Review of 2008

Back in January I set out some vague goals for 2008. I've managed some and missed rather more. I just can't believe (for instance) that I failed to get around to using starlings for musical notation. I focused on two main projects. HIM II, Eroica and Amsterdam marathon.

The 'Eroica' bike race was my main goal and I managed to buy and lightly restore a vintage Holdsworth, get together the appropriate kit and facial hair and race the bike over the 205km course. The race was gruelling but the feeling I got from completing it was worth every turn of the pedals. The spirit was truly heroic.

I managed three other bike events during the year. 'The Dragon' was fairly tough but I finally completed the 180km 'long' route after two years of 'short' route ignominy. I followed this up with the festival of mechanical failure that is the Woodcote Sportif and a leisurely two day version of the Circuit of the Cotswolds with Julia.

On the running front 2008 was not as successful as I hoped. I failed in my goals for half and full marathon although I did run a marathon PB in Amsterdam. I really enjoyed the trip and I would very much like to go back to Amsterdam as a tourist.

I didn't make it to the Alps in 2008 but I did discover the majesty of the Cairngorms and the convenience of the Caledonian Sleeper. Indeed Richard and I managed to cram in two visits bagging both Cairn Gorm and Ben Macdui in near whiteout conditions.

Musically things have continued on a gradual upward trend. The guitar playing has improved a little and the Humphrey Institute of Music week proved to be rather more musical than the first edition. We have a new hardcore and big plans for 2009.

Educationally things have picked up . I began B713: Fundamentals of Senior Management (first of the MBA courses) in November and I am just about keeping up with the work. I failed once again to make the move into research.

Personally it has been a difficult year with the break coming in March. I've done a lot of soul searching and self analysis and come to some useful conclusions.

Over Christmas I'm going to make a list of 2009 projects and read the latest edition of my new favourite magazine 'It's FAT'

Let's do the Cairngorms again

Continuing my tour of the UK's more remote regions Rich and I got the sleeper out of Euston to Aviemore. It is always magical to use a sleeper and waking in the highlands makes it even better. Full of Scotrail carbohydrates we took the bus to the ski station and walked off into the wildrness. for 30hrs we saw almost nothing but endless variations on white. I can see why those from Northern latitudes have so many words for snow.

We climbed a long icy arm of the main plateau. There were two main butress structures each filled with fresh and frozen snow layers. We had to jump a couple of drops and Rich managed a magnificent textbook ice axe arrest. I led the climbs cutting away unstable layers of snow and kicking footholds in the flozen layers beneath.

Once on the plateau we had to rely on Rich's navigational skills to find the top of Ben Macdui (Scotland's second highest peak). It was snowing steadily and we were enveloped by cloud. We were the only people to reach the top that day and the summit cairn was ribbed with ice and covered in snow.

We dropped off the top into the col and dug a snow pit. My hands were freezing and once the tent was up they started to thaw painfully. It was fully dark by 5pm and talking through life's many difficulties and burning spagetti too us through until 8pm when we turning in.

A small tent on the top of a mountain in minus 7 degrees may seem like a strange place to be happy but I was and slept fully 12 hours until my alarm went off. Rich made hot chocolate and we pulled the tent down. A foot of snow had falled over night burying the ice axes we had used as tent pegs on the windward side.

We trekked back on a northward bearing to the butress we had climbed. We were more adventurous on the way down and took a more direct route. We had to wriggle (bagless) down one section and throw the bags down. It was wonderful.

I saved the falling through the water ice until 30mins from the ski station and we enjoyed our hot chocolates very much. Dinner at the Cairngorm hotel was excellent. Neeps and tatties away!!

The train delivered me to Euston on time and the Bletchley express had me in work by 9:30... Wonderful

Humphrey Institute of Music II

It wasn’t the finest specimen of Nelmes that picked up the enormous estate car from the hire company. I was pale, fevered and coughing like a Rottweiler on capstan full strength. I’d been ill for days and I suspect that the physiognomy was showing the strain too. The car hire people were very efficient and in no time I was driving northwards to pick up Julia and her ethnic drum collection. I left my electric guitar at Brennan Villas for want of boot space. The car was a joy and we rolled up to the Priory only about 20 minutes late. The pile of catering supplies was pretty impressive and in the end we had to leave Gareth behind (well something has to give) for Verity to collect.

The journey is something of a Day Nurse haze but with Major calling the shots we found the manor with remarkable ease; pulling in just before sundown. The lady running the place was a little eccentric but we were soon settled in.

The manor has a dilapidated regency charm makes up for the lack of gothic horror. The views over the rolling farmland of west Wales also added light and charm in place of the brooding menace of Maesycrugiau.

The early arrivals (Jackie, Rich, Me, Verity, Julia B, Duncan, J Whippers, Chris and Prior) tucked into a Gareth special mushroom chilli and we got down to some plank spanking. Almost from ‘the off’ the shakey egg proved a favourite. I’ve never really experienced the power of the egg before but it has remarkable rhythmic potential and exerts a powerful influence over the user. We almost had to prise it from Madge’s dead hand by the end of the evening.

Even on this first evening the music was outstripping the first HIM gathering. Duncan wasn’t engaged with the ‘big white telephone’ and Verity and Julia egged each other on considerably on the vocal front.

