The Daily Arse

14th April. Things Go Bad.

2011-04-14T20:03:00.007+01:00

" HONESTLY all that GOOD food WASTED!!!!"... I can hear Mother now. The plug had come out of the freezer under the stairs... prob quite a while ago by the look of things, or rather the smell. The resulting putrifaction mixed well with Tiddles new trick of using the area immediately behind the freezer as a sort of litter tray without the benefit of the absorbency of the litter. Bleach seemed to answer well to the task. That cat is going senile now and if I was willing to stand the ensuing hiatus with IB would dispatch it myself. Although to be fair to Tiddles she's been very cheap to run. It's just like people, the pre war generation, formative years on what was largely organic then rationing till 1956 no burden at all on the state until the last lap. Sooner or later Elected Dispatching is going to have to be brought in and why not rationing? This obesity epidemic should be tackled head on 2 ounces of butter a week, four ounces of meat and no sugar.

5th April "The World's Toughest Ironman"

2011-04-05T22:21:00.002+01:00

I must say it recently came as a bit of a surprise if not to say shock to find that IM Lanzarote is dubbed the world's toughest bla bla bla... I mean my hand had been forced by Fat Boy, there's no way I could have him trumpeting about doing it. So in a continued spirit of bitter rivalry I find my self with only about 6 weeks to go before the dreaded heat, hills and headwinds. Course FB has had a lot on what with newfound domestic bliss, romantic trips to New York, The Wedding and financial stuff, which may have left him less prepared than he'd want and naturally heavier. Nothing like the bad old days you understand but... Even so largeness has its own peculiar advantage. It's one thing cycling uphill but coming down - you wanna see him go! YEEEE - HAAAAH!!!!

16th January. Sequel to "Love & Other Drugs"

2011-01-16T21:22:00.003Z

Maggie's condition has deteriorated to the point where she no longer enjoys sex. When she has lost most of her personality and keeps shitting herself Jamie decides to smother her with a pillow. He then meets another, younger, woman with a keen interest in sex but this time with a psychiatric illness. She ends up cutting his penis off in the middle of the night. Jamie is then forced to reinvent himself as the transsexual escort "jamie Lee".

24th December. They Shoot Ponies Don't They?

2010-12-24T17:01:00.001Z

Speaking to up the road and said "it can't be easy getting equality between the three of them" motioning to the kids looking at some movie on the telly. "Well She had a new pony which will do her for the next ten christmases at least." "New pony?" "Well two of them were getting old and sick they had to go..." "Go? " "Yes they go away in a big van." Dear dear... what could be sadder than that? murdering your pet after thirty years?

13th September. Fat Boy Bites Off More Than He Can Chew.

2010-09-15T22:54:00.002+01:00

Rounding the outermost bouy on the second lap of the swim in chilly Loch Linnhe I was surprised to find that the huge fish I was in collision with was none other than FB. It was a few moments before the fish came to the realization that the digging in the ribs was out of mere recognition rather than underhand play by an unknown competitor. Ahead in the swim! A first in this long running saga of bitter rivalry. FB then had the benefit of talc in transition 1. and had his socks on first however I sprinted to the exit and got away on the bike. FB was expecting big things after investing heavily in Titanium and assorted top of the range bicycle componentry. However the Big Man was tiring like a 300 lb Marlin on the end of high breaking strain line after the exertion of the previous days race. By the end of the 90km cycle all the fight had gone out and the big fish was flapping about in the bottom of the boat. "What! No run??" I said after running across the line after a further 13 miles of pointlessly looking over my shoulder..

8th September. Helvellyn Sick Up

2010-09-08T22:15:00.004+01:00

As soon as I tip-toed in and climbed into one of the three tier bunks of Generator Noise Cottage I knew I was going to be sick in something like 10 secs, which wouldn't have been nice for the serious competitors already asleep. I reversed quickly in the darkness and straight out into the relative anonymity of the campsite in just my matalan underpants. 3 bottles of Miller and then a pint at the local just sitting on top of double lasagna with lemon meringue ?? Simply a case of overspill and not true vomitus. The plus point was with that level of carbo loading that "England's Toughest Triathlon" could be completed on one Mars bar and half a bottle of coke.

24th August. God On The M90 Slip Road.

2010-08-25T09:14:00.003+01:00

SO there was this rubber wheel rolling down the road towards us, that was the first indication. Then round the corner a bit further up the hill a car with the remaining tyres pointing skywards and a faint blue haze. Ummmm.. I was expecting carnage, you just don't know, but Pete being an ex PC was well used to people trapped in wreckage and screaming that kind of thing, And then here's this young lad in what looked like a pair of Winkle Pickers on his mobile. "Yes but can you come and pick me up..?" Obviously it was Un Miracle! The youth seemed attired for what might have been a wedding, perhaps he was late and that accounted for the high speed and latterly the trajectory of the Peugeot? A mini bus appeared through the jam of traffic and other well dressed people got out, some sort of congregation it being a Sunday evening. Prayers after the initial clipping of the crash barrier... explained the father. Ahhh! That explains it, walking free unscathed and all. Unless he'd suffered a ruptured spleen that didn't come to light till Monday? I mean God can't be everywhere at once?

25th July Ironman Zoorick Just Pissing About..

2010-07-25T21:51:00.006+01:00

"Funnily enough it's the swim I'm most worried about." said Old Nick (42) doing his first Ironman. "So long as I've got space in front of me to swim in I'll be ok - It'll be ok" He assured himself. We shuffled barefoot along with two and half thousand other rubber suited clones through the muddied grass towards the early morning lake. "Yeah and then your goggles mist up halfway through and you don't know where the hell the bouys are." i interjected, "DON'T TALK IT UP MATE! DON'T TALK IT UP!" That was the last I'd see of Old Nick and buddy Tone until 5 mins before the end of the race... Now you can always pee in a wetsuit but try as I might I just couldn't relax the old bladder enough to get the flow started whilst I was front crawling. So I kept on, tried to forget about it but the pressure kept on mounting, Bloody Hell! Carter! it was becoming unbearable - I'd just have to break off and tread water to finally get some relief. I knew what would happen though - as soon as you stop swimming the nearest bloody race marshal in a kayak thinks you're in difficulty. Well I WAS but not cos i was gonna drown. So this Swiss German comes paddling over just when i was in warm relaxing midstream ach I just had to get swimming again and make straight for the porta-loos in transition one. The cycling was something best forgotten about and there was two laps of it. I stuck to coca cola and water and I think I only needed one roadside urination in the whole 112 miles. What sticks in my mind is umpah bands and steel bands and pretty girls coming past in Lycra with names like Jolleen. Any girl's name that was part of a song made you want to break out of delirium into an appropriate refrain - "Jolleen Jolleen Jolleen JO-LLEEEEEEN! " or whatever. So the run? - well you could drink yourself silly on that and there were handy urinals every few kilometres but then I wasted so much time at the urinals I missed getting under the 14hours by 13 seconds. God damn it to hell!

24th July Prelude To An Ironman

2010-07-24T21:05:00.007+01:00

"Have you got anything for diarrhoea?" I enquired from the steps of the medical caravan "Sorry?" "DI-A- RRHOEA" "? You have to speak slow-er" "Have you got any Immodium?" "?" "IM-MO-DI-UM" A smile of recognition appeared on the, until then, blank face of the Swiss German stand in nurse. " One moment..." I am then allotted one capsule scissored of with its foil backing. "Not good for race tomorrow!" I proffer. I'd been walking along quite happily whilst Tone was wheeling his alloy framed Ribble to the bike check-in for numbers over 2000 when a routine release of gas surprised me with that inter-cheek ominous squirting sensation instead of a satisfying trump. Bollox! Fuck it! I thought I was actually going to make it to the start line with no more than residual Natural Weakness this year. The Swiss toilets were made entirely of stainless steel with hydraulically damped retracting loo seat and integral handwash facilitiy. It seemed like a desecration - akin to shitting brown water inside a new BMW but the flushing action, something like the whirlpool of Corryvreckan, was second to none. My arse was certainly going to be additionally challenged on the 180km cycle...

20th July. Here We, Here We, Here We Fucking Go!

2010-07-20T22:09:00.005+01:00

I had this nightmare... I mean dream... of doing Ironman Zurich... What I mean is I'm Living The Dream, shortly, which may feel like a nightmare. This morning I was down the leisure pool for a last splash around and the Tattooed Ironman was in the showers. I said "Ironman Zurich on sunday." The Tattooed IM had told me some other time that "He'd never been able to get under 10 hours." And that's like saying I'm better than you, you're weak, you're just playing at it, not serious, it takes discipline to get up on dark winter mornings to train (like him).

But what if you entered an Ironman with virtually no training? just relying on one's general state. Is it inevitable to end up in the medical tent wrapped in a space blanket with a drip set up for hydration? Its an interesting concept and to be honest I'm gonna find out on Sunday. The T. IM. is overweight and has let himself go a bit, like FB and needs to train. See if Man A. is 2 hrs faster than Man B. does that mean that A. is better than B? cos he's made more effort? Its like when FB got that award for not being fat anymore - it was for being a "better person". I didn't get an award for being thin, cos its all about Self Improvement innit? But What's the point of devoting every hour to training in order to"Improve" ? it's a sort of perverted narrowly defined mentally ill version of Self Improvement.

14th July. Gok Fucking Wan.

2010-07-14T20:30:00.005+01:00

How To Look Good Fat, with that fat gay chink. Everything on the telly is for women worried about their weight apart from fucking football and if you hate Football well you're fucked aren't you. What happened to The Sweeney? "YOU'RE NICKED!" Is it some kind of conspiracy? "SHUT IT!" I mean even Inspector Morse wasn't that female friendly "LEWIS!" Top Gear? well that's just an exception that proves the rule. As for all those perfectly coiffed CSI style melodramas, well... and worse still that tedius saccharine sweet Grey's Anatomy dripping with cliches, bloody hell! In turn that's only surpassed by the narrator of that gruesome Desperate Housewives, fucking desperate alright..

12th July. The Black Bull, Rothesay.

2010-07-12T22:20:00.005+01:00

"I don't know about some of those birds in there though, they're just like eating machines with chins. They could demolish a steak in 2o seconds but I wouldn't want to shag it."

"Yes but some of them could have important jobs you haven't thought of that."

"Like what?"

"Well... like a casualty nurse."

"NO way they're fit for nothing, they couldn't even do secretarial work cause their fingers would hit more than one key."

"You mean they should be just melted down or something...Is that what you're saying?"

"Yeah made into soap. If your BMI is above a certain level you shouldn't be allowed to have children."

"Why, because its genetic?"

"No because sex between fat people is disgusting.."

10th July. Tesco Fatties (continued).

2010-07-10T10:45:00.004+01:00

"I can't believe there's so many fat people in there" said Fat Boy, "The reason I took so long was there was this huge bird in front getting a mochafrappelattechino or something really special which came in a mug with two handles about the size of the FA Cup. Took bloody ages and the Tesco cafe's gone it's Costa now ten quid for a snack!"

"Bastards!"

~Just about everybody's misshapen nowadays."

