tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39682502074899277312024-03-21T09:11:40.516+00:00Project Five ORunning up my half centuryMartinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-36033193630163494932012-04-03T21:31:00.001+01:002012-04-03T21:31:43.642+01:00Back on Track<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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'What's this?' I hear you say, 'I thought Project Five O finished at the end of 2011'. You're right it did, but the weekend I've just experienced is just begging for a PFO blog entry to be written about it. So think of this as a bit of an encore, possibly just a one-off, possibly not.</div>
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If you were a PFO regular during 2011, you may well remember <a href="http://martin-project50.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/taking-bow_30.html">my trip to Japan</a> last October. Well, while I was there I received an email inviting me to apply for a place in the 'National Lottery Olympic Park Run', a five mile race around the Olympic Park in Stratford culminating with a lap around the track inside the Olympic Stadium. I applied, of course, but also emailed the link to Juliet urging her to try for a place too. </div>
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The results were out almost as soon as I got back from the far east. Juliet had secured one of the 5000 places in the run; along with 45000 other applicants, I had not. Was I jealous? Of course not! OK then, maybe just a wee bit! My disappointment was partially offset, however, by the news that two spectator passes came with each runner's entry. I would at least have the consolation of having an early opportunity to sample the arena from a spectator's perspective.</div>
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And so it came to pass that on Saturday Juliet, Hannah and I set off for Stratford station and joined an excited crowd skirting the outside of Westfield Shopping Centre en route to the Olympic Park. Getting inside involved first joining a lengthy theme park ride style zig zagging queue followed by an airport style x-ray machine and metal detector. If you've got tickets for the real thing in the summer my advice is to get there early. The queuing is a drag, but I'm sure most people will quite happy to put up with it in order to feel completely safe once inside.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside at last.</td></tr>
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Inside the park it was buzzing. Not everything is fully ready yet but even so it all looks very impressive. Juliet had borrowed my Union Jack headband, which caught the eye of a camera crew who interviewed her on camera - for syndication abroad apparently. The stadium itself is a wonderful arena; the atmosphere during the games should be electric. Legroom is plentiful and sight lines excellent, although from our seats West Ham fans will only get a very distant view of much of the pitch if, as seems likely, the Hammers adopt the stadium after the Olympics.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre-race interview.</td></tr>
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It was soon time for Juliet to head off for the start line, and the mere spectators amongst us were treated to entertainment from a couple of Saturday night talent show acts, the energetic Flawless and the excellent and foxy classical music girl band Escala. Iwan Thomas and Holly Willoughby orchestrated it all from the stage and on the big screen.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Iwan and Holly on the stage.</td></tr>
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Oh and of course we were also treated to an appearance from the two Olympic mascots, Wenlock and Mandeville (or is it Manlock and Wendeville?). They were firing tee shirts through a pneumatic tube into the crowd, none of which came in our direction.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wenlock or Mandeville?</td></tr>
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As well as running in the race, Ginger Royal (that's Beatrice by the way - not to be confused with Sporty Spice who also took part) was the official starter.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Royal Hooter!</td></tr>
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First to enter the stadium to tumultuous applause was one of the wheelchair athletes, who was clearly loving every minute of his experience.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Winner of the wheelchair race.</td></tr>
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The first runner, who entered to a similarly enthusiastic reception, was so far ahead of the field that he had crossed the finishing line before the second placed athlete had even entered the stadium. Before long a steady stream of happy runners were completing their glory lap of the track and crossing the line, with the celebrities among them being interviewed and shown on the big screen: Nell McAndrew, Roger Black, Sally Gunnell, Martin 'Moneysavingexpert.com' Lewis and dishy doctor Hilary amongst them. I'm sure if Jimmy Saville was alive, he would have been there too.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The leading athlete on two feet.</td></tr>
