Progress Report

Tomorrow will be 1st February. Where did January go?

It seems to have absolutely flown by. I've been busy with work, England won the Ashes series down under and Charlton removed Phil Parkinson as manager and replaced him with Chris Powell. Otherwise it has been a fairly unremarkable month, but nevertheless it's gone by in a flash and its already time for a quick report on my Project Five O progress. Cue the music.

It's been an encouraging start. I've gradually built up my distance each week reaching a total of 55 miles for the month. My times are significantly faster than at the same point last year, and so far I've encountered no injury worries at all, other than an occasional twinge in my left knee. I feel confident now to crank up the mileage during February in preparation for the Bath Half Marathon on 6th March. Weight-wise I'm back now to my pre-Christmas level (slightly under in fact) and I'm starting to feel the benefit of this. 

I use a fantastic iphone app called Runkeeper to track my progress. Details of a run can either be input manually, which is useful for my treadmill runs, or it can use GPS to track my progress around a route. Runkeeper can also be used to measure out a route in advance.

Data from the iphone is transferred automatically to the Runkeeper website, where all sorts of useful information about the performance is available including the number of calories burned. A really motivational feature its facility to plot progress over time. Here is the bar chart showing my weekly mileage totals for January:

Further motivation is provided by the email alert facility. This sends out a 'well done' message every time a new best is achieved. This might be the longest individual run, best weekly or monthly total, fastest average pace on a run or the most calories burned. It's clever stuff!

Here's hoping for an even fitter and faster February.

Holidays of a Lifetime

This week we have been finalising arrangements for our holiday to Kerala in south west India at the beginning of April. This has included negotiating the torturous online application process for obtaining a visa. I think I have finally completed the procedure successfully, and will be making my way to the Indian High Commission in London next Tuesday armed with the requisite signed forms, photographs and kitchen sink.

I have wanted to visit India for a number of years now, and this trip has been arranged as a special holiday to mark the occasion of my Big Five O. Volcanic ash clouds and industrial action permitting we will be landing back at Heathrow on 14th April, the day before my birthday. While we are away I'll be hoping to make a few Palinesque posts on here. That's Michael by the way, not Sarah!

During my hours of grappling with the visa applications, I found myself reflecting on the difference between the holidays our daughter Hannah has experienced over the last few years and the family holidays of my own childhood. Of course there are any number of reasons for this, not least that landing in 2011 would seem like arriving on another planet to a time traveller from the 1960s or 70s. It's a whole different world nowadays. However, whilst the family holidays of my childhood might appear modest, inexpensive and even routine in comparison to the wide range of exciting trips I have been fortunate to enjoy since, they nevertheless possessed a very special magic of their own that has remained a part of me to this day. In this and a couple of posts later in the year I hope via words and pictures to sprinkle a little of that holiday magic of yore into the ether.

Up to and including 1968 when Jonathan was born to complete our half dozen, we spent our two week summer holiday with our grandparents in their spacious house by the sea in Worthing, West Sussex. Strictly speaking calling it our 'summer holiday' is a bit misleading. It's not as though come February half term we could be found hitting the slopes in Val d'Isere. But it was our holiday, and it occurred in the summer. From 1969 onwards, however, we set our sights further afield. Cornwall was our destination for the first two years.

Cornwall sounded great. But first we had to get there! This necessitated a very early start followed by an eight hour stint in our Bedford minibus all the way to Botallack, near St Just, almost at the very western tip of England.  The minibus was well up to the task of carrying eight people plus all the necessary holiday paraphernalia on such a lengthy journey. However it didn't offer the most comfortable of passages, especially when it was your turn to sit on one of the sideways on seats in the back. Clunk click every trip? You'd be lucky.

Sandwiches all round.

I didn't appreciate it at the time, but looking back at the photographs now makes me realise what a magnificent looking vehicle our minibus was. Definitely a touch of the art deco about it.

Our stylish minibus.

Our accommodation for our two week stay in Cornwall was the cottage belonging to our Aunt, the artist Rose Hilton and her husband, the influential abstract artist Roger Hilton. For the duration of our holiday they decamped along with our cousins, Bo and Fergus to a house not far away. I believe this may have been Roger's home from his previous marriage - I'm not sure. I do remember, though, going to spend some time there one afternoon. I think only a couple of us went, but I clearly remember being completely taken aback by the sight of fully grown adults wandering around the garden stark naked. Unaccustomed as I was at the time to such Bohemian ways, this vision made quite an impression on me.

