26th February. Ultra-Marathon Showdown.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

"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

"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.

"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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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

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.

"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.

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.

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.

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.

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.