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We spotted Juliet, pretty much on schedule, after around 50 minutes. She still had enough energy to wave to the crowd, eventually picking out Hannah and I, and crossed the finishing line in an excellent 52:49, all the more impressive due to the painful hamstring injury hampering her progress. As a result of her endeavours I can exclusively reveal that the Olympic track is 'extremely springy', which Juliet very much appreciated after pounding the hard concrete of the Olympic park. What a fantastic experience, a one-off piece of history! Watching it all did make me feel even more strongly that the 2012 Olympic marathon should be finishing in the stadium too, and not along the Mall in central London. OK, Buckingham Palace is impressive in its own right, but in the context of the Olympics, there is nothing more iconic for me than the sight of the race leader finally entering the stadium and hearing the roar of the crowd after twenty six miles of running.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A St Albans athlete enters the finishing straight.</td></tr>
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Juliet's good progress enabled me to make a quick dash to the Valley via the Jubilee Line and a black cab in time to watch the second half of Charlton's 2-0 win against Orient. With six games remaining Charlton are now eight points clear of Sheffield Wednesday and edging closer and closer to promotion. However, Charlton never do things the easy way, and there may well be more downs and ups before the end of the season. We should go up but it's getting nervy.<br />
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Inspired by my brush with the Olympics, I was really looking forward to my own first race of the year on Sunday morning, the Regent's Park 10K, the first of a series of 6 'Summer' races that take place on the first Sunday of the month from April to September. You may remember me having a go at <a href="http://martin-project50.blogspot.co.uk/2011/07/recipe-for-success.html">the July race last year</a>. I've built up my training steadily since January, but the onset of a tickly, raspy throat and the resulting restless night left me feeling a little a bit apprehensive as I stood on the start line on a beautiful but fresh April Fools day. I needn't have worried though, as I put in a very pleasing performance. I even managed an feisty sprint finish, just about holding off the spirited challenge of runner number 6340, a young lady with whom I had been regularly swapping places since the start of the second lap.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI2zvXeIfD0RfaBuD_S3PTqsVRIg909NxhyphenhyphenjmhyoLPfeZYIefSVCs8_80gs_i_Tn3893mgloDn10jrpn9U__BjDOM7QAlmzqjG9cVYmkJis0vDLIdLaZ6eaNfJC1b6rpHe550l3w_ztW9b/s1600/IMG_0216.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI2zvXeIfD0RfaBuD_S3PTqsVRIg909NxhyphenhyphenjmhyoLPfeZYIefSVCs8_80gs_i_Tn3893mgloDn10jrpn9U__BjDOM7QAlmzqjG9cVYmkJis0vDLIdLaZ6eaNfJC1b6rpHe550l3w_ztW9b/s400/IMG_0216.jpg" width="300px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The race to the finishing line.</td></tr>
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The results on the event's website show that I maintained a remarkably steady pace throughout: 21:05 mins for the first lap, 20:41 for the second and 21:10 for the final lap to give me an overall time of 1:01:56. This was over 8 minutes faster than my Regents Park time last July and more than two minutes faster than the best time I achieved during 2011. In fact, it's not so very far off my personal best. I may be a year older, but, for the time being at least, I'm seem to be getting faster! How can I explain my apparent resurgence? I can think of four possible reasons:<br />
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1. A more structured and focused training plan - unlike last year when I entered so many different events, I'm mainly working towards two half marathons this year, one in June and another in October. As a result my training has been more consistent, with this particular 10K coming at the perfect stage in my preparation for my first 13 miler.<br />
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2. Lent - I've given up chocolate for the duration, and whilst I have still been enjoying the odd glass of wine, I am currently not weighing myself down with Cadbury's Whole Nut.<br />
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3. The <a href="http://martin-project50.blogspot.co.uk/2011/11/trussed-and-ok.html">'Magic Pants' </a>factor - last November my first pair of magic pants rescued me from injury and enabled me to put in a great performance at the Florence Marathon. Today I was wearing two pairs - over the original pair I wore some full length compression tights, alleged to work against muscle fatigue in the lower as well as upper legs. Well, it seems they did what it said on the tin!<br />
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4. The Olympic factor - I can categorically say that I felt athletically inspired by our visit to the Olympic Stadium on Saturday. A little of the magic of the Olympics definitely rubbed off on me.<br />
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So, weekend so fabulous that it's brought me out of blog retirement. I have no plans to make regular returns, but you can be sure of one thing - if I do ever achieve any more PBs I'll be back on here like a shot to tell you all about them.<br />
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Watch this space!</div>