This next photograph taken back at our base suggests that the artistic influence was all around. Is it a real cat? Is it just a shadow! Or maybe just a representation of a cat? Whatever it was, it certainly made Stephen laugh.

Chasing shadows?

Botallack is a beautiful part of the world, with its remoteness part of the attraction. I remember staring at amazing cloud formations during the day and gazing up at the most fantastic starlit night skies in the evening. And in between the sunsets were truly spectacular. Behind the cottage at Botallack was what would later become known as 'Poldark Country' when it formed part of the backdrop to the eponymous television drama of the mid-1970s based on the novels by Winston Graham. A walk of a few hundred yards from the cottage would bring into view the dramatic sight of the old Botallack Tin Mine clinging to the rugged coastline:

The last two remaining engine houses of the Botallack Crowns Mine.

Also nearby was Pendeen Lighthouse, a scenic spot for a couple of family photographs.

The Lighthouse Family.

Open neck shirts were all the rage in 1969.

The lighthouse tower is 17 metres high with the light itself 59 metres above the mean high water level. However, despite having guided passing ships through the dangerous waters around Pendeen for nearly 70 years at the time of our visit, the beacon was unable to prevent Paul from stumbling down the hillside and splitting his right knee open on a craggy rock. He was probably distracted by the effect of his Dad's shirt open to the waist, providing an impression of Errol Flynn in his prime. It was a real 'you could see the bone sticking out' injury that necessitated a trip to hospital. But, as is often the case with childhood injuries, the recovery time was rapid and within a few days the patient was pictured sitting happily on top of another rock with just a plaster to protect his wound.

The operating table?

A speedy recovery.

Our visit to Pendeen Lighthouse was unusual in that it represented a departure from the routine that was established early on in Cornwall and continued pretty much uninterrupted for every day of every subsequent childhood holiday. It went something like this. After breakfast we would head into town (in Cornwall this was St Just) to buy fresh rolls and fillings for lunch. We would then return to our holiday accommodation where Mum would prepare lunch whilst Dad (sometimes assisted by a son or two) would load up our current vehicle with everything needed for a day by the sea. It would then be off to the beach where we would stay until sometime between 5:00 and 6:00 pm before heading home for tea, followed by reading or perhaps a few games and then it would be time for bed. This routine did develop minor, and I stress the word minor, elements of sophistication as we all got older, but essentially it remained the same for the next 8 years. And whilst admittedly memories of childhood summers are often infused with endless retrospective sunshine, I can honestly say that over those 8 years for us it only ever rained a couple of times. It must have been so, because otherwise our metronomic routine would have been interrupted, and it never was.

Our daily destination was the wonderful beach at Nanjizel. It was a fairly small sandy cove that was never ever busy. Often we would be the only family there. This was undoubtedly due to its splendid isolation, only being accessible via a lengthy walk downhill from what can only loosely be described as a car park that in itself was at the end of a long unmade track leading off a narrow winding country lane. Sadly some 20 years after we enjoyed its delights, much of the sand at Nanjizel was washed away by storms. In recent years, though, it has started to return. As indeed I must one day.

The long and winding road...... to Nanjizel Beach.

A few years later when I was at secondary school, my Mum wrote an essay for me. By way of explanation, I'll add that I was going through a couple of lazy years at school and Mum probably despaired of me ever getting any homework done at the time so decided it was necessary to do this particular piece herself. Anyway, the essay was about Nanjizel and it was a masterpiece. To my shame I was chosen by my English teacher to read it out to the rest of the class as he was so impressed with vibrant description and imagery in the text. One phrase in particular sticks in my memory:

'The only reminder that we were in the twentieth century was the occasional whirring of a helicopter overhead.' Promising bit of writing for an eleven year old, don't you think?

More spare ribs than a Chinese Restuarant!

The latest addition to the family enjoying the dramatic rocks of Nanjizel.