The strengthening of the cohort continued during a Saturday I spent mainly in bed. Beccy, Nina and a truck load of supplies arrived. Roo and Sue popped up from somewhere and we were quite quorate. I managed to pep myself up sufficiently to drive people into Newcastle Emlyn to procure towels (that is pronounced TaoWells by the way) before popping off for a tactical nap before dinner. Gareth was Chef de Cuisine for the evening and also managed to help me out with the blasted bow tie. Rich and Jackie were doing his bidding and our resident law enforcement officer wafted in and out in a Jeeves piny throughout.

Richard’s trumpet voluntary heralded a culinary extravaganza in several acts. Poultry was dismembered and vegetables spotted amidst the spread. Julia refused to stop goggling at me until I’d blown a (half reasonable I thought) note on the trumpet. Looking at the picture it is clear that, were I a boy wizard, I’d undoubtedly be in Slitherin House.

The session was planned around a couple of Neil Young songs but in practice we worked our way through most of the HIM book. To increasingly inebriated cries of ‘make your music’ and ‘bring us your tunes’ Duncan ‘guitar monkey’ Humphrey was whipped mercilessly through most of the popular canon. Chris shook eggs, Whippers and bass apprentice Roo boomed. I thrashed rhythmically and Duncan twiddled without shame. Verity and Julia, who were looking increasingly rock and roll glam, sang, giggled and drank (copiously) as the whole thing reached a crescendo of alcohol fuelled creativity.

When I retired at about 2am it was at the point where Julia and Verity were singing unconnected snippets of unrelated songs at Duncan who kept saying ‘I can’t get it from that’. Believe me; nobody could have got it from that.

When I staggered downstairs at 11am Verity was emerging from the lounge-ballroom still in her evening dress with a tray of glasses. She dropped the lot with a CRASH and a little intoxicated grin. If I’ve seen a greater spectacle of rock n roll decadence I don’t recall it.

Sunday featured the Welsh Slurry Walk. The sun was bright and Roo and Sue led us on a walk over varied and beautiful terrain to a pub with the sign of a hanged man with someone on his shoulders. Some of the countryside was so attractive that we covered it twice – getting slightly lost on some horsey type’s land. Still the old Nelmes charm did the trick and the owner led us to safely away from her randy stallion.

Beccy was Chef de Cuisine and she provided us with what Julia would probably refer to as a Mighty Meaty Bastard of a meal. I don’t think anyone really spoke during dinner and I assume that the heads-down-shovelling was meant as a heart felt sign of appreciation.

Music continued with a full woodwind version of Hey Hey My My and a Bottle Orchestra rendition of In the Bleak Midwinter. I reigned supreme at marbles and the conkers tournament fizzled out in the face of the unrelenting booze.

As the week progressed the numbers dwindled and chairs were drawn closer to the fire. The pace slowed and the incidence of literary discussion increased. I actually enjoy the latter part of the week. We started to fall into a pattern of running in the morning and wiffling the day away on music and reading. Soups and breads, a veggie curry night and a little time to reflect seemed perfectly to meet my requirements before; all too soon, it was time to return to real life

Modest gliding and knightly kneeling

The weekend was something of a curate’s egg. On Saturday I went skating at the rink at the Natural History Museum. I’ve never been particularly keen on skating but I was worse than I imagined. I spent the first ten minutes working my way around the perimeter railing and then very slowly venturing inwards – shuffling pathetically. Somehow Newton’s laws were working against me and I had no momentum to conserve. After about half an hour I could confidently move round with my eyes fixed four feet ahead; and ten minutes later I was experimenting with modest gliding. I was just getting the hang of turning when some idiot with a video camera skated backwards in front of me and left me in a moist and knightly kneeling position. This event shook the old confidence somewhat and a few minutes later I came a medium cropper after a near miss with a whelp. I now seem to have whiplash. By way of compensation we had a most agreeable lunch at Cous Cous Darna near South Kensington Tube.

Trivial tasks accomplished over the weekend included bar taping and plastering (both acceptable is slightly cack-handed), the re adhesion of wallpaper and the reading of a large chunk of my B713 materials.

Mouse boiling and rocket testing

Julia and I undertook parallel projects on Sunday afternoon.

Having found a deceased young mouse on my doorstep (thanks to the local cat community) we decided to try to extract its skeleton for display purposes – possibly rampant with acorns argent. The methodology was to boil it with caustic soda to remove the flesh and degrease the bones then reassemble it using fuse wire.

We got the unfortunate rodent to a rolling boil and then reduced him to a simmer. After a couple of hours the fur was off and some of the guts were gone but the little gent was otherwise complete. Having run out of bottled gas we had to decant him into pure water so that we could continue the process indoors. A further hour passed and Julia decided to extract our whiskery chum for examination. Weirdly the pan was bare and nothing but mouse stock remained. We had either over boiled him or he had ascended to the happy land of nuts – I choose to believe that latter. More road kill news soon.

I blog this second item with trepidation as my street is probably under observation by ‘The Man’ but our next experiment was genuinely rocket science. The idea was to produce a proof-of-concept rocket for the forthcoming Nelmes Institute of Science moon shot.