"Bacon misshapes,"

"I don't know where they get the money from to keep themselves that big there's supposed to be a recession on."

"Do you want to try a bit of my Frescato?"

"What's that in it - ice cream?"

"I think so"

"No wonder you were such a fat cunt."

6th July. The Most Boring City In Europe

2010-07-06T22:30:00.009+01:00

Medical Imaging Man last in a line of difficult and boring clients told me that Zurich was "The most boring city in Europe" and I can believe it, he should know. And in fact I have been to Zurich before but can remember nothing about it other than the reason I went there which was to find a Royal Bank. The Boringest City In The World! and We're goin' a Zoorick! for what is the easiest Ironman in europe perhaps the boringest Ironman, who knows? Course back in those days you couldn't get money just like that, and I'd blown my budget for a months Interailing in 3 days that's why I ended up there cos I knew as much that Zurich equals banking. Reviews of the only campsite are mixed?: "A shower will mark one, when you pay with euros, sold for 1.50." "1 weeks. but to dwell on the camp is idiocy" "Only the true great location on the lake to one at any time allows a refreshing swim, speaks for the square." "Much to see there are not on the camp. For seniors are not suitable." ?????

5th July. The Fucking And The Fighting.

2010-07-05T22:18:00.007+01:00

Last time I was round at the flat They were just moving in with a bright future ahead, now the flat was empty save for a certain amount of detritus - hair grips, one pence pieces, fluff. Back then the main concern was that the grill wasn't working and so He wouldn't be able to make cheese on toast "Can't live without cheese on toast! (Chuckle chuckle)." I remember scrabbling about looking at the back of the cooker in vain for a serial number. She was young but then so was He but not as young as She, I didn't want the grill to cast a shadow over their relationship. Still nothing further was heard about the grill malfunction as greater concerns must have taken hold, like the fact that they couldn't live together, with or without the cheese on toast. Well I was hoovering everywhere and under the Ikea bed some of the supporting struts had come adrift like the springing had taken more of its fair share of cyclical loading... Then, "They must have had a fight!" pronounced IB indicating that one wardrobe door had a big dent right through the MDF wood panel effect panelling. Well there we are Love's Young Dream - gone wrong. Next tenant in the pipeline a single mum, apparently. Scratch the surface and there's nowt but failure and loneliness but the babies keep coming.

26th June. Still Basking In The Glory! Yes!

2010-06-26T09:18:00.004+01:00

FB naturally made light of the resounding and conclusive defeat claiming that he "hadn't been on a bicycle since last June." However, much of the cycle was gravity assisted, the additional bulk, an unfortunate by-product of newfound cosy lasagna filled weekends 'having people round' in Stockbridge, would have been no handicap. Latest news from FB centres around the acquisition of a titanium frame to form the basis of a machine that is both light and yet strong enough for the heaviest of duties without fatiguing. And for me, I have found hidden depths to my own self - bask bask, bask bask. (Deep down I'm really really shallow.) I mean let's not worry about the other 112 that finished in front of me, this was a two horse race - Age and Decrepitude V. Youth and Vigour, The Whippet and The Walrus. Gloat gloat, gloat gloat.

20th June. Highland X. Victory Blog Entry.

2010-06-20T21:11:00.014+01:00

"You just took off like a fucking whippet" was the description given by Fat Boy of my bid to get past some of the other competitors and away from his constant farting and belching on the narrow footpath through kintail. Then something got into me - why always try to conserve energy for what's ahead? why not just blow the whole fucking lot and see what happens? Besides, they were begining to annoy me - the other runners, pussy footing around on the descents especially wimmin. "Oooh That guy's motoring" shrieked one to another as I barged between their conversation mid sentence. Now I was just running willy-nilly off the track at every descending bit passing runners 6 at a time. "It looked like you were only running a 5k" said FB. Then I was out of sight, thank fuck for that, if I could get far enough ahead he might not catch me on the bike... Anyway George, who'd elected to join the walkers for the 20 miles and get sunburnt, told FB when they exchanged words at the bike changeover that " I was about 10 mins ahead" . Answer - "I'll catch him up!". Yes, I knew it! Didn't I just! Once FB got those massive thighs over the cross bar of that kindly loaned carbon bike he'd be down on those fucking aero-bars "Gunning it all the way" and confident oh so confident. Now that excess weight would be a positive advantage on the downhill closed to other traffic road out of Glen Affric. There I was on that crap old Raleigh with this vision of those massive quads powering down in a high gear and his eyes peering through dark glasses at the road ahead like some sort of Hunter-killer closing in to pick me off like the weakest member of a herd of wildebeast. I had to use every advantage to the max, getting 6 inches behind anyone elses back wheel who was going faster than me in this draught legal cycle section, flying new road chips or not. My calves ached and my knees objected and surely this bloody pedalling into the wind would end soon CHRIST!, I daren't look behind, some kid sat in a roadside deck chair shouted "9 miles to go!" Then there were a few uphills. SCHISSEN! the 'peleton' disbanded when someones chain came off, BASTARDS! I'm losing momentum, I was shagged. Beauly 2 miles. OH GOD! it would be such a waste if he caught me now! Beauly 1 mile Come ON!. Some guy playing the bagpipes, people with beer clapping, one left turn past the Local Polis, just one straight bit with a tiny rise, I glanced over my shoulder, no sign of the black helmeted hulk looming large and breathing heavy like a bull, then some guy waving his arms towards the finish, I'm gonna do it! I even past someone else at the line, 4 hr 52ins YES YES YES YEEEES !!!!!!

23rd May. Motorcycle Tour of Arran, Islay & Jura.

2010-05-23T11:51:00.006+01:00

There comes a time in every woman's life when they have to 'let themselves go' or more politely - 'surrender gracefully to the years' . However a woman is held in considerable disdain by other women if they 'let themselves go' at too early a point in the aging process, naturally the converse is true (mutton Vs. lamb), so every woman walks a tightrope when it comes to appearance and more specifically levels of macquillage. These thoughts passed through my mind on the bumpy and twisty road between Brodick and Lochranza with Isabelle riding pillion and a rucksack of cosmetics jammed up my arse. Each woman judges anothers efforts at attempting to recreate the authentic bloom of youth, a look that shouts to the world "I'm still viable!!" This inevitably losing battle supports a vast industry of supply, (every point of deceleration served as a pointed reminder). Techniques involve basecoat, primer/filler, application of David's Isopon, meticulous sanding down with 1000 grade wet or dry, custom metal flake and then it's all topped off with up to 40 coats of cellulose lacquer to acheive that desired lustrous deep sheen. To be fair every attempt had been made to whittle the number of products down to an absolute bare minimum for ' travelling light'. But it's not easy - a badly done paint job is so easily held up for ridicule which would be far far worse than simple disdain.

20th April. All The Speed of a Dying Turtle

2010-04-20T23:24:00.007+01:00

This morning there was this kid, 16, going up and down the pool at a rate of knots I'd only be able to keep up for 2 lengths, and he wasn't red in the face or out of breath or anything and by the time the fire alarm went off he'd already done 150. It's just depressing i mean the likes of Talkative ken, Feisty E. and the Tattooed Ironman, even Durham Dave they're all faster but not that much and they all had to stop and make way for that bloody kid and they just stood and stared from the shallow end it was just depressing. "I could never be that fast whatever i did" bleated Feisty E. "What sort of attitude is that? I said. But secretly as a consistent loser I'm warming to my latest idea - Lands End to John O'Groats without a bicycle, just running. That's been done, even somebodys Granny did it in 12 days 15hrs and its 840 miles. It's unlikely anyones done it barefoot though even the Naked Rambler had boots on if nothing else and besides he's only got as far as The Bar-L. This would be a sort of a variation on the "If you can't be famous you can always be infamous" thing. Currently I can only manage about a quarter of a mile on tarmac. Maybe the whole thing's not possible? Chavs and broken glass, needles etc could be a problem, have to keep the route hush hush.

9th April. Ultramarathon - My Fucking Arse!

2010-04-09T23:06:00.007+01:00

"I really think you should go to A&E with that foot thing" I gloated from the comfort of my single bed at The Gladstone B&B, which I was really really really pleased wasn't a dream I was having somewhere in a forest by the side of Loch Ness at night. Yes, Fat Boy was certainly incapable of running the morning after the very long night of the lying down and staring up at spruce trees and drizzle. "It could be serious" I emphasized. The Great Glen Death March had been cancelled in a stealth move by the organisers but several competitors had started anyway, there just wouldn't be a burger van. Kevin from Bristol and Billy The Bulgarian from London soon got ahead despite the bulgarian being weighed down with polenta as he had a gluten allergy, "Guys you want some polenta?" so the lack of the burger van was no loss for him. In fact what was the sixty quid entrance for anyway? A couple of older seasoned dudes brought up the rear shepherding The Only Woman. Nausea set in by about 2 or 3 am together with an overpowering need to go to sleep. " I'll set the alarm for 6 mins" said FB as we lay and stared up at spruce trees and the drizzle. I kept saying "I'd perk up when the dawn came" but after about 15 hours of running I was just talking even more nonsense than usual and the lying down had got more and more frequent. "We'll never make the 24 hour cut off" whined FB and "I'd perk up soon" but also that it was "funny how everything was made of plastic". FB said that if I continued for the last 16 miles he'd be forced to accompany me because he doubted that in a worsening state of delerium I'd ever be able to find Inverness. So we ended up having steak pie and chips with me nodding off and saying WHAT WHAT WHAT? every mouthful and then got a taxi. In effect an abject failure at 50 miles again. What a brilliant steak pie though. And a 2 hour wait at casualty revealed Repetitive Strain Injury for FB. Awwww...

26th February. Ultra-Marathon Showdown.

2010-02-26T22:07:00.003Z

Fat Boy, rather foolishly IMO, signed up for this self supported 100k Fort William to Inverness race, I felt obliged to follow suit in a spirit of bitter rivalry. FB is untried over anything more than 38 miles following biomechanical breakdown in last years Great Glen 5-0. It's unclear if this event is a sort of mutually supportive buddying thing or another Demolition Derby where the 'winner' is the one who starts crying last. "I'm not sure about the logistics, we could drive to Ft William and run to the start at Banavie as a warm up." "You must be feckin joking, there's no way I'm adding another 2 miles to it." My official Great Glen Way mug which I'm now drinking tea out of says 73 miles, since when did 100k equate to that? The whole thing kicks off at 9pm at night, the highlight is a burger van stationed somewhere halfway with haggis for sale so it'll be heartburn & indigestion as well as joint pain the rest of the way to Inverness ?

22nd February. Showing Off In Front Of Girls.