And that was just what Nanjizel was like. It was a world apart where we happily spent hour after hour playing and digging in the sand, climbing over the rocks and splashing around in the clear clean water. Only, of course, stopping for our filled rolls, orange squash and apple or banana when it was time for lunch. Who could ask for anything more? We certainly didn't and never hankered to be going anywhere else. The trudge back up the hill at the end of the day was always a weary one, and the drive back to Botallack in the minibus would be characterised by glowing cheeks and sleepy heads.

Uncomplicated? Yes. Healthy? Definitely. Blissful? Unashamedly so. Boring? Never!

Happy times.

George Clooney and Me

It's been a busy week, and with the deadline to handover my current opus to the editor looming, my only entry for this week so far is going to be short and sweet.


My presence was required in Milton Keynes yesterday (I work for the Open University, but for the majority of the time work from home) so, in order to fit in a couple of miles on the treadmill at David Lloyd's before heading up the M1 I was out of bed and slurping my porridge at just after 6:00 am in the company of Bill and Sian on the BBC Breakfast. Anyway as they came towards the end of their review of the morning's newspapers, it transpired that Bill and Sian had some good tidings especially for me. Courtesy of the Daily Express. Well, kind of.

In the sort of non-story that would nevertheless still probably make the Sky 'Breaking News' banner on a slow day, it transpires that a survey has found that 50 is the age we finally find happiness. Not only that, a mere month after I reach this hitherto thought of as grim milestone, I will be joined in the half century club by none other than 'gorgeous' George Clooney. So it seems there was no need for me to feel gloomy about getting to 50 in the first place. The secret behind this enhanced happiness I am shortly to experience is explained by an unnamed spokesman for the survey's commissioners, Engage Mutual, whoever they might be:

“It is heartening that so many are finding that your 50s can be the most rewarding time of your life. With increased life expectancy, 50 is considered relatively young these days.

“If people have been able to maintain a healthy lifestyle, and plan their finances, they may start to feel the benefit.

“Household finances start to look healthier and there may be spare cash to spend on holidays and hobbies.”

These reasons seem fair enough for many people, probably myself included, and don't worry, I will be taking up stamp collecting and crochet just as soon as finances allow.

However, I feel the headline in the Express and the tone of the article is somewhat misleading in light of the survey's findings that, and I quote, 'the study found four out of 10 people aged 50 and over are more content with their lives than ever before'. Correct me if I'm wrong, but that leaves six out of ten people over 50 who are not. OK, some of these may well be equally as content as they have been before, but four out of ten hardly merits the universal euphoria suggested by the headline.

What's more in the current economic climate, there may be many fifty somethings finding themselves out of work in the coming months, and finding it difficult to get another job. They might have something to say about Engage Mutual's survey findings.

As for George, I'm sure he will continue to flourish. And, urged on by the Daily Express, hopefully I will too. 

In other 'Breaking News' I have signed up for an additional running event, the Newham 10K at the end of March. The route passes right next to the Olympic Stadium - should be fun!

Photo Opportunities on the Run

My legs felt as if they were full of lead for most of my five and a half mile run this morning. This was probably down to the sizeable pick 'n' mix I consumed at the cinema last night. Juliet and I had taken advantage of Hannah's attendance at a birthday sleepover to watch the brilliant film, The King's Speech. Starring Colin Firth as King George VI and Geoffrey Rush as his speech therapist Lionel Logue, it tells the uplifting, although at times painful to watch story of King George VI's battle to overcome his debilitating stammer. The performances of Firth and Rush are magnificent and Helena Bonham Carter is pretty good too as a rather foxy Queen Elizabeth (later known as the Queen Mother).

Anyway, with such heavy legs it was lucky I had already decided to make a photographic record of my Sunday run this week. I usually try to complete my Sunday run without stopping. However, being Lord Lichfield for the morning would involve making a number of short stops and give my strawberry bonbon and chocolate brazil afflicted legs valuable little breathers in which to revive themselves. The lengthy weekend run is a necessary feature of building up towards a long distance event. I'm only up to around 6 miles at the moment but this will steadily build, eventually nearing 20 miles as I approach this year's marathon attempt in November. Whilst listening to music or a podcast can help the time to pass more quickly, these solitary long runs can be be rather tedious. To lessen this I like to have a number of different circuits to choose from - these can then be combined to make up the really long runs. On each run I also like to identify a number of landmarks along the way. This breaks the distance up, making it seem more manageable. Today I am going to guide you photographically around my 'Cotton Mill Lane' circuit.