I used a plastic bottle (harvested from the guerrilla garden and provided by the Bletchley littering scum) as the body of the ‘rocket’; water as the propellant and a bicycle track pump was used to pressurise and actuate the 'module'. Essentially the bottle is stopped with a cork through which a bicycle inner tube valve has been inserted. 

The track pump is then attached to the valve and the bottle charged with air. Once a critical pressure is reached the cork is blown out and Newton’s Third Law of Motion kicks in.

The bottle rocket ended up stuck under the hedge (about 6m away) but there is real potential here. More news of Nelmes Explorer II soon.

'Remember, Remember...'

Gareth threw a splendid party on November 5^th to celebrate the deliverance of his sovereign majesty James from popish tyranny (and being blown to tiny bits). In line with his royal wishes in the Book of Sports we refrained from bear-baiting, ‘interludes’ and bowling. There was an unfortunate immolation incident involving another noted religious figure of the time but we’ll gloss over that. 

Amsterdam Marathon 19th Oct 2008

Julia and I were the only people doing the marathon so we left the apartment somewhat earlier than the others. I suspect that J thought that knew where I was going. For my part I thought that it would be obvious – it wasn’t. We ran at least half a mile, possibly more, to get the right tram. By the time we found the right stop she’d made the transition from sniffly to sniffly and mildly hysterical. 

We arrived at the 1928 stadium with about 15 minutes to spare but unfortunately our pen was already pretty full. For some reason we were in the 4hrs zone

 (despite aiming for 3:30) so by the time we crossed the start line more than half of the runners were already out of the stadium. The stadium itself was a good size but by modern Olympic standards it was a minnow. There were some nice deco style sculptures at the gates and a pleasant tower but otherwise it was rather utilitarian. 

After the gun it quickly became clear that the course was going to be fairly cramped. It was not until around 10km that some elbow room started to open up and I got into my stride. At Amsteldijk course turns south and heads along a wide waterway (I’m guessing that this is the Amsteldijk). Our average pace was slightly worse that the 5min kilometres we needed to average and my desire to push on was putting pressure on Julia (who looked very tired). We agreed to part company at about 17km and I pushed on – determined to close the gap on my 3:30 pace. By half way I was only about 56 seconds behind target and I tried desperately to pull it down further. 

Unfortunately, every time I got the gap down something got in the way. The drinks stops were crowded and narrow and I seemed to lose a minute on every one. By the time I reached Zeeburgerdijk this was compounded by the need to visit the little boy’s room (this takes three minutes by the way). I pushed on through Oost and into the parks near the hotel. I could manage single miles at speed but somehow I just couldn’t raise the tempo in a sustained way. Now I was fighting for a PB rather than a 3:30. At 3:34 I was in sight of the stadium, I popped my last jelly baby, and suddenly I had energy. I overtook a collection of very blond(e) people on the sharp left turn into the gates and suddenly I could see the finish.

 I thought “oh my goodness I may just miss out” and I put the hammer down as much as I could without popping my hamstrings. The left hand bend into the finish was a fantasy of proper athletics and I hauled myself past a couple more people on the final straight. 

I crossed the line in 3:37:29, 1min and 3 seconds better than my Reims time. I was both gutted at the loss of 7 minutes and relieved at the PB but by the time I had watched a few hundred people really celebrate their times I kicked my curmudgeonly side in the ankle and managed to be mildly pleased with the performance. I was very relieved to see Julia come in under the 4 and alive if not well. 

Clad in our medals and plastic bags we started the long walk back to the tram stop. On the way we came across the Half Marathon route as it disappeared into Vondel park. Despite being freezing we managed to stay to see Jackie, Richard, Julia W, Suzie and (a very businesslike) JD covering themselves in glory. There followed a very long bath and a considerable amount of Belgian and Dutch beer.

Amsterdam Marathon: the moments before the moment of truth

I’d been building up to this event for a while. Organising this, Eroica and Humphrey Institute of

Music II nearly pushed me over the project management edge. However, when I gathered the forces of Nelmes Athletic in the Eurostar departure hall we looked a pretty formidable outfit. I doubt that many proper athletics clubs were fielding ten runners spanning all three distances.

The Eurostar trip was pretty much faultless and we arrived as Brussels Midi more or less on time. There followed a comedic relay back and forth between platform 13a and 5b. Nobody was entirely sure which trains were running and which we were allowed on but eventually we got onto the fast train to Amsterdam. They were using ‘fast’ in the same way that they do south of Oxford – to mean slow. In some ways it was a relief to see that foreign trains don’t work either.

Amsterdam Central is an island in a sea of tracks – rail tracks on one side and tram tracks on the other. We however opted for a taxi to our apartment – a place with the unprepossessing name of Mori Bund. The owner is a conceptual artist focusing mostly on boobs

After an expensive and low-volume meal and a few glasses of wine at Sogno Nina and I went on a long walk looking for Lidl before turning in for the night. 

We had a nice slow start on Saturday. I visited the Vincent Van Gogh museum (which I really enjoyed) and had a Vegetarian Pie which was mostly cheese for lunch. Only at about 9pm did I finally manage to track down a significant quantity of pasta.