2010-02-22T21:36:00.003Z

The climbing wall environment, particularly if heated, brings in roughly equal numbers of males and females. The obese tend not to frequent the 'Avertical World' and even the slightly portly are disadvantaged, so there is both 'fitness' and as Fat Boy puts it 'Proximity'. The 'Young Bucks' vie with each other on the bouldering section with ever more wild gymnastic displays, this is an indirect showing off in front of girls, they pretend to be not interested. There are 'couples' who stop to embrace or even kiss in between climbs, if a man is part of a couple he must be very careful not to look at another womans arse halfway up the wall and concentrate only on the arse of the woman he is with and the management of her rope "ARE YOU WATCHING ME!! FOR FUCKS SAKE." I look up at Fat Boys arse somewhere above as he endeavours to pull his top down over any residual love handles when he gets a chance. Yes the climbing wall is like a giant fallopian tube and the men are like sperm undergoing some sort of selection process. What use is a fat sperm that can't get off the ground? Better a graceful one that makes a 6c+ look effortless. I attempt a 6b, all rounded black smooth things with nothing to get hold of, this results in me spinning round in space on the end of the rope like those useless sperm destined to go round in circles.

20th February. Another Complete Arse Up.

2010-02-20T21:08:00.001Z

The S's new house was the sort of house where simply entering it seemed to make a mark, somehow cause a blemish on it's pristine interior. Left alone with whole floor areas designated for walking on by the laying out of dust sheets I made my way to the bathroom, the inner sanctum. The bathroom is always first when it comes to cleanliness and order, these days everything is white. Actually making use of the toilet seems like an insult, as if the bowl is there purely for display only. These new houses have a high standard of insulation, which means the attic is basically a sea of fibreglass several feet deep. Needless to say this makes stepping from one obscured ceiling joist to the next a matter of a certain amount of guesswork. Things had been going quite reasonably with a constant back and forth down the whole length the attic when, inevitably, lost in a vaguely erotic reverie brought on by boredom I heard the tell tale crack of the ceiling giving way underfoot like a skater on thin ice. SHIT SHIT SHIT. I made my way down the loft ladder and opening the door of the spare bedroom, where "things" had been put for safekeeping out of the way of any potential dust and mess. You could hardly miss it, there was no pretending, a 2 foot square piece of plasterboard was hanging by one edge like a second loft access. There was also a fair bit of mess. To cut things short, I had to "fess up" immediately on the S's homecoming and also reveal that I'd managed to break part of the hoover. "I'll have to buy you another vacuum cleaner" "??"

9th February. Thoughts In Maccy D's.

2010-02-09T23:31:00.002Z

As recently as 1980 I remember being dragged across central London by Harry H. to "Have a real burger!" "Lads you've got to try this!" It's almost unbelievable that there was probably only about one McDonalds in the whole of Britain but it was like one rogue cell, a restaurant that had gone wrong, a cancer that just kept multiplying swamping everything in mediocrity. That's what's good about McDonalds - you know what you're going to get - something mediocre, which is better than something that's really really bad, so with that and the ease of parking it's a formula that has worked for long enough. I'm not really a fan of Maccy D's, don't get me wrong but I kind of feel at home with the mediocrity and I like to look at the fat people and think how they'd never manage the cut off in an Ironman just to make me feel better about my own mediocre achievements. There was a woman there tonight who almost wasn't human, it might have been her uterus sticking out or maybe she had lost a lot of weight like down from 40 stone to 20, but it just didn't look natural - when something hang downs like that below the belt, I couldn't see her getting very far on a bike especially with Tri bars. Some people are dead against MacDonalds cause of ranching in Brazil or additives or de-skilling of the workforce or the McDonaldisation of the globe. but if it's so shit why are they everywhere? The answer is mediocrity and I'm comfortable with that, not an abject failure as a human being but not an unqualified success either...

7th February. Night Of A Thousand Gulps.

2010-02-07T22:37:00.003Z

Imagine the sound of a slowly but intermittently dripping tap about 2 feet from your pillow. 2 am, then it stops, maybe it's stopped for the night? Just have to wait and see. Yes it's definitely stopped now - peace. Plop... ARRRGGHH!! no it's off again plop plop....plop...............plop....plop. That fucking fish is driving me mental! It's only doing it on purpose and it's just the one that does it. "Why don't you put the gulping one down the toilet then they'll be more oxygen for the one that's left?" "No way! they're great friends they've been together for over 12 years."

5th February. Old Rope For Money.

2010-02-05T01:49:00.006Z

I'm standing looking straight up at Fat Boy's arse which is about forty feet above me at "The World's Largest Indoor Climbing Arena" my thoughts are turning to Health and Safety a subject that seems to haunt these diatribes like a restless malevolent spirit. Although accidents are very infrequent at artificial climbing walls FB had still expressed some concern about "trusting the rope" and me as well for that matter, when, at the top of the climb one is required to lean back and be lowered to the ground. "Purely psychological" but privately, to be quite honest how much can this particular rope really be trusted? It looks ok no signs of mice but since I picked it up at Errol car boot sale a few years ago along with a well used ice axe I began to wonder... As soon as the mind gets on that track paranoia sets in and the whole thing quickly becomes an accident waiting to happen, FB plummeting like a sack of turnips seems guaranteed. I mean say the rope's only been used once but that one time it was well used in a 60 foot drop? maybe it dates from the mid 70's? a clmbing harness should be "retired" after 3 years so what about rope? Preoccupied with the snapping/fraying idea I fail to see the remaining coils on the ground getting in a complete fankle whilst FB is being lowered gently, to avoid any undue strain on the possibly UV degraded fibres. "Just hang on a minute!" I say. FB is ordered to cling back to the wall whilst I unravel the mess of old rope... I cast an eye round hoping my level of incompetence has passed unoticed.

1st February. The Role of Genes In Common Illnesses.

2010-02-01T22:54:00.010Z

"We are inviting you to take part in a research project..." began the letter, the essence is to take blood, measure everything then see whether you go mental and die or just die. Course my interest was piqued straight way being pre occupied not only with death but also going nuts, the only snag was the "Providing a blood sample bit.." but you know you cannnot spend your life hiding behind a screen of Trypanophobia, it's a bit like saying your still afraid of the Daleks. "We are particularly interested in people with a large family?? well I'm afraid the results are already in for the majority of them because they're all fucking dead. Auntie Ruth went a bit Dulali-tap it's true but how much of a genetic component was involved? Mother had it that Auntie R. began a downward spiral after seeing a horror movie something about a Mummy in a waxworks with boyfriend Steve, it was either that or a lifetime with Steve that drove her mental. She did stand up and take issue with the minister at the crematorium during Steve's funeral. I've got a half brother and he's reached that point where he's on drugs to combat the effects of the drugs he's on, then drugs to combat the effects of the drugs to combat the drugs he's on and so on, so his questionaire would be quite a lengthy piece of written work. So I may be barred because I haven't got enough relatives. My brother's father - we'll never know if a lifetime with Mother would have driven him mental or not because he never got beyond about 23 thanks to Rommel's panza divisions.

27th January. Fun With Asbestos Fibre

2010-01-27T20:29:00.004Z

"Aaaach! ah jist canna be fuckin' ersed wi' it the day" opined the older Wegie, surrounded by enough pipework to account for the last 6 months of Zambia's copper output. "An' jist me ma fuckin' sel' !" as evidenced by the absence of the younger plumber. "The next cunt that comes roond askin' wan the b'iler's gonnae be turn'd on ahm gonnae tell them ah'll be workin' slower from noo on! Besides ye cannae turn the b'iler on withoot a fuckin' chimney eh Big Man?" Quite. My main concern now that there are less skulls to hit are: a) ruining another flue section and having to spend another £95 and drive to Glenrothes again, b) falling through the roof (this roof will not support your weight use crawling boards) c) drilling holes in asbestos. Course it's only a couple of holes and you don't know how long you're going to live anyway it can take years for symptoms to show and I'll hold my breath. As for the older Wegie I know he's already had cancer so it's not going to matter too much.

26th January. More Health And Safety.

2010-01-26T22:01:00.003Z

"Are ye tryin' tae fuckin' kill ME !!!" the shout comes up from the younger plumber 6 metres below in a broad Wegie tone followed by various mutterings about insurance from the older Wegie with knee ligament problems, the electrician remained silent. A 178mm 45 degree bend closely followed by a 500mm straight length of double skinned Selkirk flue had bounced down the makeshift scaffolding. Well i'd been that intent on not dropping the electric drill if it caught when it broke through the steel of the roof truss I'd just nudged the flue pipe and this bit that was stuck out like a sore thumb, waiting for a bracket - came off. I blame Selkirk because the so called locking bands dont exactly lock anything at all. Not only that I just felt so ill anyway, it's maybe just a Common Cold according to the internet because my whole body's not wracked with muscular pain but to be honest its not conducive to balancing on planks with those bloody Wegies below and why do they have to spend so much time round the back of the boiler right in the firing line? Anyway that 500mm length might have missed all three skulls but it made a pretty good impact with the concrete floor and was completely fucked " Aaach gie it a bash oot wi' a hamma! It'll be fine!" No it was frankly well beyond that.`Now I'm faced with an endless drive to the centre of that Godawful town without a centre - Glenrothes to see if I can recall the labyrinthine route into the industrial estate to get a replacement flue section. "The average cold lasts no more than a week" Jeezuz!

6th January. Ice Cold In Aberdeenshire.

2010-01-06T23:23:00.006Z

Had to crash out in a layby on the way to work this a.m. then received a voicemail "I've just past your van in a lay by near Stonehaven" Well I had to explain it all...yawn. Anyway Royal Deeside looked more like Royal Switzerland by the time I finally arrived to spend the remainder of the day in a metal shed at roughly -8 and not even a cup of tea, jeez, whilst the snow continued to - well snow. It's probably an Aberdonian thing this lack of tea provision. And the £25,000 wood chip boiler is frozen solid... well I've no sympathy and its not my problem tee hee hee...

5th January. F.A.A.T.W. Latest.

2010-01-05T23:28:00.002Z

We refer here to F. double A. T. W. - falling asleep at the wheel! an affliction to which the author is peculiarly affected, to the extent I can be hallucinating that the Daihatsu has turned into a double bed which I'm driving down the Perth dual carriageway - so then it's "ok" to go to sleep. A refusal to go to bed before midnight may play its part but for me there are two types A. and B. The former rises early, refreshed and ready to great the new day clapping their hands together and exclaiming Yes! For them the day promises to be better than yesterday, however this optimism gradually turns to disappointment as the day wears on and then an early night and a mug of cocoa or in some cases Round-Up seems the best option because tomorrow will be better. Type B. tries to ignore the alarm, dawn heralds a wave of pessimism - its gonna be crap but surprisingly things don't turn out that bad and gradually improve, by midnight there's a reluctance to draw a line under things, the day could last for ever if only one wasn't so knackered. Now with regard to FAATW I find that before taking my place in Cinema 1 at the Playhouse I simply must go for a pee even if I've only just emptied my bladder, the same applies before bedding down - just can't settle, like. Now extending this logic it seems obvious with hindsight that simply not relieving oneself before motorway driving at night could be a cure for FAATW. It works! its not very pleasant but it does work.

1st January. New Year's Day Awakening.

2010-01-01T23:54:00.006Z

I don't remember seeing my life flash before me just a sudden awakening as the Daihatsu rocketed over the now hard as iron frozen snow like a ploughed field at the side of the M90... I blame the lasagna, courtesy of Fat Boy who is currently still enjoying the novelty of domesticity in Stockbridge, to be fair his parting words had been "Now don't fall asleep at the wheel!" Course there had been the exertion of the Edinburgh NYD Triathlon, although now in receipt of the results I feel that there had been precious little exertion. Nonetheless the fresh air, the pasta, the cosy confines of the 4 x 4, the darkness, the salted windscreen and the thrum of the tyres had taken their toll. I wouldn't say I was completely asleep just half asleep. The next thing I'm out of control going sideways then backwards at about 50mph then sideways again but by way of contrast, very very awake...