</div>Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-2485146040408425902011-12-28T18:40:00.000+00:002011-12-28T18:40:59.318+00:00Project Five O-ver<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdg6gbUvupNP1-MpmO5oIV3AulEnIeUoUbyG-nN8JRimR0i7suHAg42EX2IqKIJbOC8Plcn82eTyo3xfj9Qw6zn4jiF8GyZSvdxVsHTUlznmmi1QT0LuXI_AUmLsRHeLUPInE8WnwXE-iX/s1600/Hannah+lookalike.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5557336767592802226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdg6gbUvupNP1-MpmO5oIV3AulEnIeUoUbyG-nN8JRimR0i7suHAg42EX2IqKIJbOC8Plcn82eTyo3xfj9Qw6zn4jiF8GyZSvdxVsHTUlznmmi1QT0LuXI_AUmLsRHeLUPInE8WnwXE-iX/s320/Hannah+lookalike.jpg" style="float: left; height: 320px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-top: 0px; width: 164px;" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">"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."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">These were my opening words when I launched Project Five O just under a year ago. Well today is 28th December 2011 and 48 years have now passed since I waved coyly to the camera dressed dressed in my stripy pyjamas. I've actually made it to 50 (and slightly beyond), and the time has come for my final Project Five O post. It's a post I've approached with very mixed emotions. Writing this blog had been great fun, and has undoubtedly enabled me to feel much more positive about reaching 50 than I would have done without it. I am going to miss it tremendously, and in the month since my previous post following the Florence Marathon more than once I've toyed with the idea of keeping the blog going. But to do it well is time consuming, and my work year ahead is going to be even busier than the hectic lead up to Christmas I've just been through. Also Project Five O has had a definite focus, a central thread running through it, that 2012 won't have even though I fully intend to carry on running and taking part in events well into the future. Therefore, with a slightly heavy heart, I'm sticking to my original plan. This will be my final post, the natural end of Project Five O.<br />
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I'd like to think the blog has been a modest success, and if it has, it's because I've had such a great year in all respects. There's been plenty to write about. Running-wise, I haven't quite achieved my Project Five O targets. Apart from in the 5K, I haven't recorded new PBs, although the margin by which all of my 2011 times have been faster than those I achieved in 2010 has given me great pleasure and made me very proud of my efforts. On it's own, the ecstasy I felt at the end of the Florence Marathon has made it all worthwhile. I certainly trained hard during the year, and I'm delighted with my overall fitness. As I wrote back in July after the Regents Park 10K, I think the one area where I could have perhaps shown more dedication in is in my diet. Wine and chocolate have continued to prove too much of a temptation, in spite of the good intentions I articulated at that point. It's all about balance, though, isn't it? Lot's of exercise, and a reasonably healthy diet with the occasional naughty but nice element. Or in my case, substitute occasional with regular!<br />
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Just one more bit of running to report on. Florence wasn't quite the end of my running for the year. Two weeks later I took part in the Jingle Bell Jog, a 5K run through St Albans along with a few hundred others dressed in Santa costumes. The great thing about a 5K is that, being only a fraction over 3 miles, you can just go for it from the start, no need to worry too much about pacing yourself. For the purposes of authenticity in my role as Santa I downed a glass of red wine before the start, and sped off along St Peter Street as soon as Toyah Wilcox sounded the starting siren. Negotiating Christmas shoppers and having to wait to cross a number of busy roads makes this event very much a fun run rather than a serious race, but nevertheless I was very pleased to cross the line in just over 31 minutes, a full 4 minutes faster than last year although a couple of minutes slower than my Beat the Banana run back in May this year. Fantastic Fun! Sweaty too, thanks to the outfit!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The important requirement to take on fluid before the start</td></tr>
</tbody></table>As well as the running, many other events have contributed to making 2011 such a wonderful year. Visits to four fascinating countries, a fantastic afternoon in the Sky Sports box at the Valley, busy times at home, interesting projects at work, I've loved it all. I've also enjoyed mining the photographic archives for the occasional nostalgia drenched trip down memory lane.<br />
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Thank you to everyone who has shared in these events with me, either by being there or by reading about them on my blog. I've greatly appreciated your kind feedback on my efforts. Thank you, it's lovely to know how much you have enjoyed reading about my adventures throughout the year. In particular, thank you to Juliet and Hannah, who have supported, encouraged and humoured me before, during and after my big Five O. It's alright being 50, it really is!<br />
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Best wishes to you all for a fabulous 2012.<br />
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</div>Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-8103771631235213942011-11-27T23:59:00.480+00:002011-12-08T11:03:37.693+00:00The Florence Marathon<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZlr3xI2Z3ib3cpaZBLQ5mPoA46X1pdttUamUpRhOIC6AA9IrGqfqCYYxOw22Roy6Z52UpDyW7fHGVrxEhV7tg-JDn9-PP1ZHNOxMNOJ5vjt4Uy2F31hOfhpHWBc2MES-dA-uSNaAcAv-q/s1600/Finish+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZlr3xI2Z3ib3cpaZBLQ5mPoA46X1pdttUamUpRhOIC6AA9IrGqfqCYYxOw22Roy6Z52UpDyW7fHGVrxEhV7tg-JDn9-PP1ZHNOxMNOJ5vjt4Uy2F31hOfhpHWBc2MES-dA-uSNaAcAv-q/s400/Finish+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finding a burst of speed for the final bend</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I knew it was going to be a special day as soon as I arrived at the start area of the Florence Marathon. The place was buzzing. Effusive Italians were everywhere, hugging and kissing each other. It was cold but the sun was shining; another glorious day in the making. The excitable announcer was building up the excitement and counting down to the start in a range of languages. I had decided to attach myself to the official 5 hour time pacers, three lovely Italian ladies whose guarantee to finish under their allotted time would provide me with a real chance of setting a new personal best for the marathon. To enable runners to keep track of them during the race, they each had four helium filled purple balloons attached to their back.<br />