Mushrooms for Amsterdam

The folks I encountered in the out of the way ‘Linford Wood’ car park weren’t the normal dogging crowd you find in these places. Instead, they were a collection of worthy would-be mycologists. The Parks Trust were organising a Mushroom day with a Buckinghamshire Fungus Group expert (Derek Schafer). The talk was really interesting (although somewhat high level for me) and some fantastic facts came out. Essentially the business about ants ruling the world (which is what the ant experts think) isn’t true – fungus does. “If slime moulds are your thing” was 

my favourite quote. Anyway, we saw honey fungus, ink caps, puff balls, agarics and brackets. All interesting stuff – especially the bit about mycelium. 

Preparation for Amsterdam has been slightly bumpy. I’ve had a bad cold and I’ve torn one of the roots of my bicep but I’m reasonably confident of doing a reasonable time. Prior, Julia and Maj are ill. Tomorrow we’ll on the Eurostar to Amsterdam.

This is my last week as OU most improved athelete so I had to have my name added to the errm stoneware.

Oh my goodness AC/DC are touring

L'Eroica, Giaole in Chianti

When the early pioneers of cycling first raced the one day classics and the emerging grand tours there were no team support vehicles, few metalled roads and carbon was just a common element. Even in the ‘40s when Coppi soared with apparent effortlessness over the roads of Cisalpine Gaul the surfaces were rudimentary and the only person with a 22 speed indexed gear system was Flash Gordon. This spirit is what makes L’Eroica a race of legend; a race which transports ordinary men back to a time of heroes.
(photocredit)

We are in Giaole in Chianti and at the end of the small town square is an 'Agritubel' style cattle gate and a huddled group of men muffled in scarves, hats and overcoats. The incongruous LED display on the wall beside them displays the time and the temperature. The former is 5:15am and the latter is a bone-chilling 2º - it is pitch dark and a ghostly vapour hangs over the town. Out of the swirling mist come the shadows of men on dew dappled bicycles. The machines, like the men, are of all vintages; an early Holdsworth and a Claud Butler, a silent blue coven of Bianchis, garish Colnagos, a sober black Singer, some French Peugeots and an elaborate English Hetchins.

Imprisoned in sheds and garages, offices and workshops these machines and men had come to reclaim their birthright. They would endure cold, physical pain and exhaustion, flout the dictates of safety, and suffer, of their own free will, because in suffering they may realise themselves.

Scrutinizing and authentication were perfunctory and in moments il gruppo was on the asfalto. The black sky was strewn with stars and the cold air bit at the flesh. Hands were thrust into clothing to retain some sensation and we spun the highest gears to avoid freezing. Ten kilometres of descent made locating gear levers perilous because of their proximity to the front wheel.

At last the road turned left and kicked up sharply. It was pitch dark apart from the small pools of light spilled by the bikes themselves. With frozen fingers I felt for the gear levers and somehow selected a lower gear. Our first stretch of the strada bianca was actually quite forgiving by the standards of what was to come but it seemed challenging enough. The surface is crushed limestone with occasional outcrops of the ‘living rock’ beneath it. I think that darkness was probably the best way to ‘see’ it to start with. The end of this short (2km) section at Luciagnano brought us back to the asfalto and a sharp descent and climb.

The strada from S. Giovanni highlighted the greatest danger of the white roads. Descending on an unpredictable surface with no possibility of braking on the bends makes slips and crashes (some at quite high speed) and ever present danger. The long section between Bivio Radi and Murlo was a long uphill slog but I found (to my surprise) that both the Holdsworth and I were more than capable of climbing it in bottom gear.

The big climb to Montal Cino was my undoing however and coming up a steep and strongly cambered turn of Strada I found myself in a dizzying 1mph fall. I walked the next 100m wiping the blood from my arm and the dust from my lovely Woolistic Peugeot/Michelin team shirt. Shortly afterwards Dave’s back tyre punctured. It transpired after the third puncture that the rim tape was damaged.

Perhaps it was enthusiasm after escaping the first Strada but our big screw up came shortly afterwards. On the descent from Montal Cino we got carried away and missed a sign. We ended up in Buonconvento thus missing out 30km of the route. After a moral tussle about the ethics of missing out a chunk of the route we noticed that this would mean also missing two checkpoints. This decided it and we back-tracked and added between 10 and 15km to our route.

From there we were always rushing to catch up. Our gruppo were way ahead and we slogged on, tight lipped and in our own worlds, until we reached the strado. This was a particularly unpleasant section with lots of gravel filled potholes and it seemed to take forever to reach Buonconvento once more. By this time we had passed four control points and Ristoro. The food is what marks L’Eroica out from all other sportifs. Salami, Italian breads, cakes, grapes, Chianti wine, strong black coffee, vegetable stews and olive oil all tasted wonderful.

By the time we reached Ponte D’Arbia we were fatigued and the following 30km of Strada sent us into survival mode. Dave’s back tyre puctured again and his high bottom gear was slowing him up but still we were catching people and passing them. By the time we got to the CastelNuovo control (the final one before the finish) we were ahead of quite a lot of bikes on the road. Indeed we ended up pulling a small train of modern bikes through the last 20km. The strada to Vagliagli was a monster but I managed to keep pumping away. My legs have never felt so strong in adversity. They kept on giving hour after hour without significant mental intervention. Finally we swept down the last of the strada into Gaiole in the pitch black and icy cold.