Access to the Alban Way from Hill End Lane

The first two and a bit miles of this run is along the Alban Way, formerly the Hatfield to St Albans branch line of the Great Northern Railway and now a trail for walkers, runners and cyclists. I love running along it because it is either flat or very gently sloping and its 'tree tunnel' effect for long stretches keeps the sun at bay during the summer. Apart from the very few places where it crosses a road, the Alban Way is also traffic free. In 2003 the St Albans Cycle Campaign (STACC) produced an excellent pictorial map to raise awareness of this great leisure facility.

Immediately after joining the trail at Hill End Lane, the old platform of Hill End Station comes into view. During the 2nd World War St Bartholomew’s Hospital relocated to Hill End Hospital, and this platform  is where many of the war wounded and Londoners injured during the Blitz would disembark to begin their treatment.

The old platform at Hill End Station

The route continues and shortly after passing behind Morrisons, Fleetville Junior School and the Hatfield Road Cemetery the Alban Way crosses over the Camp Road Bridge, high above the passing traffic.

Camp Road Bridge

This leads into a lovely tree-covered, gently down hill half mile or so en route to to the impressive railway bridge conveying trains along the London to Bedford main line. If feels cavernous below the bridge, and if you shout loudly you can hear a clear echo. You can hear a clear echo.

London Road Railway Bridge

Just beyond this structure the much more modest bridge conveying London Road itself is passed under, bringing the very attractive London Road Station into view. This is currently is use as a children's nursery.

Monkey Puzzle Day Nursery - formerly London Road Station

The Alban Way now passes through the modern houses of Orient Close and crosses the river Ver before coming to an end where it is passed over by Cotton Mill Lane. The next mile of this run proceeds along Cotton Mill Lane, again crossing the river Ver as part of a tight double chicane close to the site of the old cotton mill itself.

Bridge over the River Ver

Coming out of the chicane on the right hand side can be seen the 450 year old tithe barn, which now houses Blacks of Sopwell, a family run furniture business.

Blacks of Sopwell, housed in an old Tithe Barn.

Next on the right hand side is Sopwell House itself. Most of the current House was built in the eighteenth century by master mason, Edward Strong. Perhaps its most notable tenant over the years was Prince Louis of Battenberg, whose four children including Lord Mountbatten grew up at Sopwell. Like many similar properties in the UK, Sopwell House is nowadays plying its trade as a country house hotel. The gatehouse lodge marks the three mile point of my run.

Sopwell House Hotel, Country Club and Spa

Sopwell House Gatehouse Lodge

Cotton Mill Lane has now become Mile House Lane, which dissects Verulam Golf Course at this point. Samuel Ryder, a wealthy St Albans seed merchant was a member here and in 1926 donated the trophy that was to become known as the Ryder Cup. The rest, as they say, is history. The green of the third hole is adjacent to the road here. If you look carefully level with the right hand side of the bunker, St Albans Abbey can just be made out a mile or so in the distance across the valley.

The third hole at Verulam Golf Course, 'Sopwell View'. An ominously moody sky.

The busy London Road is reached via the end of Mile House Lane, but only after it has passed again below the mainline railway. After about a quarter of a mile the run turns left into Highfield Park Drive, with Highfield Park remaining to the right for the final 1.5 miles of the run via Hill End Lane and back to Colney Heath Lane and Firwood Avenue.

Sunday Morning Football in Highfield Park

Highfield Park comprises 60 acres and is managed by a charitable trust. It houses two orchards, a throwback to when the two hospitals in the area grew their own fruit and vegetables. The park in its current form was opened in 1996 and includes playing fields, allotments, ponds and a fine example of a Hertfordshire Puddingstone, which provides inspiration for one of the nearby road names. The park is regularly the venue for community events including a Christmas fair, a Summer Fete and an Apple Day to promote conservation and healthy eating.