31st December. The Bells Aaarrrggghhh! The Bells!

2009-12-31T23:23:00.004Z

Well you can count me out for trawling round to the neighbours, those days have passed because now we're all little islands here and no one really speaks much for the rest of the year so why make all that pretense for one day in twelve months I ask you? And then you even have to kiss people at "The bells" oh yuk the average age in these parts is even older than me. -12 too, very bright moonlight cause its a full moon ideal for running at night according to Fat Boy that is apart from the ice, not that he's got time for that or anything else now that he's moved onto that new endurance sport - Relationship. I wouldn't be surprised if he's signed up for Procreation Edinburgh 2010 - now that's an Ultra-Marathon and a half. New Year's Day Triathlon tomorrow to "look forward to" what could be worse than running out of a swimming pool in subzero temperatures to pedal off round the city streets of Edinbourg? I'll tell you what's worse - its those loonies in Broughty Ferry who go for a swim in the harbour and no wet suits allowed! Vetsuit verboten! And what does 2010 hold in store? I hate to think because you know I'm moving into that age bracket, perhaps you are too? when illness can, if you're not very careful, become the main topic of conversation. The Daily Ailment.

21st December. Failure To Run 50 Miles In A Blizzard.

2009-12-21T22:08:00.003Z

Following The Fat Boy/Otter's failure in The Great Glen 5-0, having to give up at 35 miles instead of the full 50, he was keen to set matters right by running 50 miles mainly in darkness due to the fact that the 21st was the shortest day. I suggested it would be quite Christmasy to start at the top of the Drummochter Pass due to the elevation and recent snowfalls.

Arrived and departed the iced up Asda car park at 1 am, "I'm afraid it'll have to be the Land Rover" said The Otter. The Otter's brother had volunteered to be at the wheel of the LR and made no attempt to conceal his opinion about the venture. Naturally the Snow increased markedly beyond Blair Atholl as we began to climb. One wiper was a bit lacksadaisical in its approach then around 2.30am whilst nearing the ludicrous dropping off point at Drummochter summit 50 miles up the A9 there was a slight bang followed by a cessation of all wiping action. Due to the now blizzard conditions snow quickly rendered the windscreen opaque. It looked increasingly that asking Alistair to drive all the way back to Perth into the infrequent but invisible oncoming traffic was a favour too far. A handy roadside fir tree provided a stick to attach a cloth to for wiping through the open window, although I offered to lie on the roof rack and manually clean from above. A few minutes later the interior began to smell strongly of something electrical in its death throws, "Are the wipers still switched on?" I enquired. "Yes" . "Looks like you're in the market for a wiper motor then as well as the linkage" . Things improved with the forcing of the arthritic drivers side wiper blade into movement and the attachment of bungee cords, the wiper could now be operated by the two passengers alternately pulling left and right through the now both open windows. The smell of diesel fumes mingled with the melted armature plus a background of burnt or hot oil. " This is absolutely brilliant" commented The Otter on the vastly improved wiper action "Pull" "Pull" etc etc just showing how relative everything is. "I don't know why land drover dont fit this as standard" I said. There was a question mark about the heater's efficiency. with the continual querying as to "JEEZUZ CHRIST! Are you sure the heater's on?"

19th September. Big Ben Tri - DNF x 2

2009-09-19T21:23:00.003+01:00

Yeah well I needn't have bothered getting those fell running shoes because there was no fell running. Survived the swim 1.9km in the diesel flavoured semi brine besides Morrisons, then the awful four laps of the dreaded MTN bike.

To be fair the last time I sat on a MTN bike was the 3rd lap of the 2008 Ben Nevis tri, it's fair to say that the complete absence of further experience had a predictable outcome. The Otter punctured on the 2nd lap whilst riding in the top ten then hung around for an hour getting cold to buddy me round as his race was finito. By then it was pissing down and I was on target for being last. "The object is to prove that you can make the cut off for the start of the last lap". It's one thing making the cut off for the bike but then there's another cut off halfway up the Ben.

"Achhh what's the point of being turned round halfway up the hill, better to save the knees for the GG 5-0." This was really an excuse just to go and sit in the Ben Nevis Inn and eat. A complete failure overall, an experience you'd never want to repeat etc so it's all on for 2010. People were also laughing at my bike "who would want to attempt it on that heavyweight?" The answer would be a lighter bike and endless training on it.

"I'm not doing anymore Triathlons" claims the fat boy "it's not the same since Ironman, need to find some other challenge."

"Well I can promise you that the GG 5-0 will be a real challenge - an altered state of consciousness thing."

8th September. Helvellyn - Battle of The Patellas.

2009-09-08T21:35:00.002+01:00

"England's Toughest Triathlon' got a little too exciting for The Otter who narrowly missed involvement in a multi bike pile up at 40mph.

In fact I was thinking that on the descent from the Kirkstone Pass 'you really wouldn't want to fall off here'. it was a smooth road and very steep with oncoming traffic. Going about as fast as it's possible on a push bike, overtaking girls who were holding onto their brakes. So around a particular corner there were cars and bicycles all stopped, course I couldn't stop just wheeled past all the carnage. The Otter who saw it all happen graphically in front of him had just managed to skid to a stop and then had been directing traffic.

One rider had clipped the verge and somersaulted through the air followed by the one behind crashing into him. broken bones, shock, lack of movement, ambulance called etc. But anyway The Otter had already decided that due to bio mechanical issues with one knee he wasn't going to be running up and down Helvellyn so it was a DNF and a clear victory for me 5hr 15 mins which was crap of course.

Ullswater was totally baltic at 8.30am and even though I had that new-to-me carbon frame at least 200 people came passed me on the cycle.

The highlight had to be the climb from Ambleside up to the Kirkstone Pass Inn which was standing on the pedals the whole way 1 in 5 or 1 in 3 at one point and there was a guy stopped at the side of the road really honking his guts up through over exertion, you don't often see that.

I wasn't going to start walking with my bike I had to cycle up the damn thing, they don't call it "the struggle' for nothing.

23rd August. Swimming With Jobbies.

2009-08-23T21:20:00.005+01:00

This wet Sunday afternoon brought news from Mr Brown next door that all our poo in these parts had been going nowhere fast for a goodly stretch.

The septic tank was overflowing apparently, from under the heavy slate cover.

In fact it was a complete Scheissenfest.

"If I could just reach in and pull that tee piece off we could rod it, if you hold onto my feet."

"Wait, let me move the lid before it falls down..."

"...On my head? That would make Reporting Scotland - Perth Man in Cranial Crush Shitfest Horror."

"It's amazing how you can get used to a smell in a fairly short time PHHHOOORR! JEEEZUZ!"

"You could never get used to that smell..."

"Maybe not."

16th August. Aberfeckin'useless Middle Distance Tri.

2009-08-16T21:20:00.000+01:00

Morale was fairly low at 8 am at the loch side as there was to be no moral or immoral support from The Otter, now 'involved' with a woman and less interested in Lycra.

The decidedly choppy waters of Loch Tay induced at least one panic attack in a female competitor.

Hypothermia resulted in the wearing of far too many clothes on the bike. Approximately 200 fellow cyclists came past during the 90kms. thus confirming that the Raleigh Run-About is to be retired before Helvellyn Triathlon. 3 hr 20 mins.

The run was endless with one knee making a gradual recovery from the cycling, the only highlight was keeping pace for about 4 miles behind a Lycra'd young filly with dainty footsteps and nice buttocks, eventually I couldn't take any more and this vision of loveliness slipped from view.

All in all a very poor effort despite finishing half an hour earlier than last year but at least in time for the burgers.

14th August. Dresden - Twinned With Coventry.

2009-08-14T23:37:00.003+01:00

Continuing the WWII theme Dresden was the next port of call to see what was left after the night of Feb 13th 1945.

I mean it's not my fault that I grew up with war generation parents, for me Dresden was synonymous with flattened and firestorm.

The first thing you notice coming into the station is that the steel structure is pre-war but the thousands of panes of glass are missing, instead there is a modern looking stretched canvas affair.

Having been pointed in the general direction of what remains of the 'Altstadt' by sign language it was fairly obvious that Bomber Command had pretty much cleared the way for a bright new Socialist utopian vision in brutalist concrete.

Post reunification some of the open spaces in this Orwellian vision had been filled in with Starbucks and trendy boutiques in ubiquitous steel and glass.

There still are old buildings, but the thing everyone comes to see now is the 92 metre high Frauenkirche which up until 1990 odd was still a pile of rubble.

I texted 'Young' Alastair about the amazing reconstruction of this centre piece of Dresden.

"Nothing a Lancaster couldn't sort".

13th August. Escape To Colditz.

2009-08-13T22:08:00.005+01:00

By the age of the concrete stretching to infinity at Leipzig-Althanburg airport it looked distinctly like a relic from Goering's Luftwaffe days, why else would there be an airport in the middle of nowhere? More in the middle of nowhere than any previous Ryanair destination and also the smallest terminal building of all time.

We'd gone but a few miles on the connecting night bus when I espied a sign that said Colditz 50k, who says the British are obsessed with WWII?

"Let's go to Colditz tomorrow" I said.

Isabelle was all for 'Doing Leipzig' and time was indeed short as I had elected to just come for the day.

After a mornings argument at Althanburg Railway station about where exactly Colditz was, it also transpired that no one in the former GDR speaks a word of the Queen's.

It's ok, Isabelle now has train tickets to Colditz? Due to timetabling issues we end up sitting for an hour on the platform at a spot known as Grossbouton, a perfect example of the post industrial wasteland now common in former East Germany.

"We must be the first tourists they've ever had at Grossbouton" I remark.

I'm still not really sure Colditz is the real Colditz or not until we finally get to the castle itself and there is a sign sponsored by Smirnoff detailing escape attempts and 'Home runs'.

Naturally the tendency has been for anything to do with WWII to be brushed under the carpet, which incidentally was what the owner of the castle wanted "What's 5 years in the history of Colditz which goes back 1000 years?"

Quite.

Despite that there is a knowledgeable local woman who has all the stories of escaping to hand, although she herself would never fit down any of the 30 tunnels, too many Rostbratwursts.

Basically no one from Britain is really interested in the other 995 years, I want to see where they sawed through the floor joists under the floor of the chapel etc etc...

Colditz is highly recommended by the Daily Arse.

26th July. Station To Station- Your First Ultra Marathon.

2009-07-28T22:14:00.003+01:00

This "Event" was pretty much a homage to one of Pete's Dad's hillwalking buddies, Peter Binnie, who apparently conceived of the idea in the 70's.