The welcome of the locals was genuinely warm and we were clapped through the last villages and shown to the food tent when we finally crossed the line after 13hours on the bikes.

I was really glad to have done the race but we said “never again”. Never? Well, maybe never.

We videoed his death

Friday night was Man Night. This is a frequent (if not regular) feature of Nelmes World. V is an honorary man, and looks unnervingly convincing in a beard, but this was an unusually restrained affair with no false beards and no pipe smoking. Humpty and the Punisher (which sounds like a film title) were on good form and I managed a late night without getting roaring drunk.

I had to drag myself out of the Humphrey’s spare room at the cracko to meet Julia, Ruth and Kevin near Stantonbury track. Kevin and his Garmin watch took us on a 20mile MK odyssey. Half the time I wasn’t even sure what direction we were heading in. More importantly however I felt really strong throughout most of it. I could certainly have pushed on an extra 5 or 10 seconds per mile faster if necessary. I was pleased to discover that my foot held up ok under the pressure and that jelly babies worked well as a fuel source for the 10-20mile segment.

After a judicious helping of sleep and carbohydrates tackling my increasingly overgrown garden seemed like a good idea and, with some help, I got it into much better shape. For the first time I have started to move plants while they are at their peak. This seems to be a much better way of sculpting the look of the thing.

While tidying up the garden I saw the most disturbing thing. An Orb Web Garden Spider was sitting in the middle of her web wrapping some prey when a smaller spider approached the edge of the web. I recognised that this was a male of the same species. He tapped on the web and edged closer. She moved towards him and he towards her.

When they came close together he began to tap and stroke her forelimbs. He clearly recognised the peril of his position (lady spiders being notoriously grumpy) and scurried back to his corner on several occasions. Finally, they came to what looked like a fond embrace. Unfortunately she had other idea and sank her fangs into him. In a moment he was bound in silk and hanging like a ham from her web. It was horrible to watch. I actually videoed the poor lad’s death. I’ll post it if I can get Quicktime file to upload.

Tour of Britain Stage One

My thighs felt like beached seals this morning but I dragged myself out of bed to go to London. Nina, Julia and I got to town in time to walk from Embankment station, along the river, through the City and up to Tower Hill. This probably constituted about two thirds of the course of Stage One. There was nothing technical for the riders save for the very tight bend on Tower Hill itself. There was enough clowning and quite enough sausage frying to amuse both the young and the fat in the area around The Tower and the tight bend provided a little excitement on lap one as one of the neutral support vehicles almost failed to make the turn.

Fortunately we were spared the sight of a lot of squashed spectators as one of the Ploughman riders led the peleton through the first lap. By lap three or four we had made our way to the sickeningly vertiginous KoM climb. Standing on the wall of a (rather ill kept) flower bed gave us a great view of the a leading group which was beginning to get away from the peleton.

Over the next few laps (I lost count) the gap went out to at least 50 seconds and for a while I thought the bunch may not catch them. Sadly the break (which initially contained riders from seven teams) began to splinter and the bunch cut the margin to around ten seconds by lap eight.

The last rider to be swallowed up was Danielo Di Luca (LPR Brakes) on the latter part of lap eight. By this time the CSC train looked pretty much unstoppable driving the peleton from the front with at least five riders. In the end however it seems that wiley old stager and (alleged) doper Alessandro Petacchi used his awesome sprinting power to decisive effect. Britain's all purpose cycling genius Rob Hayles was second for team GB and Magnus Backstedt got third for Garmin.

Really good day out topped off with sherry on Villers Street, art at the NPG and a good curry near Euston.

Amsterdam marathon preparation: part two

I did a simulated Amsterdam run this afternoon. I thought that running along the canal between Bletch and Leighton B would a rough facsimile of Amsterdam being flat, slightly cobbled and proximate to water. It was but it was relentless. The lack of company; cheering dope befuddled crowds and people dressed as gonks made it quite punishing. Sixteen miles is a long way with only the occasional heron kwarrk, puppy attack and swan blockage to keep one's mind occupied.

I managed what could be thought of as eight minute miles (3:30 marathon pace) but only if you sort of squint at it through half closed eyes. I was actually 0.19miles (or about 2 mins over all) off and I did have to stop for a coke and a packet of Nobbys Nuts lest I pass out.

Tomorrow (pardon me while I wee myself with excitement) is the start of The Tour of Britain in London. C'mon you Wiggins!

The Long good weekend

I took a five day weekend (Thursday to Monday) with the intention of testing my endurance, seeing some of the country and unburdening myself of some of my worries. I’m always happier when I’m thoroughly exhausted and fully occupied. Fortunately both Julia and Chris were about to share the experience of feeding my ADHD.

The first goal was to compete the David Ryan Circuit of the Cotswolds route (a very good cause). At 100miles and added to Woodcote this would give almost 200miles for the week. This was intended as preparation for L’Eroica but I shied away from using the Holdsworth and from battering round the whole lot in a day. It is greatly more pleasurable to do over two days than one and I got to lift my head and look at the lovely scenery. I also got to stop for tea and to eat something other than pure sugar.