A Puddingstone is a conglomerate of small pebbles bonded together by nature to form a solid rock

And that's the run - 5.53 miles according to the Runkeeper app on my iphone. As you can see, it's full of local, historical and natural interest, and there's a lot more I could have written about if I had the time. If you're from the area or will be visiting at some point, why not walk (or even run) it yourself?

My legs may have started off a little leaden, but thanks to my frequent short photography stops, they gradually came back to life and the time I spent actually running was three minutes less than when I ran the same route last weekend. A great workout for mind and body!

The Blood Donor

 'A pint! That's very nearly an armful!' Tony Hancock's exclamation in the most famous of his 1960s half hours is undoubtedly one of the most repeated comedy lines of all time. Well, today I was to have the opportunity to utter them myself during my 11:45 am appointment at the The National Blood Service lorry in the Sainsbury's car park. 


People who give blood regularly are amongst society's unsung heroes. According to the Blood Service website, '96% of us rely on the other 4% to give blood. Please don’t leave it to someone else.' I donated a few armfuls many years ago, but not finding it a particularly enjoyable experience, to my shame did not continue. However, I must have ticked a box somewhere in the last year or so, because I recently received a letter thanking me for my interest in giving blood and inviting me to make a donation. So I made an appointment. My blood may not be quite what it was twenty five years ago, I thought to myself, but if it can help to save someone's life then I'm prepared to undergo an uncomfortable ten minutes with a needle sticking out of my arm!'


I took it easy on my two mile run first thing, did a couple of hours work and then headed off to Sainsbury's for a spot of pre-donation shopping. Finally I braced myself to enter Transylvania. To my amazement there were a minimum of 10 people inside the lorry at any one time, five NHS staff plus donors. It doesn't look big enough from the outside, and although inside a limited Tardis effect was evident, it felt very claustrophobic, which did nothing to ease the mounting apprehension I was experiencing. 


After a short wait I was talked through the formalities by the delightful Nurse in charge. I can't remember the last time I was called 'sweetheart' by a female in uniform, but it was certainly the most enjoyable part of my visit. It was now time for the preliminary pinprick to test that my red stuff was up to it.

'Just a little prick sweetheart, you won't feel a thing!'

At this point I was told that the iron level in my blood was looking a little low based on the finger sample.


'Does that mean I won't be able to give blood today?' I replied, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.


'You don't get off that easily' the Sister replied, 'we need to take a slightly bigger sample and test it on the machine'


So I moved next door to one of the 'beds' (yes, there are even two separate rooms within the Tardis), and after an unsuccessful and painful attempt to draw blood from one arm, the necessary sample was obtained from the other. I was trying desperately to relax but finding the whole experience increasingly stressful. The staff were wonderful, constantly reassuring and encouraging me. People are often quick to criticise the NHS, but it really is a fantastic organisation with dedicated, caring staff.


And guess what? My iron level did register below the necessary level for my blood to be accepted. Not drastically so and I was reassured that as I was otherwise healthy, it should not be a problem. Apparently going for a run first thing was probably not the wisest choice for starting my blood donation day, and I should try to increase the amount of iron in my diet. Just as visions started to enter my head of a new lifestyle in the manner of Monsieur Mangetout, the French entertainer famous for eating absolutely anything including a complete Cessna aeroplane, I was handed a helpful leaflet listing foods that are good sources of iron. Good news - most of them I have no problem with, although don't expect to see me eating tofu anytime soon. And more good news - I won't be invited back to give blood for at least a year! Phew!


So there it is, it's official, when it comes to giving blood I am undeniably a clot!

The Magic of the Cup?

I made an early start this morning to allow time for my porridge to go down sufficiently before embarking on a six mile run.  I needed to finish it in good time to be on my way to White Hart Lane where Charlton were to meet Spurs at 1:30 pm in the third round of the FA Cup. I started supporting the Addicks when my Dad began taking me to the Valley in the mid-1970s. At that time Dad always worked on Saturdays but for a few years Charlton played a number of games each season on a Friday evening in an attempt to increase attendances. This allowed us to attend the Valley on a fairly regular basis. It was a very big ground in those days, and the atmosphere for floodlit games was always good despite the the ground never being more than a quarter full. It was the age of the terraces. You could wander around during the game and always a highlight for me was shelling and munching the Percy Dalton monkey nuts bought in bags from the seller wending his way up and down the crumbing concrete and between the crash barriers.