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</div><div>My excitement increased further when a group of lively mature Japanese ladies in fancy dress also congregated around the purple balloons. Regular readers of this blog will know how fond I have become recently of the Japanese. This was going to be fun. Unfortunately, though, after greatly enlivening the pre-race atmosphere, they quickly slipped off the five hour pace, never to be seen again. I hope they made it around OK and enjoyed the experience.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Japanese contingent prepare for action</td></tr>
</tbody></table>An overseas marathon is measured in kilometers, and whilst there are more (42k as opposed to 26 miles) there is less distance between them, which seems to help as they pass by at a faster rate. The route headed out of the city and meandered around the lush Parco delle Cascine before heading back towards the historic centre as the half way stage approached. Apart from a few gently sloping underpasses, the terrain was completely flat and for the first 15k I kept up fairly comfortably with the pace makers. They were great, offering plenty of encouragement and maintaining metronomic progress. I was on schedule for my PB and feeling strong, but slightly concerned that the pace being set was just a little faster than advertised. If maintained it would see me comfortably achieve my best time, but could I keep it up? It was faster for longer than I had run at any time this year.<br />
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After the 18k marker, very very gradually I found myself losing touch with the purple balloons. By the halfway mark, they were still just about in sight but very distant. Try as I might, I just could not close the gap. Nevertheless, I had reached the half marathon point in 2:25:17, two minutes faster than my fastest time of the year at Bath. I had only covered this distance faster three times before ever, and in theory I was still on track for a Marathon PB. However, I could feel my muscles beginning to tighten and, realising deep down that the second 21k would take longer than the first, I refocused and set myself a new aim of beating my second best ever time of 5:08, achieved in the 2006 London Marathon. Even allowing for a slower second half, this was still very much on.<br />
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For a long time I remained on schedule to beat 5:08, even after the pain arrived, in most of my left leg and groin (strangely not the right one that had caused me such trouble a few weeks ago). After a while it became clear that the agony was there to stay, but I somehow kept going purely by the dual power of positive thinking and my magic support pants, which somehow held my flailing parts together.<br />
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Each one only slightly slower than the last, the km markers continued to be left behind as did the refreshment stations every 5k. These welcome oases were remarkably well stocked with water, isotonic drinks, cups of sweet tea, bananas and other fruit, a variety of energy bars and, bizarrely at 30k, rock hard lattice style jam tarts, the strangest thing I've been offered on a run since the gherkins that I politely refused in the sweltering heat of the Stockholm marathon.<br />
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By 37k we were back in the city centre again, and the final 5k involved an amazing sightseeing tour around all of Florence's major sights. The Ponte Vecchio, the Duomo, Piazza della Republica. You name it, we passed it, and all whilst running on cobblestones, which although quaint to look at, pull suffering muscles in every direction except the desired one. More pain, no gain.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Negotiating the cobble stones</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDyix2ZOOb_6J0pBDxlbmkzmfG07uF96lqPuYqc1mv_Xc236nwpD25Mfy2G4D36TiWH5gc4i3nPpJfI8Q0SooZBcGmpaGf8S0wk7Odicirwi18ltbGVWpvQlbaRf4xFhzyhk0HtrjLkwgG/s1600/ponte+vecchio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDyix2ZOOb_6J0pBDxlbmkzmfG07uF96lqPuYqc1mv_Xc236nwpD25Mfy2G4D36TiWH5gc4i3nPpJfI8Q0SooZBcGmpaGf8S0wk7Odicirwi18ltbGVWpvQlbaRf4xFhzyhk0HtrjLkwgG/s400/ponte+vecchio.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption"><div style="font-size: 13px;">Crossing the Ponte Vecchio, 2.5k from the finish</div><div><div style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</div><div style="font-size: 13px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">There were still decent crowds at this stage, cheering us runners on with generous Italian warmth and flamboyance. I felt I could barely stay upright and every stride brought new levels of pain, but I was somehow swept along by the magnificent surroundings and atmosphere.</span></div></div></td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNUNlZJgZB4z6mfNLtohsXhcwbFRL-ObL_U-387iERqmW1-8gqafcefmgoN6Jvoj2ehfCpg40i-_D3euu_P2bgS2O_2rkuUDfoIXQTs1kqgfCOCCXn6IksE_ZkzloBRBncEQYh0Aqu0Iqc/s1600/finish+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNUNlZJgZB4z6mfNLtohsXhcwbFRL-ObL_U-387iERqmW1-8gqafcefmgoN6Jvoj2ehfCpg40i-_D3euu_P2bgS2O_2rkuUDfoIXQTs1kqgfCOCCXn6IksE_ZkzloBRBncEQYh0Aqu0Iqc/s400/finish+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Rounding the final bend into Piazza Santa Croce, the finishing line almost in sight</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcxsKy9vTFmVEUH8-_ADqa-C6jfeOmu4jBGr5U0Z5dw6UIWV3DD_jG0GP1pTC7VMrUTPreEhNFvdhE57dFsjc56Zg4AvE4wx3yahDqtdmrvIM48VeNZ6sJViAG-jpwgCednsGk939hLGaH/s1600/Finishing+Line.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcxsKy9vTFmVEUH8-_ADqa-C6jfeOmu4jBGr5U0Z5dw6UIWV3DD_jG0GP1pTC7VMrUTPreEhNFvdhE57dFsjc56Zg4AvE4wx3yahDqtdmrvIM48VeNZ6sJViAG-jpwgCednsGk939hLGaH/s400/Finishing+Line.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crossing the finishing line</td></tr>