The gist was to catch the 8.04 train to Inverness alighting at Aviemore then simply make ones way on foot through the Lairig Ghru and Glen Tilt to Blair Atholl, a distance of 40 miles, in time to get the last train back to Perth

Of course there are no shops or mobile phone masts in the Cairngorms I took proactive steps by buying a pork pie rich in trans fats, whilst passing the local petrol station

Things went well enough until about the 35 mile mark.

The pace then slowed to something less than Buster Martin (103) the oldest man to run the London Marathon.

To be honest part of the reason had been to experience the altered state of consciousness, part and parcel of going beyond one's limits.

I felt a bit sore in the lower limb area and a bit sick, despite putting all available clothes on I still felt cold.

Finally emerging at the back of Blair castle there were tourists taking an evening stroll clad only in tee shirts? It must be me then.

Anyway I could hear a train coming so I had to run like the world's oldest runner so I didn't have to wait another hour for the next one and risk hypothermia.

This event had been billed as a doubler with The Otter, but with all that romance business going on you can't rely on anything, and now I was one up in the Ultra stakes.

Back on the train and now with a signal, I relayed the news of this 12 hour triumph of endurance.

Although we shall see about knee cartilage later (in life).

23rd July. Strangely At Home In Ellerton Gravel Pit.

2009-07-23T23:44:00.002+01:00

It came as some surprise to find just about everyone in the village of Fartington-On-Tees was a Triathlete.

This was a mere coincidence, you understand, as my reason for traveling to this sparsely populated and little visited area of the north of England was connected with chimneys and money.

The farmer that owned the gravel pit sat with his wife in a Toyota Hilux as a cool breeze whipped across the waters greying in the evening light.

He rolled down the window to accept a £1 from each daft person.

"I bet they think we're all mental" I suggest.

Of course in a borrowed wetsuit, swimming was almost pleasant.

I'll probably wonder where I was, who I was, or whether I just dreamt this, in a couple of years, I mused.

Strange to feel at home in a place you've never even been?

The North of England follows a parochial binary system similar to the Scottish/English mindset - ie (Non-Wanker/Wanker).

Here the distinction is North/South.

Due to speech I can be pigeon-holed as broadly somewhere from the North of England rather than South. A change from the usual "You're not from these parts are you?" despite 38 years north of the border.

20th July. Why Am I So Shit At Triathlon?

2009-07-20T11:07:00.002+01:00

A pro-active approach to this question could provide a way forward rather than the more all encompassing answer - "Because you're shit at everything else."

Any coach worth his salt would take time to review both strengths and weaknesses.

Strengths:

1. I'm not fat.

2. Err.... that's it.

Weaknesses:

Uncountable - Natural and Unnatural.

Conclusion:

19th July. Loch Ore Drubbing.

2009-07-19T22:11:00.004+01:00

The former mine workings played host to the scottish sprint championship with a running start into the balmy 18 degrees C. shallows.

Straightaway a mouthful of the waters, rich in heavy metals, set in motion a slight panic, how the hell did I manage to swim that Ironman thing? By rights this should be a doddle.

The fact is I stood every chance of success as The Otter was nursing a hangover and had previously consumed about 2 kilos of chocolate whilst under the influence.

"I feel so sick."

"Excellent!"

Only a minute in it at transition 1. and then... and then...?

120th ?

Jeez...

17th July. Choose Your Delusion - The Otter Looses The Plot.

2009-07-17T19:27:00.010+01:00

"I'm happy because I'm in love and I want children."

"Now that's the biggest delusion of them all."

"I've decided I don't want to live my life and end up regretting things I didn't do."

"Och that's just the genes talking."

"Well I've realized that that's the only reason I'm here on this earth."

"That's as maybe but there's no need to be a slave to genetic impulse, it can easily be over ridden by a wee rubber thing."

"But why not?"

"Because frankly there's more than enough people already and besides it's such a lot of hard work?"

13th July. Oban And Back In A Day! - I Receive An Award.

2009-07-13T22:07:00.006+01:00

Decided to cycle to Oban and back in a day for Steak Pie & Chips (only 194 miles).

Awoke at 3 .40 am, I could get up now, I thought but then waited till the alarm at 4.00am.

Away at 5 am. but had an unnatural bowel movement in the Ladies conveniences at Comrie 6.45am.

The Gents was locked. Why? because women need the toilet more? What about the prostate for starters?

Mentally the route can be divided up for the sake of sanity; Home - Burger Van - Chip Shop - Burger Van Again - Home, as well as regulating that all important on bike fueling.

The whole day was, frankly, a testament to unhealthy eating.

As far that 'Energie' drink I'm afraid it was implicated in the 'Comrie Event' so I switched to something more widely available in the shape of warm Coca-Cola.

It may be gassy but I'd sooner that than risk soiling my Tri-suit.

The 150 mile mark saw me back at the Burger van and only 50 miles to go.

"A cup of tea please."

"Well how far did you get today?" says the Burger Van man.

"Oban"

"Oban?! Christ! You must really like cycling! How long did you stay in Oban?"

"Long enough to eat a Steak Pie & Chips."

"?"... "Will there be anything else today?"

"Err one of those Tunnock's wafers. How much is that altogether?"

"Oh you can have that Tunnock's wafer for pedalling that far!"

"Are you sure?"

5th July. Conversation With An Alkie In Crail.

2009-07-05T08:59:00.006+01:00

Decided to cycle to Crail for fish cakes and chips only about 90 miles.

There was a bench in the sun but with a tell-tale bottle of White Star cider on the ground, "a favourite amongst the homeless and students, due to its low price, neutral taste and alcohol content of 7.5%."

After about three chips an older male with some noticeable facial scarring and a smell ambles up in a de rigeur quilted brown anorak zipped up to the neck despite a temperature in the high twenties.

"Howzitgoin' big man whereaboutsyecomfy?"

"Bridge of Earn."

"Brigo'earn! ah know it weil. Ah've a reputation as far as Perth...

A reputation for fightin', MacPhees, Townsleys, ah've brocht them a' doon.

That bampot in Anstruther he thinks he's hard..."

"Yeah?"

"That bampot in Anstruther, he thinks he's hard, ah'm gonnae see him tonight, he thinks he's hard but he's got anither thing comin', I'm gonnae see him tonight."

I wiz schooled in ev'ry type o' violence it's in ma blood, ma faithers side an' ma mither's, that bam in Anstruther he thinks he's hard but ah'm in a diff'rent league don't get me wrong though mate ah'm no' the kind o' person that'll pick a fight but if you get in ma way ah'd rather pit ye through a shop windae an' that's an end tae it.

Ah wiz a bare knuckle fighter..."

"Yeah?"

Ah've lost ma wife, Ah've lost ev'ry thing mate, and ah don't mean money, Ah could get money ony time but ah've got pride, ah've lost ma wife, ma brother tae, a Sergeant Major in the Black Watch... "

(Silence and long pause for reflection, I eat half a fish cake)

"Ah'm livin' on borrowed time mate..."

"Yeah?"

"Ah've got Cancer...

but that bam in Anstruther he thinks he's hard, Ah know ev'ry move they make, Ah can watch them, Ah can size a man up an' bring them doon wi' wan blow, karate, kung fu, street fighting Ah ken it a'... ah've lost ma wife, ah've lost ev'rything mate but ah've got pride"

(Pauses to take a swig of White Star)

"Ah was a boxer you know, in the army..."

"Yeah?"

"The Irish army... the IRA.

That bam in Anstruther he thinks he's... "

"D'you want a fishcake? I'm a bit full."

"Nah, no thanks mate ah wuidnae dae that, you finish it aff yoursel'."

"No honestly."

"No ah couldnae dae that mate, ah've got pride..."

"That bam in..... etc etc...

1st July. "What About Doing Ironman France Next Year?"

2009-07-01T11:29:00.001+01:00

It's just like that guy said from Quebec on the bus to the Energy Party who'd done 12 Ironman races

"You'll think at the time you'll never do another Ironman, then a couple of days later you'll be looking for another event to enter, it's addictive, believe me."

To be honest I never really felt I'd never do another one during the race but it came as a bit of a surprise when The Otter opined that doing the exact same race, not just another Ironman somewhere else, would be a good idea.

"Well you know everything about the race and then you can't really compare one race with another, I could easily take an hour off my time."

Dear, dear, dear, it's well known that the Addictive Personality simply doesn't have an off button.

30th June, "I'll Never Do Another Ironman."

2009-06-30T11:20:00.000+01:00

"I just gunned it on the last lap because I knew I'd never ever do another Ironman." said the victorious Otter (12 and a half hours) "I was pretty pleased but I'm annoyed that I wasn't in the top half, just missed it by a few places."

"So are you going to write that book now? 'From Telly-Tubby to Ironman'.

"I've tried eating but I just can't eat anything."

I managed a packet of crisps.

Strangely I don't feel that knackered joint-wise, I thought I'd be unable to walk.

28th June. 3.8km Swim And All The Rest.

2009-06-28T09:22:00.010+01:00

The signal for the start goes for the experience known as swimming with rubber dolphins.

You can't go there and you can't go here but there's a bit of water! then an anonymous rubber dolphin is trying to swim through you to get to it.

Eventually there are less dolphins and things calm down a bit but not too calm or you might be veering off at a complete tangent adding another kilometre just for fun, you must keep 'in the swim' but don't get kicked in the eye.

The thumping beat of the music and the bellowing French DJ fades to nothing and there's just the sound of your own splashing and breathing, the goggles mist up, now what the hell do you think about for 1hr 23 mins?

Normally it would be - this is hellish, I'm tired now, how much further is it? or THERE'S A LONG WAY TO GO ISN'T THERE? MY GOD THERE'S A LONG WAY TO GO! THIS IS JUST THE START AND THERE'S A LONG WAY TO GO THERE'S THE CYCLE AND THEN THE MARATHON IT'S CERTAINLY A LONG WAY A VERY LOOOONG WAY TO GO!

This is where I was able to recall the words of Auld Jimmy the painter from Glasgow working up at Turin House. There he was in his white overalls sitting painting endless numbers of cast iron radiators which had lots of finicky bits in the castings.

"God don't you get bored doing all those radiators?" I said

"Nah! Just blank it oot! Blank it oot, whit else can ye dae?"

180 km BIKE.

One down three to go.

Needless to say I easily have the oldest least competitive bike out of 2800 but as I said to the guy behind in the queue for the check-in "One should choose a bicycle that matches your ability to save embarrassment."

Anyway after a tour of industrial estates we come to a short but steep hill, gears crunch on the carbon bikes all around me and there is the first of many casualties a guy holding up pieces of his derailleur at the side of the road with an expression of WTF??

"For you Tommy ze war iz over!"

It's certainly an international field, everyone's first name is on their racing number and because I seem to suffer from that condition known as Hyperlexia - (an involuntary reading of everything you lay eyes on) I'm all too aware of this as other riders are passing me all the time.

Is it because I've got a crap bike? No it's probably just N.W. (Natural Weakness), because it happens going uphill.

"It's like the Rocky Mountains." comments a seated gent who's getting on a bit as he comes past in the cooler air at altitude.

"Male 70." Seventy! Jeez! Unlucky for old Horst I saw him later on struggling with a puncture at the side of the road so at least he didn't finish in front of me.