Fast forward to 2011. After a wonderful sequence of seasons during the noughties when Charlton punched above their weight in the Premier League, the last three and a half season have been rather dismal as the Addicks have plummeted two divisions and teetered on the brink of administration. So a visit to 'the Lane' was certainly something to look forward to. It would also be interesting to see how the players responded following the rather harsh removal on Tuesday of manager Phil Parkinson by the club's spivvy new owners. Realistically the result would be a foregone conclusion. 'Arry Rednapp's free flowing Champions League all stars against a managerless and out of form League One outfit - no contest, surely. But it was FA Cup third round day, maybe a shock could be on the cards. Certainly, the day had begun with a good omen. As I was running along Mile House Lane where it dissects Verulam Golf Course, birthplace of the Ryder Cup, a beautiful and incredibly tiny red robin hopped daintily across my path. For any readers yet to visit the South East London's premier sports venue, The Red Red Robin is the tune Charlton run out to before every game at the Valley. Maybe, just maybe, this would be our day.

I met up with Charlton Casual for a couple of pre-match drinks at Des Vins in St Pancras station before speeding noisily on a bone rattling tube train up to Seven Sisters station on the Victoria Line. We took our seats ten minutes before kick off joining the contingent of 4000 Addicks in good voice.

Charlton worked very hard throughout the 90 minutes and acquitted themselves well, but unlike yesterday at Stevenage, there was to be no sprinkling of the so-called 'magic of the cup' in North London this afternoon. It did cross my mind that if the lads had applied themselves half as well in their last few League One fixtures it would have been a lot harder for the new owners to carry out their seemingly pre-conceived hatchet job on Parky. Predictably 'Arry had rested a number of his best players and the electrifying Gareth Bale was out injured - mixed feelings about this as he would surely have made mincemeat of our statuesque right back Simon Francis, but on the other hand I would have loved to see him play live. The BBC website showed that Charlton had 57% of the possession but far fewer attempts on goal than Spurs. Half time came with the game scoreless, but the sight of the diminutive Croatian, Luka Modric warming up at half time had an ominous feel to it. And so it proved, as he orchestrated a fifteen minute spell in which Spurs raised their game, left our defence for dead and scored three quick goals, the first by Townsend followed by two from Charlton's nemesis Jermaine Defoe.


Thereafter Tottenham lessened their intensity, but continued to create chances which Charlton defended with bravery and determination. Going forward, we even belatedly produced a number of saves from Carlo Cudicini in the Spurs goal, but in truth these were more for the cameras than genuinely world class stops.

Lacking a decisive edge - attacking the Spurs goal in the second half.

The Charlton fans deserve every credit, getting behind the team from start to finish in contrast to the opposition's support who for most of the game would have made Marcel Marceau appear noisy. I guess playing the likes of Charlton has lost some of its appeal for Spurs fans now that the likes of the current European champions can be found occupying the away dressing room.


All in all an enjoyable afternoon. Having travelled to the game more in hope than expectation, I felt no great disappointment on the long, cold walk back to Seven Sisters tube station along Tottenham High Road. In fact, the way things have been going at Charlton recently there was more than a little relief in the air that we had 'only' lost 3-0. Across the Capital, in one of its more up market neighbourhoods another managerless team, Ipswich, were being trounced 7-0 by Chelski.

Home Knitting

It's always exciting to receive a parcel from Amazon, and today was no exception when my copy of toast - the story of a boy's hunger by Nigel Slater dropped onto the mat. Like me, you may have watched the television adaptation of the book on television over Christmas starring, amongst other well known thespians, the lovely Helena Bonham Carter (notice a potential theme developing here?). It was a thoroughly enjoyable watch, and after being advised by fellow Addick Charlton Casual that the book is even better than the television version, it was only a matter of time before my internet shopping skills were dusted off for their first post-Christmas assignment. I'm really looking forward to reading toast just as soon as I've finished Started Early, Took my Dog by Kate Atkinson.

