I did the Capital FM 10K “Feetbeat” last sunday. Not too bad all in all, despite the heat. 48mins 16secs all in all which is a good 5 minutes faster than the last 10K I did (the Nike RunLondon 10K in 2002). Apparently I came 590th out of about 7000 people which I reckon is not to be scoffed at either. Especially for a large, slowmoving bugger like me.

Anyway, I’ve just found a picture of me running in the race. It would be the height of vanity to buy it but on the other hand, why not. I can start putting together my own little shrine to me with all my pictures and medals¹.

Perhaps I could even be my own stalker.

¹Except possibly for the one we got at the end of the race on sunday. It was a mini CD with a message from “Foxy” on it saying “well done for doing the race blah blah blah”. Novel, yes, but I never thought I’d miss a cheap bit of nickel plated metal on a string before.

How many members of the Bush Administration are needed to replace a lightbulb?

SEVEN:

1. One to deny that a lightbulb needs to be replaced
2. One to attack and question the patriotism of anyone who has questions about the lightbulb
3. One to blame the previous administration for the need for a new lightbulb
4. One to arrange the invasion of a country rumored to have a secret stockpile of lightbulbs
5. One to get together with Vice President Cheney and figure out how to pay Halliburton Industries one million dollars for each lightbulb
6. One to arrange a photo-op session showing Bush changing the lightbulb while dressed in a flight suit and wrapped in an American flag
7. One to explain to Bush the difference between screwing a lightbulb and screwing the country.

Which, coincedentally, is the same number is it would take the Blair government to change a lightbulb:

1. One to deny that they were told the lightbulb needed replacing a year ago
2. One to suggest that under the Tories, the lightbulb would not have been changed at all
3. One to hold a spurious enquiry into why the government isn’t to blame for the lightbulb needing changing.
4. One to point out that important issue is that the lightbulb needed replacing and not that the rumoured secret stockpile of lightbulbs in the country they invaded was never found.
5. One to justify why the cost of replacing the lightbulb is going to exceed the Gross National Product of Moldavia
6. One to arrange a photo-op session showing Blair changing the lightbulb while dressed in a flight suit and wrapped in an American flag

and finally…

7. Peter Mandelson

(via Vanessa and badly adapted.)

Breathe faster.

The faster you breathe, the more air you get. It’s a way of getting one up on those around you. You’re breathing air that should rightfully be theirs.

And there’s nothing they can do about it.

I played a couple of hours of touch rugby tonight with a load of people I’ve never met before but who all seemed quite pleasant.

It’s the first time I’ve met a load of people through a blog - although strictly speaking, it was the comments on Ms Jones’ blog and none of the people (to my knowledge) I met tonight are bloggers. Ironically, the person who invited me to take part tonight wasn’t even there but cheers anyway Greggo. I’m sure I’ll be back again.

I’m trying to fill in a questionnaire that asks two questions. Okay, it asks more than two questions but there are two in particular:

1. What’s the best thing that ever happened to you
2. What’s the worst thing that ever happened to you

The second is easy. The first I’m having a little more difficulty with. I could say something like “getting married” but that’s a bit twee and sentimental. I’m not sure that putting “the first time I got laid” is going to give the right impression (although you never know) and putting “the time I won a major competition” reeks of arrogance. I could lie and say “finishing the London marathon” I suppose.

What would you put? (I’m not asking for me, I’m just curious).

Less than 9 weeks to go and here’s the continuing tour de course

After the “shocking” experience of the Tiger, we come to The Colditz Walls, three wooden walls one after the other. The first is 2m high, the second, 3m and the last one is 4m – over twice my height. The aim is simple – get over the walls and splat down on the other side. There will be ropes to assist us all and I’m sure that there will be one or two people looking for a leg up too. The real challenge will be not to use any extra assistance but I’m sure by that stage I’ll need all the help I can get.

A small obstacle but, in the wise words of Yoda, “Size matters not!”

I live in a relatively isolated area. It’s called the countryside. I live in a beautiful small village that is the epitome of rural life. We have two pubs, a school, a village shop, a duck pond, a church and we are surrounded by gorgeous countryside.

I didn’t always live there. In fact I’ve only lived there for 13 months +/- a few days. I used to live in South London and still do work in central London. Back before Christmas, Pix wrote a very eloquent post detailing six events that typify why she loves London. Well, here’s my five reasons why I’m glad I moved out.

1. I have a “local”. Local is a word that’s more associated with The League of Gentlemen (”This is a local shop…”) and sometimes my village can seem a little like that. But it’s not. My nearest pub is some 500 yards or less away from my house. They serve great beer, there’s a great atmosphere and it’s generally a great place. We know a lot of people down there and it’s very warm, welcoming and friendly. Compare this with my “local” in London. It was nearer the house but not once in three years did I venture into it. My wife did and her report would have been enough to deter me from stepping foot in there if I hadn’t already been put off by the broken windows, the vomit outside the door, the shit in the doorway and the fights I had witnessed outside on more than one occasion. It got shut down 6 weeks after we left because someone had their throat slashed in there.

2. Neighbours. It’s a generally accepted rule that you don’t speak to your neighbours. We lived on a small terrace in London and did get to know our neighbours on one side quite well. People were always stunned when we told them that we were going around to our neighbours for dinner. They moved away to the countryside before long but we stayed in touch. We never got to know any of our neighbours beyond conversations like “They were the people who had the blazing row on the doorstep at 3am”, “That’s the one who’s husband got taken away by the police the other day”, “They’re the ones with the kids who grafitti up the wall”.