The scenery was definitely worth looking at and the wildlife was abundant. I saw at least three species of raptor and a 'Brock' hole at Brockhampton. We stopped at Whichford Pottery more in the hope that it would have café than anything else but it had the most wonderful courtyard garden I’ve ever seen. What is more the pottery is a real manufacturing concern producing really high grade ceramics for home and garden. I was amazed to see commercial throwing in the UK. I would certainly have bought a rhubarb forcer had I not been on the bike.

We did 56miles on day one before holing up at Wesley House in Winchcombe. The rooms were excellent as were the kippers but we ate dinner at the pub just up the road which did quite a line in sausages. Day two was fairly faithful to the spirit of the route with the exception of one climb which I accidentally circumvented (ahem). By the time we dragged ourselves back to Witney we were about three miles short of the hundred and in no mood to do an extra loop just to make up the difference. The Cotswolds are hilly and, pretty as they are, I've seen enough of them for one year.

On Saturday Chris and I went for a tour (my third) of Bletchley Park. This is always fun and I’m getting to the point where I’m starting to know what the guides have missed out. Afterwards I cleaned and adjusted the bikes and we did a 16 mile loop out through Stewkley (stopping for a pint) and back via Newton Longville. Four hours later (after a tactical kip and a two mile walk) we were back in Newton Longville for dinner at the Crooked Billet. It was generally excellent though I wouldn’t have the pigeon again. The lamb was much superior.

Maj and I were somewhat weakened on Sunday (maybe a dodgy Pringle) but we dragged ourselves off for a six mile run before lunch. It was fairly fast out and fairly measured coming back but when he eventually left for some glamorous London party (by rail-replacement bus service) I was thoroughly pooped and retreated to the sofa with some Jeeves.

On Monday I successfully avoided any exercise for most of the day by pottering about the house, cooking and gardening; and by buying frames for various artworks. By mid afternoon there was no avoiding it however and Julia and I set off on our weekend ‘long run’. I can’t say that I had weak legs, pain or even CV problems but it was certainly hard work generating the inner oomph to go faster the eight minute miles. In the end we did a total of 16miles; ten of these were at sub 3:30 marathon pace. That leaves six miles which will have a veil drawn over them

I’m now officially pooped.

Woodcote cyclosportif

While our athletes were bringing home the bacon from Beijing yours truly was ploughing a furrow at the less glamorous end of British sport. The Woodcote Sportif was Matthew’s idea and, as is often the case when other folks are in charge, I turned up unprepared. Last minute snacks from the garage and air from a borrowed track pump saw me through scrutineering (or is it scrutinising) in a somewhat muddy field and before I had time to say “I’ve just cleaned this bloomin’ bike” we were off.

Actually I did have time to say just that but we were off in any case. The route seemed largely unmarshalled but it was very well marked with lots of orange signs and little bits of orange streamer tied to bushes to confirm that one had taken the correct route. The hilly course is more or less cupped in a meander of the Thames between Benson and Shiplake and passes through Sonning (although some way from the river). This proximity to my old boating ground gave it a lovely, homely English feel. By contrast the arable uplands were very Tour de France in feel with bright yellow fields of corn and the odd wizened field of nasty CAP alien rapeseed.

The very brightness of the open spaces made the narrow tree covered lanes seem dark and introduced a genuine element of danger. The recent heavy rain had washed lots of gravel onto the road arranged it in unpredictable rivulets. In some cases you had to just point the bike and hope that nothing was coming the other way. The flint component of the local geology was playing havoc with tyres. One chap we met had had four punctures and the roadsides looked like something from the retreat to Dunkirk – scattered as they were with partly dismantled machinery.

Performancewise it was something of a curate’s egg. El Punisher was somewhat faster than me on the flat and Matthew D was perhaps a slower on the descents. I was generally pathetic on climbs. My biggest humiliation came when I was tipped into a thorny thicket by the draft of a passing white van and the prize for ‘most like the set-up scenes from Casualty’ goes to our encounter with a huge piece of farm machinery and a highly volatile tanker.

On the whole I think we did relatively well to knock off the 75miles in five hours something (which included a lot of cake eating).

Amsterdam marathon preparation: part two

We have a little over two months to go to Amsterdam Marathon. My personal training has been fairly solid but not very dynamic. I have neither the flat speed nor the endurance I would like. I'm currently outside my half marathon, 10k and 5 mile PBs by a small but important margin.

With a reasonable base of fitness 'now' is the time to get serious. I have begun to address my dietary regime - reducing fats and increasing carbohydrate, protein and quality micro nutrients.

In training terms I intent to include one quality speed session (MMKAC interval session), one strength session (one minute hill intervals) and one long run (now over 13miles). I'm also trying to maintain my core strength and wellness by cross training (biking and tennis).

Rest is also important so typically I'd like to do:
Monday: Rest or Volleyball
Tuesday: MMKAC intervals
Wednesday: Rest
Thursday: Hill or interval session
Friday: Tennis
Saturday: Rest
Sunday: Long run

The Holdsworth, the guerrilla and the loo

A few things are coming to glorious fruition. The Holdsworth project is looking good. The bike came back from Phil Corley Cycles with trued wheels, a set of fully operational mechs and some nicely re-routed cables - using the retro Campagnolo cable guide I provided. On getting it home I replaced the original toe clips with some more comfortable Christophe ones. The clips themselves are new/old stock but are historically compatable with the bike and the straps (which are now properly routed) work better with the retro bike shoes than the shabby originals. I've also ordered some wingnuts for the back wheel. They are nowhere near as pretty as the huret ones on the front but they'll do - if they fit.