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Eventually I rounded the final bend into to the Piazza Santa Croce passing in front of the magnificent Basilica. I picked out Juliet's face in the crowd cheering me on and taking some action photographs. Magically the pain disappeared and I approached the finishing line feeling strong and lengthening my stride, but also struggling to see clearly as emotion overcame me and tears welled up in my eyes. 5:08 might have slipped away from me a little while back, but the Florence Marathon had nevertheless been the most exhilarating running experience of my life. A fantastic effort. Everything had come together. Running well, not so far off my best ever in fact, the magnificent surroundings, amazing atmosphere and just the great buzz that comes from being healthy and fit enough to complete a marathon at the age of 50. </div><div><br />
</div><div>My finishing time was 5:13:32, my fastest for over 5 years. Sadly again not a PB, but I was still very very pleased with it. I had finished a long way from the back of the field. This was my seventh marathon; I've only ever run two faster. In order to achieve this I've trained hard, especially over the past two months; it's been gruelling at times and I'd kind of made a pact with myself that this would be my final marathon - that I'd stick shorter distances from now on. However, all of a sudden I wasn't so sure. I'd certainly wouldn't rule out having another go at this marathon. Never again had suddenly changed to never say never!<br />
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My exhilaration wasn't entirely down to the marathon, though. It had been a fantastic weekend in every respect, but now it was time to head for home. The hotel owners, Emanuel and Barbara, had kindly kept our room available to us until 3:00pm, even though there were new guests waiting to take our place. This allowed me to take a much needed shower and change into fresh clothes for the journey home. Because the city centre was still closed to traffic as the final runners finished and the tidying up operation got underway, I had to endure a slow and painful walk whilst dragging my suitcase over the cobbles to the edge of the city centre before we were able to hail a cab to the airport. At the time this was a real ordeal, but by keeping my muscles active it had the very positive effect of enabling me to move relatively freely the following day.<br />
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We were surprised to find ourselves sitting in the small business class section at the front of the aeroplane for our flight back to London City Airport, our every need attended to by a flight attendant who looked and moved like a young and slighter version of David Walliams. Being allocated these seats was purely down to good fortune; there were too many economy passengers for the available seats and we were the lucky ones to get an upgrade. The benefits of flying business class on a short haul flight don't really amount to much, although the extra leg room and unlimited supply of wine were especially welcome after the day's events. This small but unexpected bonus right at the end just added the final bit of lustre to what had been an amazing weekend.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div></div>Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-83023156285320853702011-11-26T22:21:00.119+00:002011-11-30T19:41:35.765+00:00A Room with a View<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8_YZY7WlFslb9rLHh-XfsSz0yGKnt33yvSUlmxbKVORuNcH83sb0up_ULlrzORMn3QsNePaTT7IWKOFwvFOR6lIA7hXayaQfjmgYP_rw6t-yBRBmFrpNfjnvDHCui7mw7XHpVnpO1LhSl/s1600/Arno.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8_YZY7WlFslb9rLHh-XfsSz0yGKnt33yvSUlmxbKVORuNcH83sb0up_ULlrzORMn3QsNePaTT7IWKOFwvFOR6lIA7hXayaQfjmgYP_rw6t-yBRBmFrpNfjnvDHCui7mw7XHpVnpO1LhSl/s400/Arno.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View along the Arno from Piazzale Michelangelo</td></tr>
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<div>E.M. Forster's novel, "A Room with a View" begins with young Lucy Honeychurch and her overbearing chaperone, Charlotte Bartlett, complaining that instead of the rooms with a view of the river Arno they had been promised, their rooms instead looked over a courtyard. Ummm, it's probably a good job they didn't have the view of the quiet, but extremely scruffy, backstreet visible behind the net curtains in our Florence hotel room. Can you imagine what Charlotte, played by Maggie Smith in the Merchant-Ivory film adaptation, would have had to say about that? Unlike Lucy and Charlotte, though, we weren't on a promise of any kind, and in fact we are very pleased with the reasonably priced and comfortable Hotel Privelege. It's right next to the river, no more than a 15 minutes walk from any of the main sights and, very helpfully, only a few hundred metres away from the start line of Sunday's Marathon.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE5Vs843qGMt8EtMQW3EewDf0-_CBsJTAcda8TeqM3gSygT2L51UJ0jWpVgR6suO58qsYRNmHjHDGX2cD0B8AQ6Deb2bIRxZWmI6h18HplBvCul6lxCz3B5GIJjtj2Jv9ey1TpxIQYTryL/s1600/Room+view.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE5Vs843qGMt8EtMQW3EewDf0-_CBsJTAcda8TeqM3gSygT2L51UJ0jWpVgR6suO58qsYRNmHjHDGX2cD0B8AQ6Deb2bIRxZWmI6h18HplBvCul6lxCz3B5GIJjtj2Jv9ey1TpxIQYTryL/s400/Room+view.