We already seem to know half the village where we’ve moved to. We get invited to parties and social do’s and buy free-range eggs from them and the lot.

3. Attitude. I’ve lived all around the UK in my time and I can safely say that I have never been in a more unfriendly place than London. Perhaps it’s the City and the rush rush busy busy lifestyle but generally I find people in London to be rude, selfish and unfriendly. There’s a competitive atmosphere which clogs the air and the mind and it’s oppressing. Anywhere seems better than London when it comes to friendliness. (With the exception of US Immigration stations!)

4. Clean air. London doesn’t have any. I come into town everyday and have to take the tube and walk 500 yards to my office. I blow my nose and this black gunk comes out. It’s horrendous! When we used to live in London, going to the countryside for some fresh air involved a minimum of a 30 minute drive. Green spots in London? Don’t make me laugh. Sure you can have a nice walk around somewhere like Wimbledon common but you can never escape the sound of traffic, the pollution in the air or any of the other 101 things which define green spots in London as not being vaguely similar to the countryside except in colour tone and hue.

Compare this to my house now where I can be in a woods watching fauns run wild within 2 minutes of leaving my front door. It’s quiet, fresh and clean. And quite beautiful.

5. Cost of living. Okay, it’s a general gripe I have with living down south anyway. How can you buy three 10 inch takeaway pizzas in Leeds for about a tenner and yet only just about get 1 in the south for the same price? Surely the difference in the price of ingredients can’t differ that much! But what’s worse about London is the cost of drinks. Let me put it this way - in my local pub I can by a round for six people and get change for a tenner.

So now all I need to do is find a job outside of London and I’ll be as happy as Larry. Whoever the hell he is!

This is part of a chain of posts linked together by word association. The previous link in the chain was here. If you want to write another link here’s what to do: Find a word, phrase or theme from this post to inspire your own and go and write it. It’s that simple. Try not to write something that’s similar to this post. That way the subject of the posts along the chain will vary. E.g. if I write about going to the doctor’s, then don’t talk about the last time you were ill, instead describe how you used to play Doctors and Nurses with the girl next door. Get the idea? Your post can be in any style you want. Copy this paragraph and tack it onto the end of your post, updating the link to point here, then leave a comment here that points to your new post

As I can definitely call myself an adult (and at times may even stretch to “responsible”) I thought I might have a flutter on the Zurich Premiership Final this weekend. After all, online betting - couldn’t be easier!

It’s total and utter Swahili to me.

I had a look on Ladbrokes and they actually give odds for Wasps as 2/5 and the odds for Bath winning as 7/4. This means nothing to me although at the end of the day I don’t suppose that matters as it wouldn’t change my selection.

William Hill gives the same odds but shows them initially as decmals - 1.40 and 2.75 respectively. I’m guessing that it measn Wasps are favourite but frankly, I have no idea. All I want to do is put a tenner on Wasps to win - that can’t be so hard, can it?

I might feel like an adult, but I don’t feel like a real man.

I went to see Troy with an open mind, well aware of the changes that they had made from Homer’s Iliad. Somehow, I was still let down. What should have been a glorious epic tale about heroic triumphs and tragedies was reduced to a visually stunning soap opera, full of unsympathetic characters with little charm, one-dimensional motivation and lacking any poetry and soul. It was very easy on the eye and visually quite stunning but not that great. Performances were fine, but let down by a lacklustre script and, to my mind, some poor creative decisions.

I can’t critique any further without giving away copious spoilers so don’t read on if you don’t want to know.
(more…)

I was always amused by Stephen Sommers’ remake of Raiders of the Lost Ark first film, The Mummy. It was a rollicking adventure and tongue in cheek enough to make it worthwhile. So I was looking forward to Van Helsing. Unfortunately, I was let down. It’s a fun action film and is not so bad that you can’t waste a couple of hours watching it but its not great and would probably bore if seen more than once.

The premise is simple. Dracula and his army of werewolves, dweebs/dregs or whatever they were called, vampire brides are trying to bring to life a load of baby vampires for some spurious reason and Van Helsing, a Vatican employed monster killer is brought in to stop him. Richard Roxburgh, the baddie from Moulin Rouge, is quite camp and menacing as Dracula while Hugh Jackman is a little dull as the rather one dimensional Van Helsing. Kate Beckinsale is the token heroic female although the role itself seemed largely redundant to my mind.

The opening scene, a black and white flashback featuring Dr Frankenstein bringing his infamous “monster” to life while a mass of torch and pitchfork bearing villagers batter down the door to his castle suggested the film might be quite a clever pastiche of all the old black and white monster movies but unfortunately the rest of the heavily CGI reliant film never lived up to the openings promise.

What I felt Van Helsing lacked was any imagination. There was a great chance to really do something different with the characters they had but it ended up being an overlong action adventure film with flat humour and clich? after clich? of hackneyed and overused ideas. In places it threatened to be rather camp and over the top and that would probably have been a good thing but it pulled its punches and ended up being an entirely forgettable waste of an opportunity. The direction was flat, the script was flat, the performances were faxed in and the film just lacked any sort of pizzazz or oomph which could have made it a far better film than it was.

Come back Hammer House of Horror, all is (very nearly) forgiven!.