toast is the moving autobiographical account of TV chef Nigel Slater's childhood, which he recounts via a series of episodes revolving around food. 'Whatever happened to arctic rolls?' I found myself asking. Aside from Nigel's often heart-rending story, I was completely captivated by the period detail of the television adaption. It was all there, 1960s fashion, home furnishings, cuisine, cars and school life including the revolting warm and curdled milk we were forced to drink even when it had been fermenting outside all day in high summer. I was transported lock stock and barrel back to my childhood. It was wonderful.  I particularly enjoyed the selection of home knitted jumpers that young Nigel wore as his story unfolded. It reminded me of how when I was growing up my own Mum would always have a knitting project on the go. She loved knitting - I think it was a therapeutic and relaxing activity to counteract the challenges involved in bringing up 6 young boys, and boy was she good at knitting:

These are plain pullovers, but don't be fooled. Mum was perfectly capable of producing more detailed patterns of the kind Nigel wore in the television programme. Knit one, purl one - whilst today's young Mums are probably tweeting and texting on their iphones whilst watching Eastenders on their 50 inch plasma screens, back in the 1960s my Mum was busy producing woollen fashion items in sets of six whilst relaxing in front of The Virginian on our little black and white set. I'm sure there are still a few remaining knitters beavering away in a similar fashion in 2011, but home knitting is nowhere near as prevalent as it was back in the sixties and seventies. No doubt the same can be said about home cooking. In our case both were undoubtedly a necessity with six young boys to clothe as well as feed and all to a very tight budget.

It has to be said, though, that whilst the quality of the knitwear was always second to none, in retrospect the fashion sense sometimes left a lot to be desired, especially as we entered the 1970s:

Groovy man! But however larey these tanktops may seem with hindsight, none of us wearing them can have any complaints because we all asked Mum to knit them for us and chose the colours ourselves. The same cannot be said when it comes to the balaclavers we were forced to wear to school during the winter, however. I know they are practical, and I know they help to prevent earache, headache and other ailments, but they looked ridiculous and nobody else at Valley Primary School had to suffer the indignity of being forced to wear them to school every morning. 

Don't misunderstand me, I love my Mum dearly and I know that everything she did was because she believed it to be in our best interests. Occasionally however, albeit only very rarely, she got it wrong! 

These shoes were made for running

..... well, this particular pair have clocked up a fair few miles already and will need to be replaced by a shiny new pair very soon. 500 miles is considered to be limit for a pair of running shoes. After that they start to lose their spring and ability to cushion the pounding punishment of road running, and the risk of injury increases exponentially. So most of the events on my schedule of races for the year will be run with a different pair.

Here is my provisional list of races for Project Five O:

6th March           Bath Half Marathon

12th May            Beat the Banana 5K (Hyde Park)

30th May            BUPA London 10K

12th June            St Albans Half Marathon

4th September     Richmond River 10K

25th September   Windsor Half Marathon

30th October       Great South Run (10 miles - Portsmouth)

27th November   Florence Marathon

11th December   Jingle Bell Jog 5K (St Albans)

This schedule may well change as the year progresses. I'm allowing myself at least two goes at most distances, and have pencilled in three half marathons. I think my PB from Fleet in 2006 for the half marathon is going to be the hardest to beat as it was achieved at the height of my fitness, and although Bath and St Albans are great events, they are probably too undulating for PB purposes. Therefore I'm hoping Windsor will provide a similar challenge to Fleet, which I ran in 2:09:12 in 2006.

Looking remarkably fresh and bouncy after 13.1 miles in Fleet 2006

Florence should provide a memorable finale to the year. I've not visited the city before but I have been told it's beautiful. It certainly looks stunning in the film A Room with a View starring a young Helena Bonham-Carter. Of course I have chosen Florence purely because I want to experience its wonderful culture and architecture. Nothing to do with the marathon course being very flat and, in fact, downhill overall.

I'm all excited now.

Highly Visible

Juliet (my wife) and Hannah (my daughter, age 11) returned from Bluewater yesterday with, amongst other things, this rather swanky set of scales. I salute their bravery in visiting the quarry at this time of year. It's not for the faint hearted - that's why I stayed at home.

So, it was time for my post-Christmas weigh-in, and I was somewhat alarmed (although shouldn't have been really after the truck load of chocolate themed items I've consumed over the festive season) to discover that I had put back on 4 of the 14 pounds I had so painstakingly shed since first conceiving Project Five O back at the beginning of October. Consequently, still some way off my optimum running weight of 11 and a half stone I decided it was necessary to go for my second run in two days.