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A room with a view? Well, sort of!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's Saturday evening and it's been an absolutely fantastic visit to Florence so far. Even the journey here was enjoyable. My first experience of the slick operation at London City was followed by a fleeting aerial glimpse of the Valley from my seat with a view, and a mere two and a half hours later we were being whisked by taxi across the four and a half kilometers that separate Florence city centre from its airport.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlton Athletic's Valley from the air.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Before starting to take in the sights, there was business to attend to, namely collection of my race number and timing chip from the Luigi Rudolfi Athletics Stadium, about a twenty minute walk from our hotel. After all the drama earlier in the week getting a doctor to sign the medical form, I'm not sure whether it was amusing or galling that the result of all my anguish and careering about merited barely a cursory glance. Nevertheless, it was exciting to see my name appear on the screen as I walked past clasping my hard earned requisites for entry.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm in - it's official!</td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="p1">There is so much to see and do in Florence, that even a week would be woefully too short to take it all in. In just over 24 hours so far, though, we don't think we've done too badly. We've certainly put ourselves about! The weather has been amazing. With not a single cloud in the sky, the City's treasures have been bathed in a startlingly clear light.</div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">Our first adventure was to climb the 414 twisty turny stone steps to the top of the Campanile, Florence's 14th century bell tower. With 26 miles to run less than two days later, this was probably not the wisest of excursions. However, the view from the top was wonderful compensation - the adjacent Duomo, the world's fourth largest cathedral completed midway through the fifteenth century, all of central Florence and the autumnal shades of the surrounding Tuscan countryside. Breathtaking, in more ways than one!</div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Duomo and adjacent Campanile</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The colourful neo-gothic (so I'm told) facade of the Basilica di Santa Croce looked particularly striking in the glorious late afternoon sunshine. We haven't found time to look inside yet, it houses the tomb of Michelangelo and Galileo Galilei, but hopefully I will be taking a much closer look at it's exterior mid-afternoon tomorrow, as the finishing line for the Marathon is immediately in front of it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL2vbrl5VvWtTTE1mw1jSq71QuLWC68bCmhriuFHzO2Al8ueOCSIegz5gVdblGdrfLg6LPFvCYNlJyShu8fljhHMg91muJGg2gEmjj3J5rG7awhO2EUAKhdZarhIOi1zfKZOt6DdQgzgFk/s1600/panorama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL2vbrl5VvWtTTE1mw1jSq71QuLWC68bCmhriuFHzO2Al8ueOCSIegz5gVdblGdrfLg6LPFvCYNlJyShu8fljhHMg91muJGg2gEmjj3J5rG7awhO2EUAKhdZarhIOi1zfKZOt6DdQgzgFk/s400/panorama.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The neo-gothic facade of the Basilica di Sante Croce</td></tr>
</tbody></table>As the daylight began to fade we made our way towards the famous Ponte Vecchio with its multi-storied shops. Until the late sixteenth century the shops were primarily butchers, but since a Medici edict in 1593 the only goods on offer have been gold and jewellery.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjskQtk6tqACJs2pMZ1DJ7csVlnqlUHgWBgo_LTK240ousT6dKZKoNgTG_1xYjF8aUowT4USkzAAR5MoJ52z2C0827a4_kyucTIzHMKLIJbHX_XQc9TRxQtXGwdIob4JCqjvWUbZDgvmTRc/s1600/Ponte+Vecchio.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjskQtk6tqACJs2pMZ1DJ7csVlnqlUHgWBgo_LTK240ousT6dKZKoNgTG_1xYjF8aUowT4USkzAAR5MoJ52z2C0827a4_kyucTIzHMKLIJbHX_XQc9TRxQtXGwdIob4JCqjvWUbZDgvmTRc/s400/Ponte+Vecchio.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ponte Vecchio</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Prettily lit up, the bridge was crammed with sightseers like ourselves but retained an enchanting atmosphere. As dusk fell, the sunset along the Arno to the west was magnificent.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYPTkXmCCn5wFe6MSG3lRXauU6u2cQPS_4UUu3PknfrXq_yIrS_SCePIxVm_IfhFCRQbUQj1c9PtEgSVsiQ7oLj_N2kxxgKY-0qNbf1e4JvEus9IOkaHRYNONHKpeVVzWhwA3viwgA6rPN/s1600/sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYPTkXmCCn5wFe6MSG3lRXauU6u2cQPS_4UUu3PknfrXq_yIrS_SCePIxVm_IfhFCRQbUQj1c9PtEgSVsiQ7oLj_N2kxxgKY-0qNbf1e4JvEus9IOkaHRYNONHKpeVVzWhwA3viwgA6rPN/s400/sunset.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset along the river Arno</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">An early start this morning enabled us to beat the crowds to the Galleria Dell' Accademia and enjoy a long and tranquil look at Michelangelo's astounding David. Seeing famous works of art close up and for real can sometimes disappoint. I was distinctly underwhelmed as I jostled to get a good look at the surprisingly small Mona Lisa in the Louvre a few years back, for example. My reaction to Michelangelo's masterpiece, however, could not have been more different. It is without doubt the most beautiful work of art I have ever seen. It's sheer size (516cm high) is striking, but the attention to detail carved out of hard marble is amazing. Not only is the beauty of the body awesome, but so too is the sense conveyed of David's quiet strength and serenity as he prepares to slay Goliath with one throw of his sling. The Galleria Dell' Accademia was built specifically to house this statue and its placement in an airy high domed space adds greatly to its impact. Photography is rightly forbidden, although an excellent replica erected outside the Palazzo Vecchio provides a compensatory photo opportunity.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd53CuauYQDn9LyYj_Ag0m8n7bNVrlF64WYYptqOzTSMPjxphXhHyahFiS9DNqYtH_8V_yzYW7s5CVGimGKRia2py3vvGHevDf5Q_GOh68tJAoRIRFK0lARC2wxr8qZUh02gjSuyOKaoNp/s1600/David.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd53CuauYQDn9LyYj_Ag0m8n7bNVrlF64WYYptqOzTSMPjxphXhHyahFiS9DNqYtH_8V_yzYW7s5CVGimGKRia2py3vvGHevDf5Q_GOh68tJAoRIRFK0lARC2wxr8qZUh02gjSuyOKaoNp/s400/David.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not quite the real thing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
