banking, green consumerism et al.

Of course four and a half hours sleep combined with a physical job is about as sustainable as our current rates of growth, consumption, depletion, degredation etc

21st April. Tiredness Can Kill.

I awake to the sound of the horn from a white Mercedes Van in the process of overtaking me, I'm drifting across into the fast lane of the M 90.

How embarassing.

If these things required explanation, for instance at some kind of inquest, background reports might have revealed, budgies falling off perches in the early hours, or a disabled cat shuffling around in the bedroom and then there's the cockerel reveillez.

In fact I should be in bed now and you shouldn't drink tea at this time of night either.

I don't feel tired now, only when I've got both hands on a steering wheel.

19th April. Cornice On Beinn Iutharn Mor.

"Good training! The snow's absolutely perfect! but you need to kick your feet well in..." I remark climbing over the edge.

The words 'you need to kick your felt well in' never reached their intended recipient as I, without warning, accelerated out of earshot down the now vertical slope.

One minute I was in complete control, the next completely out of control laughing like a looney, Stuart watched from above the cornice, no doubt feeling vindicated about his remarks about a vertical slope.

In an attempt at deceleration I applied braking force with my toes, something which is a big 'no no' with crampons on as this causes an immediate cartwheeling effect.

Despite not wearing crampons I now performed a perfect somersault and continued the descent head first.

17th April. Tuning For Speed.

"Good illustration" remarks the bone cruncher, after I'm through trying to demonstrate front crawl in the chiropractic consulting room

The fact is I'm not exactly an olympic contender but in an effort to bring the swim time down to something equal or better than the 'I. Bulk', all avenues have to be explored.

After a preamble I'm placed in a half nelson and my claim "that there isn't any pain or anything in the left shoulder was clearly an empty boast'.

"Arrrghhiyyeee!"

"I'll need you to come back for Phase 2 in a week."

14th April. The Daily Arse V. Dripping Fat.

I have to keep the Incredible Bulk up to speed with my latest Triathlon results as a fixation has developed.

Normally these events involve racing against the faceless, apart from a handful recognised from previous races but there are no names to go with them.

The upcoming showdown in Stirling on the 1st June may prove to be more personal.

The Bulkster has been aiming for a time of 1hr 25mins, the latest results from East Fife show a personal best of 1hr 26mins for The Editor.

To be fair The Bulk hadn't actually tried running at all until the recent dramatic weight loss, due to the possible wear and tear on various joints.

Now it's changed days and with a revised estimated swim time of 13mins 50secs where bulk equals bouyancy the world must wait.

11th April. How Safe Is Your Chimney? II

I'd not long started wrestling with a length of 8 inch class one liner when another woman arrived in matching pink velour with an unusual breed of dog, breathless after the short walk from next door.

"We'd like a liner in our chimney" she gasped, "and we want to fit a stove in another room and we want a liner for that as well... after what happened over the road..."

The sight of the blazing farmhouse had left a distinct impression on everybody that lived in sight of the flames.

Mrs Pink Velour with the designer Setter would be the fourth woman in this small segment of Perthshire.

Once they see Mrs So & So having her chimney done paranoia is simply racked up to the point were they're scared to light the fire...

"George?"

"Yes dear?"

"George, I've lost all confidence in our chimney d'you think we should get it lined?

"God no! that'll cost a fortune, the chimney's fine as it is."

"Well Rena's had hers done."

10th April. How Safe Is Your Chimney?

Miss R's anxiety concerning chimney lining wasn't difficult to fathom.

On opening the front door for the last two years the view encompasses mainly the house directly over the road.

The charred roof timbers of which lean haphazardly against one another rather like tepee poles without the outer skin.

I think it was Miss R. herself who phoned the neighbours, who were watching the telly at the time, to ask - 'Do you know your house is on fire?'

So that winter's night they stood and watched the house burn down.

Miss R. got to thinking especially when there was some cock up with the neighbours insurance company - (Chimney should have been lined blah blah...)

"That was another big fire when the church burnt down too, was it the local builder or something?"

"A-ha, and funnily enough it happened on Ash Wednesday.'

9th April Tibet My Arse.

"It's quite topical actually" says Mr B handing me another free coffee, "We were in Lhasa about ten years ago."

"Really, did you see the Potala then?"

"Yes, yes." said Mr B, without any further elaboration either about Tibetans or Chinese officialdom, it was the effects of the altitude that seemed to have stuck.

'We took off in China and the plane just kept going up and up and up when we got off the plane they gave us all our own personal oxygen mask."

"Yeah?"

"Course I was still a smoker then I felt terrible splitting head aches nausea by the time I'd aclimatised it was just about time to leave."

I see the Chinese authorities won't allow you to read this in China unless you can use an Anonymous Proxy, because of the word Arse, now probably Tibet as well. Google my arse.

8th April. Stevie The Wonder Chicken.

"Is that all the room it's got in there?" says Stuart motioning to the brain damaged cockerel's enclosure.

"Yes but he's quite happy in there on account of the brain damage and he's made a remarkable recovery look how red his comb is now "

Anyway Isabelle let the creature out the other day and it still has the wit to puff it's chest out at the other chickens.

As soon as there's a confrontation though he starts giving it all that with his neck and in the process topples over backwards.

The net result leaving himself vulnerable to be as it were kicked when he's down or rather pecked with a further loss of neurons.

Isabelle says the head movement he makes is very like when Stevie Wonder is singing.

4th April. Tony Blair Latest.

Tony's fear of being branded "a nutter" whilst in office if he talked about God were probably well grounded but now, from the sidelines, he must feel it's ok to be branded a nutter.

Tony's assertion that "people of faith" have more in common than they realise is an excellent idea.

The specifics of Faith, the details, the small print, doesn't matter too much. For instance within Anglicanism, which is mainly a Christmas Bring and Buy Sale, more tea Vicar? type of religion there's considerable lack of certainty about whether God approves of selling raffle tickets for say a knitted Toad of Toad Hall. Mmmm... is that strictly gambling?

Really Belief boils down to whether prayer works or not, five times a day or just on a Sunday, or maybe the first Sunday in the month when you feel you should put in an appearance at Communion.

Yes but no but what Belief REALLY boils down to is whether you believe that prayer works. ( Here we are talking of influencing external events not just jollying oneself up a bit by getting right with God, The Universe or whatever).

So conveniently and also re: being branded "a nutter" if there is no evidence at all that prayer actually works imagine how strong one's Faith necessarily becomes.