Now there are some people who think I need to put on weight rather than lose it. Hi Mum! However, the difference being 11 and a half stone makes to the stress on my knees will be crucial if I am to have any chance of reaching my goals for the year. It is reckoned that every stride puts pressure equivalent to three times one's body weight on the knees, and as I will recount at some point over the coming weeks, my knees have let me down in the past.

The fact that dusk had long since passed by the time I made my decision to hit the streets also gave me the ideal opportunity to model my new hi viz running gear - a Christmas present from Juliet.

As the photo shows, the kit makes me look like a cross between a banana and Eddie the Eagle but more importantly it will help keep me safe. I completed a steady but satisfying three and a third mile run around the "Elvis Circuit", so named because it passes a bungalow in Smallford with a life-size cardboard cutout of the King resident in the porch. Whenever Juliet or I run past St Alban's very own Gracelands it has become customary to offer a smart salute to Elvis - one of those silly foibles that most people develop over time (I think!), but it always makes me smile, especially when it elicits a look of puzzlement from a passing motorist.

That's all I have time for today as I have promised to finish painting Hannah's bedroom before she goes back to school tomorrow, and we need to set off for the Valley by 3:00 pm for Charlton Athletic's game against Swindon at the Valley at the Sky determined time of 5:05 pm.

Just one more thing. Please feel free to add a comment to any of my posts. If you are new to this kind of thing (as I know one or two reading this will be) you just need to click on the comment link on the small rectangular box at the bottom of the page. When you've written your comment, you will need to choose a profile from the drop down menu. If you don't have one of the listed accounts, choose anonymous (you can add your name in the comment box if you wish), copy the wobbly 'security' letters into the box and submit.

Come on you Addicks!

The Big Five O

This was me aged two and a half in December 1963, 47 years ago. Cute, wasn't I? OK, dodgy haircut I agree but cute in spite of it. It is now 1st January 2011, and I'm finding it hard to comprehend how quickly the intervening years have passed, but nevertheless here I am on the verge of a half century's occupancy of planet earth.

A report featured in the news this week predicts that one in five of people alive today will live long enough to receive their telegram from the Queen (or for those not in the already in their 80s or 90s, from Charles, William or his first born). I think most of the realistic candidates for this feat are probably some years younger than myself, already with black belts in yoga or pilates and eating vast quantities of super foods. Nevertheless, assuming that I first make it to the 15th April 2011 in one piece, I hope I'll remain healthy enough to be able to make significant inroads into my second half century.

To kick start this endeavour I have set myself the goal of running a personal best (PB) during 2011 in each of the following distances:

5K, 10K, 10 miles, half marathon (13.1 miles) and full marathon (26.2 miles)

I started running about 7 years ago, having exercised very little after retiring from playing local football in my mid-thirties. I'm certainly no natural athlete and as you will discover if you decide to visit this blog regularly over the year, my existing PBs are far from spectacular. However I'm proud of them and trying to better them (in all but one case five years after having achieved them) is not going to be easy. It may even prove to be impossible, but it's going to be fun having a go. I am confident of bettering my best 5K time though, as I have only ever run the distance once and that was last month whilst dressed as Santa and suffering from a mild dose of 'flu.

Why are most of my PBs five years old? Well, time does take its toll on the old legs of course, but in truth, having got myself very lean and fit (for me!) by 2005/2006 I have since gradually lessened the regularity and intensity of my training and allowed my weight to creep back up, which has added minutes to every mile I run. Project Five O seeks to take me back to where I was fitness and speed-wise in 2006, and a little bit beyond.

I will reveal more about my planned schedule for 2011 and previous attempts at each distance over the coming weeks. My intention is also to intersperse news of my progress and preparations with reports and thought on other things going on in this landmark year for me. I also anticipate looking back on a range of events from my first half century as memories are triggered throughout the year. I'm hoping to create something fairly light-hearted and engaging, and aim to post at least one entry every week. Thanks for taking the time to read this opening salvo, and I hope you will return from time to time to find out how I'm getting on.