With the exception of the paintwork (which I am still uncertain about) the bike now looks great and runs a treat. I've now started to do some short 'efforts' on the bike on the way back from work and I hope to give it real run out into the country soon. I made my payment to L'Eroica at the bank this weekend and I’m starting to think that Dave and I may just make it round L’Eroica in the autumn.

The 'guerrilla' garden I have been creating between my house and Bletchley Sainsbury looks a treat at the moment. Both the crocosmia and the hollyhocks are in full bloom and various other low-growing flowering shrubs are expanding to fill the space previously filled with trash. What is more, Mum was down last weekend so even my own garden is looking good with the addition of aherb collection and a fig tree and the removal of lots of weeds.

The bog painting is also nearing completion. Mum’s critical analysis was that it “looks like it is full of concrete” so I spend an hour or so contouring the shading and adding some highlights. I’m hoping to finish this off next week and hang it in my newly heated bathroom.

Amsterdam marathon preparation: part one

I started my Amsterdam marathon preparation last week with Milton Keynes 10k. At 45:10 on the watch I was about 2mins 40 seconds slower than my PB but it was marginally faster than my other competitive 10k this year – so it an SB! I was held up by traffic in the first mile and 44:30 would have been a realistic reflection of my fitness level.

I still have a long way to go to achieve a 3:30 marathon and really need to get some structure back into my training. Tonight I intend to devote to RICE (Rest Ice Compression and Elevation) and tomorrow I'd like to do a hardish speed session over five miles (aiming for 36mins).

A total of fourteen of us will be travelling to Amsterdam; some to do the 7.5k, some the Half and some the full Marathon. Having done a longish walk with Gareth last month I arranged to do a longer walk/jog with three of the aspiring half marathon runners yesterday (Gareth, Verity and Julia W).

I thought that a session that addressed the reasonable fear people have about the distance would be most beneficial so we agreed on a long slow interval session. We did 20 x 0.5miles of alternate walking and jogging in a loop around Oxford.

The route was quite picturesque (see above with thanks to Google Maps) and, distracted by it, we got round in 2:09 with no stopping, spewing or moaning. That is c.2:50 Half Marathon pace and easily fast enough to vanquish the lady from Twyford.

Bog art

I've had a blank canvas staring at me from the corner of the room for the last four years. Last night I finally decided to do something with it.

Ideally I would have created a rich landscape full of majesty and human interest - a kind of Field of the Cloth of Gold affair. Sadly it was raining so I painted the lavatory instead. Here is stage one (the initial sketch with the floor blocked in) and stage two (some enamel tones roughly brushed in).

I forgot the at the central heating engineer was coming back this morning. I suspect that he thinks I'm a bit odd now.

Medieval and early modern books

Remaining books:
Egil’s Saga (Paperback)
Hrafnkel’s Saga (Paperback)
Beowulf (Paperback)

Bikes, bats and blokes dressed as ghosts

Things have been lively recently. Budd’s birthday bash and Laura’s Gypsy affair were both hilarious and produced some amusing photographs. I like the ‘Light Programme’ comedy look of the picture of me, Dave and Gareth.

This photo of Laura’s colander dance has a rather Braqueian quality to it I think. The light on the kitchen window and the positioning of the figures enhances the sense of abstraction and conveys exactly how drunk I felt – which is unusual.

I’ve attempted to draw a line under recent events by focusing on sport, fitness and work and I’ve really been enjoying myself. The Dragon Ride in Wales proved to be a real challenge but somehow the further in the past it gets the more fun it was.

Dave, Matt D and Matt H and I rode a killer 180km through South Wales and the Brecon Beacons on a stunning June day. I was clearly the least well prepared but I was pleased with myself for finishing our adapted 190km route (we got lost). I particularly enjoyed the flat sections where, riding in a group, we touched 30mph. It is easy in those situations to think you are riding like a pro. The hills proved otherwise and I hated some of the long slow climbs.

Nina has been attempting to teach me tennis and I was surprised that my hand-eye coordination is actually quite good. I seem to be able to hit the ball forehand and backhand and from the serve. My problem is control and direction (I have neither) and I managed to bury four balls in a bramble thicket last time out.

What amazes me is how physically demanding I find it. I think of myself as relatively fit but simple fact that tennis involves moving sideways (cycling and running being inherently ‘forward’ sports) seems to be crippling to the back and gluteal muscles. What is more the necessity of bringing my arms into ‘purposeful action’ gave me chest pains which made me think I was having a coronary. I really am enjoying it however and it has got to be doing me good.

As I noted back in the winter I fancied having a go at cricket and I did at least take part in a competitive match in the OU six-a-side tournament. This mostly involved running after balls but I regard the ambition as more or less achieved. Having tasted the action we then went to the Northants 20/20 game at Campbell Park to watch the pros do it properly and taste the beer – which was expensive.

I now have to focus on the serious goals of the year. I would like to record10km, half marathon and marathon personal bests.

Blackwell reading group

Back when the world was young and I was working at Blackwell Publishers (before it was Blackwell Publishing or Wiley Inc.) we had the idea to start a reading group worthy of our significant intellectual pretentions and capacious appetites for alcohol.