Despite the endless 2000m hill the bike is proving to be almost enjoyable with French people in villages shouting "Allez! Allez!" Until I feel the sun beginning to burn the not often exposed flesh of the shoulders obviously that Factor 30 isn't sweat resistant.

There are people throwing up at the side of the road, women crouching in long grass, more broken bikes, and the occasional sound of the ambulance siren, so long as they're not coming for me.

Eating is right out with all that acid, there's a choice of "water"?, "energie?" or "cola?" which is the cry at every feeding station just grab as you go past, amazingly I never have to stop for a pee in the entire 180kms.

42.2 km Run.

Two down one to go but the run was going to be bad - Your First Marathon.

When I was coming in on the bike I saw the Otter starting his 2nd lap having collected the first hair band round the wrist - blue.

Now it's pretty hot because it's mid afternoon the whole thing is just a bloody mind game.

How hard do you push it? Not as hard as the bodies laid out in the Red Cross tent wrapped in space blankets with a drip set up or that guy unconscious on the pavement.

All you've got to do is keep running and don't forget to drink. "Energie?" "Cola?" "Water?"

Trouble is the whole time is spent peering at other peoples wrists to see how many bands they've got, none at all, a blue one, blue and white, or blue, white and red? lucky bastards on their last lap.

To tell the truth I'd been farting all day I think it was the "Energie", was it the third lap? and I farted once to often if you get my meaning, then had to clench up until I came to the three portaloos.

There was only about a total of six portaloos on the whole run for 2500 people so it was worse than T in the park, well I just had to sit down in it all and those Tri suits you've got to strip off basically, that was a good ten minutes extra on that lap and no bumff of course.

Eventually I'd got red white and blue hairbands, even Isabelle had got caught up in the spectacle.

If you kept running the spectators where more encouraging, quite a few competitors had been reduced to walking by then.

Isabelle ran with me for the final couple of hundred metres to the Finish Line but couldn't keep up, it was a searing indictment of her current fitness level.

At some point prior The Otter had past going the other way and had said "Are you going to finish?"

"Finish?"

I'm going to finish this damn thing no matter what, I really wanted that brass plated medallion thing that says Ironman France, principally so when I'm in a care home with my chin on my chest drooling, they can say "Him? Oh he's an Ironman you know."

"No shit?"

28th JUne. "You're Gonna Be An Ironman Today!"

2009-06-28T08:36:00.003+01:00

I'd been plagued by regret most of the night as to why I never thought to buy half a litre of Gaviscon or the french equivalent.

At 5.00am I mouth muesli and stomach acid to the sound of "We are the champions! We are the champions!" coming from the otters mobile cum mp3 whilst feeling about as full of life as Freddie Mercury.

" I don't think I'll even finish the swim..."

"We can either wait for the taxi and miss the start or if we set off now we can make it walking." reasons the upbeat Otter as we stand with Isabelle in the dark in a mild drizzle."

"Well what's another mile on top of a 140...?"

This feels like the walk of the condemned, there's no way out, I've told too many people, not to mention the money, the weeks of training, the broken forever ligament, the marathon of cardboard boxes... "Oh I had a dodgy burger on the campsite, I was feeling a bit ill so I decided not to bother..."

Now I'm getting more worried and sick if that was possible, even the Otter's looking a bit pale and nauseous "Where are the bouys for the swim? Is that the bouys?"

"WHAT! Not that one, there's another one out there."

"Where?"

"On the horizon."

"Oh fuck."

27th June. The Acid Reflux Party.

2009-06-27T18:21:00.001+01:00

The Acid Reflux Party or as it's more widely known - Energy Party is a fully inclusive all-you-can-eat deal based around pasta.

Looking around at the other competitors most looked like proper athletes. "Did you see that huge black guy? fucking massive."

"Yeah and that German with the Triple Ultra Triathlon tee shirt, the cycle was 540 kilometres

that's mental."

"I feel like a fraud, I shouldn't really be here."

"How many desserts have you had ?"

"Fifteen."

"FIFTEEN! I haven't had one, there's non left between you and Isabelle you ate the bloody lot."

26th June. No Bicycles On The Bus!

2009-06-26T12:04:00.006+01:00

For some reason the Otter had reasoned it would be a good idea to bring one massive cardboard box about the size of a piano.

It was bad enough getting from the Cote D'Azur Airport to the campsite, Isabelle was all for spending €90 on a taxi, "My entire budget for food" wailed the Otter "It's only €1 on the bus"

Anyway in stage 2 of the cardboard box game three buses had already refused to take the now assembled bicycles back to Nice so we could "Relax" (what a joke) before the race. Obviously some H&S ruling, it was obvious the only answer was re-boxing.

I'm afraid with the heat, the cardboard boxes, the burger illness and what have you, I began to get heavily into my usual "What's the fucking point?" routine, Isabelle started talking about taxis again and I had to go and sit in the shade.

"I thought that was going to be a real fall out" commented the Otter who is learning a lot about

relationships on this holiday.

To cut a long thing short a bit of haphazard stuffing back in, which still left the handle bars protruding like the horns of a Highland cow and we were sorted and on the bus. Unfortunately only for about 2 mins, when Isabelle had a "MY BAG!" moment or rather "MON SAC!"

This is when a woman is parted from her handbag usually filled with inconsequential dross but in this case also passport and wallet. "ARETTE! ARETTE!"

That might have been it, as we continued on the road to Nice now with a grand total of 2 bicycles and eight pieces of luggage including a box the size of a piano but no Isabelle.

25th June. Camping Pylone & The Bad Burger.

2009-06-25T11:47:00.002+01:00

"You can get a burger for €2.50 over the road trumpets the Otter, I vote we eat there."

"There's never anyone sitting there, you don't know what you're eating, I don't want to be ill."

When they say Burger at the Camping Pylone restaurant they mean burger only, a big brown thing nestling on a bed of fries, no bun.

Just around the time of the dawn chorus I could feel the In-House Pylone burger sitting like I'd eaten a lump of Uranium. "If I try not to think about it I'll be alright", mind-over-stomach sort of thing.

Isabelle had gone to ablute when I turned over and my eye fell on her pizza box from last night or was it the night before that, anyway it acted like a vomit trigger.

I caught the eye of the Swiss German over the way as I discharged what looked very like cocoa flavoured traditional porridge through the unzipped tent flap.

"Didn't you hear me?" I asked of the Otter

"No."

20th June. 7 Days Till D-Day.

2009-06-20T13:48:00.000+01:00

Only a week to go and I'm looking forward to Ironman France about as much as wading ashore on Omaha beach.

Completion of the race will give 2 simultaneous category wins.

1st overall with one kidney.

1st overall with steel framed bike.

19th June. Endless Moan About Ironman France.

2009-06-19T13:30:00.003+01:00

What with getting Mother cremated and so on, not to mention the continual financial effort keeping body and soul together, the 30 week Ironman training program has suffered.

Meanwhile The Otter continues to eat huge meals and have a lot of sex whilst claiming to never run out of breath, it's pretty much a foregone conclusion like the latest result at Stirling a +2min victory reduced to a -4min defeat in the space of a year. (Bastard).

In fact I'd like to take issue with the Fink program in its entirety - "Follow this to the letter and you'll be competitive?"

Willhehellaslike!

I feel about as strong as a kitten with M.E. True I've been knocked down with the latest cold virus but all the same...

"It's all in the taper" promises The Otter.

To the uninitiated the taper consists of doing very little in the last week (apart from eating and having a lot of sex, no change there) then we can reap the rewards of all that training (yawn).

8th June. Your Cremation. FAQ's.

2009-06-08T22:56:00.005+01:00

"See it'll be quite a small coffin, we make them to measure, isn't it?" said the very Welsh undertaker.

"Chipboard?"

"Yes, veneered."

"Plastic handles?"

"Yes, you see all that goes."

"Yeah?"

"Well it's the fans, isn't it? forced draught..."

"So what are the ashes that are left?"

"Well, basically that's just the bones, isn't it? They go in like a tumble dryer with heavy steel balls and that crushes them, see? Will you be wanting the ashes?"

"She wanted them scattered on the Mersey. So what happens to the stainless steel? She had a replacement knee and a hip."

"Well, I'm coming to that bit, see. There's this new EU regulation we have to offer the stainless steel parts to the relatives, isn't it? I don't understand it myself but can you sign here?"

"Well I was wondering about polishing it up and mounting it, sort of a conversation piece."

"I don't think that would be a good idea, would you? No one's ever asked that before."

My brother chips in - "I wanted to ask you if it's true or not, a few years ago I was on holiday and there was a bloke who was a Funeral Director, he said so long as you've got a Death Certificate you can take the body up to the Crem in the boot of your car and they'll do it for fifteen quid is that true?"

"Well, technically yes but I don't think that would be a good idea isn't it?"

1st June. Gone.

2009-06-01T22:39:00.000+01:00

"Gone." was the only word my brother said when I answered my mobile, referring to Mother of course.

This was actually in a dream I had a few weeks ago.

In reality the conversation followed much the same lines - "passed away" - a slightly more long winded version of "gone'.

Yes so Mother is finally away to demand to see the manager in the sky.

1915 - 2009

23rd May. Care Home Latest.

2009-05-23T20:50:00.000+01:00

"I don't think she's going to come out of it, to be quite honest." says my brother during tonights pre-arranged phone call about Mother's recent stroke.

That's life? as they say.

22nd May. Public Liability Claim.

2009-05-22T22:24:00.002+01:00

"In all the years I've had the bike shop I've never known anyone to get a penny out of the council for damage from going into potholes." says our man as he spins my wheels each one with a pronounced dent at one point in the rim. "i can't see them taking any notice until someone's been killed!"

I limp out of the shop as fast as possible so as not to miss my appointment with Dr F.

"Another cycling related injury I'm afraid."

"Let's have a look then... yes... these will all heal up and the tightness in the calf should go, if any of the wounds become infected come back in. That's it all recorded, left forearm, left hip, left knee, left ankle and left calf muscle"

Dr F. continues...

" Hit a loose manhole cover caused £600 worth of damage to the car, took a photo with my phone and wrote a letter to the council... received a cheque for the whole amount."

Well, you don't know what to believe, but we shall see.

11th May. Bute Balls Up.

2009-05-11T20:37:00.005+01:00

Thanks to the wonders of modern technology Strathclyde Police can easily ascertain the status of any vehicle.

" That's £60 for each offence sir, payable within 28 days. Failure to pay will result in a report being sent to the Procurator Fiscal, Do you understand this?"

"Anything you say may be taken down and used in evidence against you... blah blah...etc etc"

The Bute Triathlon was turning out to be one of the most expensive events so far, possibly more than Ironman France but we shall see.

I came in with a creditable 1hr 12mins, one minute faster than the Otter, at the same time apparently finishing 2mins 45 secs behind the Otter.

To put it in very simple terms, it's either a warp in the Time-space continuum or something to do with ladies and stopwatches?

9th May. All Aboard For Bute.

2009-05-09T21:03:00.003+01:00

Another chance to show that ex-lard arse exactly how to run a proper race as the ex-holiday isle of Bute welcomes competitors once again.

It'll be a different story of course halfway through the swim in the choppy chlorinated waters of the local swimming pool.