As the day has proceeded we have taken in many more of Florence's famous sights and ventured into the stunning interiors of some of its enormous churches. The vast light-filled space and coloured marble inside the Basilica di san Lorenzo and and the amazing frescos on the ceiling of the Chiesa di Santa Maria del Carmine in particular stood out. We stopped for a coffee (for Juliet; I had tea) and a delicious cake at the ornately decorated Gilli. As is the Florentine way, we consumed this standing up at the bar. Next to us two smart young Italians each ordered an espresso, which they downed in one and then they were off. They were alongside us for no more than a couple of minutes.</div><div><br />
</div><div>As lunch time approached we took a taxi across the river and up the hill to the Piazzale Michelangelo. In normal circumstances we would have walked but by now I was starting to develop a mild sense of panic about the effect all of the walking we were doing might have on my legs tomorrow. In the Piazzale stands another copy of David, this one cast in bronze, overlooking panoramic views of the city and along the Arno. The whole area and the stunning cityscape reminded me very much of Montjuic in Barcelona. Previous Florence marathons have started up here, with the first couple of miles downhill, but this was adversely affecting the status of the race as the altitude gap between start and finish did not comply with international standards. Therefore the start this year has been moved to a less lofty location beside the river.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhDlcTPHlO72dzi5wR_XZXiGN5ZkgToyGF1ToJbf8eY_WXV0-lxpTOZCjf_wS0vw4H16u9Zds1fShpaKF-4g9u3GYFC4Ns7WAyXcCSjpAPiqOEB4hG4jVAST77yL5YhtDYbtooeZa2WzaV/s1600/Duomo+and+Camponile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhDlcTPHlO72dzi5wR_XZXiGN5ZkgToyGF1ToJbf8eY_WXV0-lxpTOZCjf_wS0vw4H16u9Zds1fShpaKF-4g9u3GYFC4Ns7WAyXcCSjpAPiqOEB4hG4jVAST77yL5YhtDYbtooeZa2WzaV/s400/Duomo+and+Camponile.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Duomo and Campanile viewed from Piazzale Michelangelo</td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We meandered down from the bronze David and had a late lunch in a fantastic restaurant in the Oltrarno area. All of our meals since arriving in Florence have been great, but the fare in this cosy rustic osteria was the best of the lot. For just 10 Euros I enjoyed an absolutely delicious pesto lasagne followed by a traditional Tuscan dish of roast pork and potatoes. Accompanied by a smooth Chianti at a perfect temperature, it really was a superb dining experience at a very reasonable price.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We explored this side of the river for another hour or so before calling it a day and getting a taxi back to our hotel at around 4:00 pm. I could have quite happily continued for longer, but it was time to put my legs up and save them for the morning. It's been a fantastic couple of days. Hopefully I will be equally as glowing in my praise of Florence after pounding its streets for 26 miles tomorrow! Expect an update probably around Tuesday.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div></div></div>Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-12587741156654796992011-11-23T16:31:00.003+00:002011-11-23T21:08:29.360+00:00Medical Drama<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzu2tCRg5i9VQKCZ_MtsLkOdqIBrw99x2wpJKo2gKvXX6Cdkk_DOpx5e3IjDMASEBB-fqcD6aKTapNP5f0tch0Ftk421yZDLnyXum99vZT6rEGJT-StrN-TBJb9K3jEcs3Dh_JHfszp61J/s1600/Florence%252BMedical%252BForm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzu2tCRg5i9VQKCZ_MtsLkOdqIBrw99x2wpJKo2gKvXX6Cdkk_DOpx5e3IjDMASEBB-fqcD6aKTapNP5f0tch0Ftk421yZDLnyXum99vZT6rEGJT-StrN-TBJb9K3jEcs3Dh_JHfszp61J/s400/Florence%252BMedical%252BForm.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>I've taken part in three marathons and two half marathons overseas in the last few years, and the procedure has always been the same. You register online and pay the entry fee well in advance to secure a place and then set about making the necessary travel and accommodation arrangements. Later, a couple of weeks before the event, an email arrives with full instructions for the race and an official looking attachment which you present at the race headquarters a day or two before the race to collect your race number and timing chip.<br />
<br />
Having followed the first part of this procedure for this Sunday's Florence Marathon, I grew increasingly anxious as last week wore on and I had still not received anything at all from the organisers. On Wednesday I sent an email, but by Friday evening it remained unanswered. I decided to search through the event website for any information about the whereabouts and timing of any joining instructions. What I discovered did not make good reading!<br />
<br />
Tucked away, a little obscurely I felt, was a statement to the effect that confirmation letters, necessary for collection of race numbers and entry to the start line, would only be issued upon receipt of a completed medical certificate. Oh no, I thought, there's not much time left to get that sorted. But the situation quickly got a lot worse. Scanning anxiously down the page, my eyes alighted on the deadline date for submission of the certificate, Wednesday 15th November. I glanced quickly at my watch to confirm the date, it was Friday18th. I was already too late.<br />
