23rd June. Chester Triathlon II.

At one point my hand goes into something gooey in the water, the body of one of last years competitors?

No, I have veered off almost at a tangent into the mud of the riverbank, in the choppy grey water.

The weather is unseasonable but in a different way from last year, we seem to be experiencing the equinoxial gales on midsummer"s day.

To add emphasis, by midday a tree has been blown down near the bandstand next to the swim starting point.

A couple of hours earlier and the results might have had a new reason for DNS (Did Not Start).

17th June. I Avoid The Eyes of The Dental Assistant And The Dentist.

"It's not going to be as bad as Marathon Man is it?"

"Well if you've coped before you should be ok."

We all seem to suffer memory loss when it comes to pain was my conclusion as I began to question the bravado of teeth drilling without a gum injection.

"Just this back one now."

I look between the two faces at the bright light.

The trick is to relax a bit.

But not too much that you forget not to flinch.

That would be worse than Marathon Man.

AAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIYYYYYYHHHHHHHHHHH!

16th June. Cycling - You Are The Weakest Link...

"How much advantage is there in buying a bicycle for £3000" I quizzed a fellow Triathlete who had the look of a seasoned competitor.

"Well there's very little difference between a bike for £3000 and one for £1000 but there's a big difference between a £1000 bike and one for £500."

I am consistently annoyed by the numbers of people who leave me behind during the cycling all of whom have expensive bikes.

I went straight down to the local bike shop keen to part with wads of money.

£74.95 for a pair of those funny handlebars that make you look like Superman and offer reduced wind resistance, a saving of £925.05.

"That bike in the window - the Kuota, has a carbon fibre frame and everything state of the art." says the friendly local bike shop man, "Old Neil Whatsisname bought one for his birthday last week, he was ninety-three."

"!"

15th June. Ayr Open Water Triathlon.

Stopped off at Kilmarnock services for breakie at the Clinically Obese Chef, I had a coffee whilst Isabelle tucked into a bacon omelette with hash browns and baked beans.

She needed to build her strength up for the long walk to the shops in Ayr town centre.

Competitors in rubber suits out numbered the swans which hung around like a group of neds just beyond the mouth of the river Doon.

The water was a balmy 14 degrees C. and things went well enough in the mass thrashing around although visibility was poor.

More so after being booted in the eye by someone in front.

This compressed the goggles like a sink plunger, one eyeball felt like it was being pulled out of it's socket which caused the further reduction in visibilty.

12th June. Swanning Around.

I felt it was time to force myself not only into a rubber suit but also the River Earn as some element of training for the forthcoming Ayr Open Water Triathlon.

The initial five minutes were about as hellish as I remembered, maybe more so.

Then just as I was getting comfortable, out of nowhere this swan appears.

Course the swan had never come across a man in a rubber suit before in it's own stretch of provincial backwater.

And I'd never really had a pond skaters eye view of a swan either.

Then it starts giving it all that with it's neck and hissing and flapping, taking off and landing.

There could be a nest somewhere but they're agressive like that anyway swans.

By the time my goggles have misted up I'm gettting paranoid about the swan.

Put me right off my stroke.

When I can't see it I'm thinking where the hell's that bloody swan is it about to go for me?

10th June. The Headless Chicken.

"One of those new chickens is dead." I remark.

The new chickens were thriving quite well until one had mysteriously become headless.

The body was there but the head had disappeared completely from the crimescene.

By a process of elimination there could be only one suspect with the strength to decapitate the hapless youngster, no matter how improbable...

Step forward, Mother hen.

9th June. A Climbing Accident.

"Mountaineering is inherently dangerous." as O.J. had put it.

The same could be said of Motorcycling.

Combining a round trip on two wheels of several hundred miles with a couple of days of rock climbing would serve to only magnify the risks?

Returning home without a scratch I find that, against the odds, Isabelle has been injured whilst climbing.

Climbing into the hammock.

There was a loud crack as one supporting piece of tropical hardwood split and with the principal action of a miniature Trebuchet dealt a firm smack to the side of one knee.

It could have been worse though as Isabelle had chosen to climb without a climbing helmet.

6th June. £300 To Be Shouted At.

"FIGHT IT!" shouts O.J. from above out of sight as I twirl around suspended in space, " I KNOW you can do it!"

I think I might have reached the present limit of climbing ability with the appropriately named 'Muscle Crack' graded at E1 5c.

"Have a rest then get back on."

Eventually I haul myself up like a beached whale onto a sloping rock shelf.

"I can't reach that 2nd Friend it's below me"

"WHY IS IT STILL THERE!!!?"

In the beached whale manouvre I didn't seem to have a spare hand to extract the camming device that the rope had gone through for protection.

"If I hold onto that sling I can lean over the side and probably reach it."

Mercifully I manage to yank the offending gold anodised device out of the rock thus saving a considerable amount of shouting.

3rd June. "Is It Safe?"

"Have you been flossing? Probably not? I'll need to book you in for a half hour appointment..."

"Oh gawd!"

The fact is I've kept my teeth longer than any previous member of my family be a very long margin.

Mother had them all whipped out in her twenties due to gum disease, likely from a combination of smoking and obsessional cleaning.

Father was struggling with heavyweight porcelain teeth at the age of twenty-one, after having all the nerves drilled out in some failed pre-war dental experiment.

Lucky they've got those white fillings now though.

Drill on and don't bother with that numbing injection, I hate needles.

1st June. The Walrus And Lycra.

The Walrus ended up disappointed to some extent, largely I think because Stirling decided to run everything in reverse order, ie Fastest first instead of slowest.

This new policy meant that the fittest were away and gone whilst the less fit (him and me) were still pfaffing around getting changed.

This led to the conclusion that I had misrepresented the sport of Triathlon vis-a-vis the numbers of 'fit' available women in Lycra.

The Novice event which ran last was largely female made up of not so yummy mummies, some of whom must have had difficulty hauling themselves out of the pool.

He showed little sympathy for these brave souls - "I'm worse than a reformed smoker."