Thoughts will inevitably turn to "What's the point of all this."

This is nothing more than a symptom of our old friend Natural Weakness.

3rd May. The Nettleman.

2009-05-04T07:38:00.010+01:00

Fink recommends entering a Half Ironman at the end of week 8.

Hence "The Nettleman" a 'race' held locally, with only one other competitor.

Then the 'other' competitor who was, by all accounts, enjoying the fruits of a new romance first thing, turned up halfway through the bike, promptly broke a spoke on the first incline of the Ballbreaker, then disappeared to the cycle shop.

The Other competitor reappeared an hour and a half later at the start of the run, managing to break off from txting long enough to get under way. We met Isabelle coming down from the bus stop who made fun of the gay sports apparel.

The 13.1 mile run route followed a clearly defined path according to the Ordnance Survey of 1973 possibly 1957, inevitably the 'path' petered out on the banks of the Tay. The run degenerated into a farce involving bare legs, new season nettles, old brambles and getting lost amongst a swamp of bullrushes.

"This river don't go to Aintry.

You boys done took a wrong turn.

See, this here river don't go nowhere near Aintry."

26th April. Know The Game - IT'S FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE.

2009-04-26T08:57:00.004+01:00

Thought For The Day:

There's about as much chance of completing Ironman France before the cutoff time as winning the National Lottery when you've never bought a ticket.

That's defeatist talk though.

I am a defeatist.

Therefore IM France could be a life changing experience, maybe a life ending experience.

Logically, finishing can mean one of two things:

Either there's going to be a huge improvement in the remaining 9 weeks of the Fink training programme or

it's going to be very, very...

PAINFUL.

23rd April. Futureshock.

2009-04-23T09:12:00.002+01:00

My brother is busy with one of those rows of seven clear plastic boxes with the flip up lids that your GP will give you when you get a bit older, filling each one in turn with the same number and variety of pills that look like Smarties and Tic-Tacs.

"Is that your 5 -a- day?" I ask wittily.

"No, 7-a-fucking-day."

22nd April. Speech Therapy III. - Pitch Variation.

2009-04-22T22:03:00.000+01:00

"Brad and Angelina are splitting up" says Isabelle

"No way!" I reply

or rather "No

way!"

21st April. A Test Of Faith.

2009-04-21T12:30:00.004+01:00

Going by the latest, The Otter seems to have succumbed to the "More must be better" maxim popular with the average masochist.

It's an attitude, looking back, that certainly paid off handsomely with spicy chicken wings and the like.

But not according to Fink.

It has been rumoured that The Fink just wrote that book with a lot of easy training schedules just to boost sales by giving every Tom Dick and Harry the idea that they too could complete an Ironman.

And of course still fit in a three hour commute to Lehman Brothers, three kids an 'understanding' wife and a live in mother-in-law to boot.

And it doesn't really matter if you've had an injury most of it's mental anyway.

Well

Fucking mental anyway.

19th April. Fink Not Think?

2009-04-19T22:11:00.005+01:00

I hear The Otter didn't completely drop dead at the end of his first marathon, unlike that Greek fella.

Decided to forgo this indulgence of chasing E.H. round the shores of Loch Linnhe, well actually I didn't decide anything, it's just not in The Fink's training plan.

In fact I don't have to think at all, just follow blindly on and have Faith in Fink it's a bit like joining The Moonies except I'm damned if I'm spending a penny on anything to do with Triathlon.

"Special" shoes specifically for Marathons £85 or whatever?

Mmmmmm....

14th April. Know The Game - Wanker!

2009-04-14T21:12:00.005+01:00

I'm not too bothered about being beaten again as it was by 2 mins, luckily this still seemed to worry The Otter - "The differential has reduced" he moaned, ie from 4 mins.

It was P.J. a long term Cyclehead who informed me that "Triathlon is the last refuge of The Wanker."

I judged this a little harsh, at the time I was wondering how exactly to justify to Isabelle the buying of a carbon bike but then I'd never have come to know this new and excellent game!

There's a lot of sport to be enjoyed with Wanker! as no one else would be seen dead on a Raleigh, even the Otter favours the Loctite/Carbon Special-ized.

The game consists of gaining on someone out of breath from the swim, needless to say on an expensive bike, the more expensive the better, then sprinting past them.

One young chap on a brand new full carbon Kuota complete with aerodynamically shaped helmet fought back uphill choosing from one of god knows how many gears bleating "You're embarrassing me!"

...Only to be immediately taken again on the crest of the downhill!

Wanker!

11th April. In With A Chance.

2009-04-11T21:34:00.003+01:00

The Otter has been deliberately enjoying a couple of weeks of self-abuse just to rub my face in the fact that despite "blah blah blah..." come tomorrow he'll still manage to beat me by whatever number of minutes.

I have, on the other hand, been following the Fink training plan to the letter and also ate an Avocado last week, which in my book, counts as a 'healthy' diet as part of a '5 -a-week' fresh fruit regimen.

I must say though I've never been quite right in the bowel department since a macaroni cheese on the Calmac Ardrossan to Brodick ferry about a month ago.

Apart from that I've got everything going for me.

Losing tomorrow may be simply mental weakness or feeble-mindedness, if you like.

5th April. Endorphins? What Endorphins?

2009-04-05T21:23:00.000+01:00

I hear The Otter is on a natural high and looking for sponsorship from Loctite after the success of gluing that "Carbon" bike together.

Talking of Carbon bikes, I've realized one of the few things in life that seems to release any discernible endorphins is passing someone else in a race, especially if they're on a more expensive bike and younger or bigger.

Being passed, especially by women, older men or the formerly obese conversely causes a black cloud to cover the sun.

4th April. The Ballbreaker- 2 Laps.

2009-04-04T19:06:00.005+01:00

Having been lambasted for only cycling on the flat the time had come to step up and as The Fink puts it "Make friends with the hills."

Which is a bit like saying make friends with Ian Brady or any other recognized Psychopath.

The new loop unremittingly goes down or goes up, Greenbank Rd was about the only level 200 yards and there the temptation to call in at "Young" Alistair's for food of any kind was strong, one slice of bread with marmalade had proved inadequate.

At the start of lap 2 in a fine Scots Smirr, I could feel myself wilting like a post-coital penis and there I was hard up against the 12% hill back up to Glenfarg.

I don't know if I'm man enough for the hills behind Nice.

E.H. successful in last year's Nice event, is either a woman made out of Kryptonite and I'm Normal or she's normal and I'm just Naturally Weak...

3rd April. Betty's Elixir.

2009-04-03T21:51:00.007+01:00

Betty, a remarkably fit looking OAP, made a move to the shower at the end, the one that everyone says "NO That's Cold!" to any Leisure Pool newcomer before they press the button, which peversely also has a red dot in the middle of it.

Betty gets the full force.

"What's with the cold shower?" says E. languishing under a comfortingly hot shower.

E. is quite fit looking too but probably only about nineteen, another early morning health fanatic type.

"I'm meant to stay under it till it goes off but now there's a lot more pressure than there used to be."

"Let's have a go!" I say and step manfully under and press the red dotted button.

After about five seconds I have to emit a shriek like an even younger girl.

"aaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!"

But you do actually feel great afterwards.

28th March. A Tranent (Pyrrhic) Victory.

2009-03-28T21:06:00.007Z

Approaching the end of the race I kept an eye on the stopwatch, with a slight sprint towards the finishing line things looked good for finally breaking the 1hr 20min barrier, despite being lapped by everyone in my swim lane.

1hr 18mins 53secs! A Personal Best! Fully 12 mins faster than last year in much the same cold and windy conditions.

A while later I approached 'The Otter' - "1hr 18 how did it go?"

"1hr 14mins."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!"

26th March. Know-The-Game FAKE PASSION.

2009-03-26T22:10:00.009Z

Saturday Showdown in Tranent - a chance to see if all this endless Ironman training regime makes any difference to anything vis-a-vis 'The Otter'.

It's as if it mattered, as if I was interested, as if I was passionate about Triathlon.

By rights, after following the Fink Ironfit training program for about eight weeks, as if I was dedicated, there should be an improvement.

But maybe if you only go through the motions, it doesn't work?

20th March. Love's Young Sandwich.

2009-03-20T20:13:00.006Z

The youngish joiner working at the Icelander's had a bit of a clear out of his van including all his sandwiches today.

Each round appeared to be individually wrapped in cling film, after a quick look round I fished them out of the skip.

A fresh granary bread, low fat spread with healthy sliced chicken on a neatly trimmed bed of lettuce and cucumber, followed by an individual pack of mini Jaffa Cakes as a concession to unhealthy eating. Mmmmmm...not bad.

Obviously the work of a loving wife but why throw them out?

Simple.

Further investigation of the skip revealed evidence of a consumed take-out from 'Macky Dee's.

Obviously the uneaten 'official' lunch had to be binned wholesale as it would certainly be construed as rejection, with Friday night consequently ruined - in it's entirety.

19th March. Fake Passion Part 1.

2009-03-19T20:26:00.006Z

"It's one of mine" says Mr B. "Didn't sell." referring to the large landscape on the living room wall.

"There's a lot of work in that." I suggest - peering at the detail, wondering how he does it.

"Yes but I don't feel I have to paint, it was just something I was good at, at school, then I went on to Art College.

It pays the bills but if you said I could never paint again I wouldn't miss it, in fact I'd probably be relieved. On the other hand if you said I could never play music again - that would be a very different story."

In comparison my approach to everything in life has been consistently half - arsed.

Like Mr B. I was also accepted at the same Art College but just stayed for one morning then skipped the following four years.

17th March. NHS Speech Therapy 1.

2009-03-17T20:41:00.005Z

"The way I see it - if people can't understand me it's their problem not mine, they're just bad listeners."

"Mmmm?"

"I can't express what I feel because it all comes out in a monotone but then I don't want to reveal myself anyway."

"So how do people react?"

"Are you on drugs? Are you drunk? In fact I was refused drink once when I was completely sober, another time the Police thought their breathalyser was on the blink ."

"Well we can start with some basic exercises - try increasing the volume from low to high."

"What should I say?"

"Just say Ah."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

15th March. How To Cure Wanker's Wrist.

2009-03-15T11:25:00.004Z

Wanker's Wrist is a painful overuse injury involving inflammation of the tendons in the lower forearm, chiefly those connected to the thumb and first finger, (also known as Wrist Tendonitis).

The Physiotherapist helped to some extent but she'd changed her tune a bit last week, recommending immobilization, I walked out with about 4 feet of crepe bandaged wrapped around the wrist and hand.

Now I looked like the sort of tosser who can't even make a decent job of slashing their own wrists.

Anyway Google suggested repeated plunging of one's entire arm in a sink full of ice and water.

To be honest this is a bit nippy but it seems to work.

I'm left wondering if extending this theory to the whole body with a cold shower every morning could actually make you a better person - physically... morally?

14th March. An Evening of 'Excellent' Guitar Shredding.

2009-03-14T18:24:00.009Z

The first band comes on, Swordfish or something - Satriani meets the twin guitars of Wishbone Ash on a strict diet of amphetamine.