To this end, and like the United Kingdom, we developed an unwritten constitution to distinguish us from other middlebrow Oxford literary societies. We decided to focus on not focusing, to meet regularly, and to snorkel our way through short books of all the genres and sub genres of literature. Soullessly munching through the Booker Prize shortlist was not for us.

In back-forming a list of our books I see that we have read literary fiction, chick-lit, philosophy, poetry, classics, women’s erotica, travel, adventure, crime and psychology. As time has passed we have become less drunk and less combative but hopefully more also usefully analytical.

Here are the titles we can remember
Madam Bovary, Simone de Beauvoir
Dirty Weekend, Helen Zahavi
Henry James, A Turn of the Screw
Michael Moore, Stupid White Men
J.M.Coetzee, Disgrace
Miguel de Cervantes, Exemplary Stories
Evelyn Waugh , Decline and Fall
Thor Heyerdahl, Kon Tiki
Yukio Mishima, The Temple of the Golden Pavilion
E.L.Doctorow, Ragtime
Flann O'Brien, At Swim Two Birds
Knut Hamsun, Hunger
Graham Greene, The End of the Affair
David Guterson, Snow Falling on Cedars
Elfriede Jelinek, The Piano Teacher
Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own
Christina Lamb, The Africa House
Bernard Schlink, The Reader
W.B.Yeats, The Tower
Hugo Hamilton, The Speckled People
Alan Hollinghurst, The Swimming-Pool Library
John Banville, The Sea
J.G.Ballard, The Drowned World
Ian McEwan, Saturday
Plato, The Symposium
Oliver James, They F**k You Up
Yann Martel, Life of Pi
Magnus Mills, All Quiet on the Orient Express
Immanuel Kant, Perpetual Peace
Mick Brown, Spiritual Tourist
Joe Simpson, Touching the Void
Iain Banks, The Crow Road
J Lloyd and Rees, Come Together
Matthew Lewis, The Monk
Georges Bataille, Story of the Eye
Louis MacNeice, Autumn Journal
Raymond Chandler, The Big Sleep
Tabitha Flyte, Coming round the mountain
Raymond Queneau, Zazie in the Metro
Maurice Blanchot, Death Sentence
James Ellroy, The Big Nowhere
Jorge Luis Borges, Labyrinths
Ian McEwan, Atonement
Thomas More, Utopia
James Meek, The People's Act of Love
R.J. Ellory, A Quiet Belief in Angels
Val McDermid, The Mermaids Singing
John McGahern, The Dark
Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing on the campaign trail of '72

Forthcoming books are:
Per Petterson, Out Stealing Horses

September 2008

Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid's Tale

Life laundry and bike stains

There is a bit in Three Men in a Boat where J implores us to ‘Throw the lumber over, man! Let your boat of life be light, packed with only what you need.’ I’ve been trying to do that a little recently. I have given away some books to work colleagues, some chairs to Nina and some bike parts to Julia. I’ve also been furiously recycling and disposing of worn out clothes.

As you will have noticed my Achilles heel is currently bike paraphernalia. I have three bikes of my own and sit-up-and-beg bike of Julia’s cluttering up my house. I have to admit that one thoroughbred racing bike and a quirky cool hack bike would probably be sufficient. Must… keep… that… in… mind.

My general fitness is coming along slowly but surely. I have now done two 14mile sprints to Stewkley and back on the Bianchi. I seem to be stuck at 19.5mph however. I’d like to break 20mph average this year and maybe even push on a little from there. I managed a run of about 6 miles on Tuesday and a mile or so of jog/sprint on Wednesday. Sadly tennis didn’t happen today because of the rain so I ate chips instead. Oops.

Breakfast in the reed beds

We had a wonderful little interlude this morning. Nina, Julia and I met at Unsatisfactory Bridge on the Ouzel at 5am to experience the dawn chorus in the reed beds.

The morning was idyllic with a clear sky overhead and the reddening glow of morning on the eastern horizon. There were two hides in the reeds but one seems to have been burned down by under-stimulated morons so we used the other one. The hide is situated between an area of woodland, some relatively open water and a patch of dense reeds. Each of these tiny habitats had its own distinct soundscape.

The woodland singers were chaffinch, woodpecker, robin, wren, blackbird, sparrow, dunnock and thrush – many singing heartily from the top of trees and shrubs. The reeds were a dense twitter of unseen small birds, including what may have been reed warblers, with an amazing variety of calls.

For the birds on the open water and at its margins breeding was obviously in full swing. A pair of moorhens (moorhuhns) had already laid a clutch of six white and brown speckled eggs in a lovely nest elevated just above the water while a male coot was fiercely defending his territory against even the most harmless passersby.

The geese are clearly not big on early mornings and the canadas and greylags swam in sleepy circles. A lugubrious heron hovered in and landed expertly on a dry tuft in the margins then appeared to spend the next two hours closely watching an enormous nesting swan – a prey surely too large to eat?

We watched and listened; ate a hearty breakfast; took some photos and botanical samples and made some recordings – and were still in work by 07:15.

Julia also spotted a flock of gold finches which have haircuts almost as impressive as A Flock of Seagulls.

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