The thing with this Instrumental Metal seems to be - why play one note when a hundred and fifteen will do?

To be fair this is a "Guitar Night" Isabelle tells me. The onlookers, predominantly male, stare transfixed by the miasma of well practised fingers on fretboards I nurse a single pint of Belhaven with earplugs in.

You can't really dance to it.

Isabelle is all a-gog at the sheer quantities of notes.

I think of Bill and Ted.

"It's just shite." I say.

7th March. Chalking Up Another Handicap.

2009-03-07T17:29:00.007Z

I'm afraid I had to cry off from The Wee Triathlon in Fort William with another cycle related injury, thus recording a DNS, (another clear win for The Otter, despite claiming to be shepherding some woman round the Mountain Bike course as her birthday present?? Jeezo.)

This latest physical weakness of mine actually only involved repeated use of a spanner but there you are almost completely useless with an overused wrist. (Could it be too much wanking again Doctor?)

27th February. Negative Positivism.

2009-02-27T21:18:00.003Z

"For once I'm not going to be working in Boots this weekend." says Junior sipping a cup of coffee with two sugars requested from Mrs R. to lighten the mood (four for Daddy as he's a bit grouchy please)

"See when you look at what you said there - it's negative."

"No it's not, I'm a happy bunny looking forward to the weekend."

"If you'd said 'I'm not going to be in Boots this weekend' that would be neutral but what you're really saying in effect is - I'm not in Boots this weekend, normally I am and I'm sick of it, life's passing me by etc. so it's actually you not me that's being all negative."

"Bollocks."

23rd February. I'm No Oil Painting.

2009-02-23T21:15:00.003Z

Mr W. the horse's head painter tells me he's entering the BP Portrait Competition, the world's most prestigious portrait competition.

It's unlikely you could scoop the £25,000 prize with an oil painting of a horse no matter how pretty a face.

Mr W. seats me in the kitchen chair and takes 20 odd photos to form the basis of this next canvas.

"I'll be on display at the National Portrait Gallery" I mention to Isabelle.

"Why did he want to paint you?"

'A lot of character he said."

"What he means is like the face of a homeless person."

15th February. Ypres.

2009-02-15T19:33:00.002Z

Isabelle quizzes the hotel receptionist, of Moroccan descent, how to get to Ypres.

"Is it a hotel?"

Well, only if you were killed sometime between 1914 -18.

And then when we finally step off the train several hours later there the sign says Ieper.

"Is this Ypres?"

"There must be two Ypres." says Isabelle.

"The only thing I know about Ypres is it was completely flattened in the First War, Perth looks more damaged than this place."

Opposite the medieval town hall we try our luck at a bookshop with various munitions in the window.

Turns out Patrick the proprietor is a local expert on unexploded Mustard Gas shells and the identification of dead German soldiers.

"There are no buildings in the town less than 90 years old."

"Amazing! Who paid for all the rebuilding work?

"The Germans."

14th February. Antwerp Aberration.

2009-02-14T15:12:00.002Z

"Platform 23, where is it though?"

"We've only got 4 mins."

"There! Look!" I say pointing to the overhead monitor.

"WHAT?"

"Wait. It'll come up with the stations in between... There! this one's going to Antwerp."

"BUT WE'RE ALREADY IN ANTWERP!!"

"Errr..."

The intervening twenty-five years since last visiting Antwerp seem to have exacted a hefty toll.

50% hair loss, memory, etc.

13th February. Pre Dawn Brussels.

2009-02-13T22:12:00.000Z

I run through canyons of glass and steel, home to ranks of suited clones, no doubt.

On through a semi-industrial bit into a hinterland of ethnic diversity and gang tag graffitti - VYKEA, SKEMS, whatever.

After the turnaround a billboard for some new Lancia proclaims "Marquez Votre Difference!"

Yeah, well, quite.

12th February. Fat Belgian Bastards?

2009-02-12T22:02:00.000Z

My cappuccino arrives at the Cafe De L'Opera, wow black coffee trapped below a layer of proper solid whipped cream.

"Nothing squirty out of a can here." I say as Isabelle pours her rich dark melted chocolate over a delightful lattice work of waffle dusted with icing sugar.

Statistically one in two Belgian adults are overweight - apparently.

11th February. Tesco Holidays.

2009-02-11T21:26:00.000Z

We have been awarded a holiday courtesy of Tesco Clubcard points which Isabelle has somehow converted to Air Miles.

Belgium in February.

It's gonna be...

-3 C.

7th February. The Cone Police.

2009-02-07T20:58:00.007Z

"They cones belong tae the site!" says a council worker in a Hi-Vis jacket all accusatory.

"I seen you takin' it, what were yer daein' wi' it like?"

I offer up a feeble excuse, in fact the only possible ready explanation, that I'd put it by the back of the trailer in case someone else was reversing into the space by the Inert Waste skip.

I don't think Hi-Vis is buying it but walks off, together with the recaptured cone.

I mean the alternative explanation seems even more unlikely: that someone would bother to nick a single traffic cone.

6th February. The Big Event In June.

2009-02-06T20:12:00.005Z

Mr T. tells me the Big Event is in June. "That's not long I say."

"Hah, don't remind me!"

This big event isn't Ironman France, which coincidentally is now only 20 weeks away but a far more grueling Ultra-Marathon that will test human endurance both physical and mental to the upper limits and beyond...

Mrs T. is expecting a baby.

1st February. Ramsay's Round.

2009-02-01T21:13:00.000Z

"I've actually found something in life I'm good at" trumpeted the Otter about the recent enthusiasm for hill running.

"You mean besides eating Fruit Allsorts and drinking Tennent's lager?"

"I don't think it would be for this year though...although I was planning to do all the Mamores one Sunday afternoon" he said squinting at the official website.

56 miles, 24 or even 28 Munros with 28,500 feet of climbing - The Classic 24 hour Scottish Challenge, a feat performed by only 52 mad people to date.

"Although no one has ever yet completed 30 Munros in under 24 hours...mmm..." ponders The Otter.

"What? You must be effing joking."

30th January. DIY & Ultrasound Therapy

2009-01-30T21:22:00.006Z

In the absence of an NHS Physio appointment less than a month away the Bosch PSS 230 orbital sander can do double duty for enhancing the recovery rate of damaged tissue usually present in an injured area.

If memory serves, the orbital sander can also bring a woman, fully clothed, to orgasm in less time than it takes to bring a kettle to the boil.

29th January. Three Weeks In A Fucking Limbo.

2009-01-29T18:58:00.004Z

To be honest I couldn't care less if I never saw another chimney again or listened to another woman's concerns about "How it's going to look when it's finished."

Course if I'd had a properly boring career with an index linked final salary pension I could now be choosing to take early retirement and a golden handshake.

In fact now I do feel like I've retired.

Isabelle says we should go away with SAGA for my 50th.

26th January. Heart Rate Training.

2009-01-26T19:25:00.007Z

I hear The Otter is warming to the Heart Rate Monitor concept of training as per The 'Rat' Fink.

"I can't get beyond 120 on the bike."

That's hardly surprising with a big floppy pulse that until recently only quickened at the sight of anything Chinese, Beefy and crispy.

When a sprint finish would be the first plate of the All You Can Eat Buffet.

22nd January. The Flipper Police

2009-01-22T21:59:00.002Z

The 'Rat' Fink is a strong advocate of training sized flippers for a variety of swim drills, which would be a relief for the shoulder problem.

However it was likely with the level of Health and Safety fascism operating at the Leisure Pool flippers would be outlawed.

Tonight with only two public lanes operating the rest of the training pool was taken up with some sort of junior swimming club with piles of associated gear including flippers.

"D'you mind if I have a shot of your fins?" I said to some teenager in lane 3.

"Sure no problem."

I managed one length before the flipper police came in.

"NO FLIPPERS ALLOWED! NO FLIPPERS ALOUD!"

Aw fuck off.

21st January. The 'Poof's Way'.

2009-01-21T12:15:00.005Z

The latest medical setback has of course had an unexpected softening side effect: a grudging acceptance of the importance of Gradual Adaptation or the 'Poof's Way'.

Too much 'proper' exercise of the injured joint in question will result in about a years recovery time, not enough and I'll be stuck with a painfully frozen shoulder probably for another year.

Similarly, completing the 112 mile bike section with a brutal no-train approach fuelled by fortified wine and a manly diet of sausage rolls for the marathon would probably lead to further medicalizations.

The 'Poof's Way' shares a basic element with the Franklin 'Way of The Termite' ie tiny mouthful by tiny mouthful until the house collapses.

20th January. Time Efficient Training.

2009-01-20T14:18:00.012Z

E.H. appears to have dropped The Otter like a hot potato following the results of the inaugural sunday morning training session.

"Alarm issues."

The Otter's tendency to lie a-bed after a few stiff whiskies the night before apparently didn't sit well with E.H's time efficient scheduling - no room for dead weight.

I am now, despite all the various physical handicaps, attempting to adhere to Don 'Rat' Fink's 'Ironfit' program, follow it to the letter and success is more or less underwritten.

The 'Rat' illustrates the science with profiles of successful acolytes, one chap has two kids and works 60 hours a week with a 2 hour commute as a high flying investment banker with Lehman Brothers...

Yeah well, talking of crashes, the demands on his time must be not inconsiderably reduced.

19th January. Like a Diseased Salmon In The Shallows.

2009-01-19T17:28:00.005Z

A welcome return to The Leisure Pool - 'where summer never ends', (yeah right) at 7am.

Eschewing the activity in the 'fast lane' I head for the opposite side labelled SLOW.

I float about at the shallow end not moving much like a migrating salmon that can't make it up the fish ladder at Pitlochry.

18th january. Poirot Draws A Blank.

2009-01-18T12:14:00.002Z

In the Insurance based 'Mysterious Case of The Man in A Ford Granada Scorpio' last night's return to the scene of the crime exactly a week later revealed rien de tout!

There was a car parked in the right place but this proved to be a car that never moves anywhere.

Then an idea! Au millieu de la nuit!

Un homme dans ses annees soixantes avec un chapaeu 'Trilby' et un manteau de voiture 'camel', peut etre il ya un personne qui allez regularement a l'eglise local Church of Scotland toutes les Dimanches?

Certainment!

Je dois conduire ce matin immediatement a Auchterarder et passez un bon inspection des voitures a cote de chaque eglise.

Un coup de genie!

Mais.

Rien de tout... aussi...

Zut alors!

17th January. Outta The Game?

2009-01-17T21:18:00.009Z

Last week I was down and out of the running because that knoboscoposcopy thing was going to reveal half a pound of cancer in my cum gland.

The week before that God had forgotten to give me two kidneys, an Ironman in the Sud de France would be certain death from dehydration and so on.

This week condemned to swim with one arm for life I'll be lucky to ever front crawl more than 20 metres in a heated pool for pansies let alone 2.4 miles in the sea.

But these are just additional challenges! to be overcome on the road to reaching one's personal goal! of becoming... an IRONMAN!!! Of course!

And to think for a while I thought about shutting myself in the hen house with the Buell fired up just because I wasn't ever going to be 'right' in the shoulder department! tch tch tch...