<br />
What to do? First step, beg for clemency. I immediately fired off another email apologising for having only just realised that a medical certificate was necessary and stating confidently that would have one by the middle of the week. Having invested a lot of money in arranging my trip to Italy and many months of hard training, I continued, would they please, please, please forgive me for being a few days late and let me fax a copy of the certificate next week and bring the original with me.<br />
<br />
It was at this point, however, that I printed off the medical form from the website and discovered that obtaining medical clearance was going to be far from easy. The wording on the form was Draconian. I was going to have to persuade a Doctor to declare him or herself "fully responsible and accept the consequences for falsely declaring" that I am "in good health and fit to compete in a 42,195 metre marathon according to current laws" based on a "sport physical exam" carried out by the Doctor. Eek, if I was a doctor I'm not sure I'd be prepared to put my name to that based on a five minute consultation with a patient, even if I did have access to their relatively robust looking health records. What if they keeled over on the finishing straight, I'd be thinking? What do they mean by consequences? I've seen those Godfather films. Would I be in danger of waking up one morning with a blood-stained horse's head on my pillow?<br />
<br />
Still, I had to give it a try, and even though there was a 10 day wait for the next available appointment at my local surgery, the very nice receptionist managed to squeeze me into a recently cancelled appointment for Wednesday at the practice's sister surgery on the other side of town. A few hours later I received further good news - an email from the race organisers containing my entry confirmation, conditional on presentation of the medical certificate on my arrival in Florence. Things were looking up, but that wasn't the end of the drama. Oh no!<br />
<br />
Earlier today I arrived at the surgery across town in good time. Sitting in the waiting room five minutes before my appointment was due, I casually pulled the form out of my pocket to have it ready to hand over to the Doctor. Except it wasn't the medical form! I had picked up the race entry confirmation letter by mistake. The medical form was still on my desk on the other side of St Albans, at least 10 minutes drive away even in the unlikely event of no traffic hold ups. I hurriedly explained what had happened to the Receptionist, and asked whether she could possibly jiggle the appointments around and let the next few people in early while I rushed home to get the right form.<br />
<br />
"I can't guarantee anything, but as long as you're no more than 15 minutes, it might still be possible for the Doctor to see you", she remarked rather sternly.<br />
<br />
15 minutes! I'll be lucky to get home in that time, let alone back here again I thought, but kept to myself.<br />
<br />
"OK, I'll be quick. See you in 15 minutes." I replied over my shoulder as I ran to the car.<br />
<br />
Twenty three minutes later, I was back facing the Receptionist.<br />
<br />
"How can I help you?", she asked.<br />
<br />
"It's me, Martin Crisp!" I gasped having covered the distance from my car to the surgery even faster than Usain Bolt would have managed. "Am I back in time to see the Doctor?"<br />
<br />
"Ah yes, Mr Crisp, take a seat. The Doctor will see you next."<br />
<br />
Phew!<br />
<br />
The Doctor was young, female, gorgeous and sympathetic to my situation. Unfortunately, though, she was a locum, and said she would have to check with one of the permanent doctors whether it would be OK to sign the Italian form or issue something a little more general saying that I am generally in good health and that there seem to be no obvious medical reasons why I should not attempt to run a marathon. But first, I needed to undergo a couple of basic checks, pulse, chest and blood pressure. And yep, you've guessed it, as a result of my frantic certificate-chasing dash across town, my blood pressure came out a little on the high side.<br />
<br />
"Just relax, take a few really deep breaths", reassured the Doctor, "you're bound to be a bit uptight after all that stress and rushing around."<br />
<br />
So, after a short break she measured my blood pressure a second time. And guess what? It had gone up even more, and I was in danger of trying to chill out so hard that I was achieving exactly the opposite effect. It was third time lucky, though, as I finally relaxed sufficiently to produce an acceptable reading, and I was pronounced to be in good general health.<br />
<br />
I left the form with the doctor; the surgery would call me when there was something ready to collect. I hoped it would be the official Italian form, but realistically a watered down declaration seemed more likely, meaning that uncertainty would remain until my arrival in Florence. So when I returned to the surgery later in the afternoon, I was delighted to discover that, undeterred by the possibility of waking up next to a horse's head, the lovely doctor had gone ahead and signed the official form. I would be making it to the start line on Sunday after all. Mind you, I had to pay £25 for the certificate, but after such a big pallaver to secure my entry, right now I consider it money well spent.<br />
<br />
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</div>Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-52497065108217580382011-11-13T20:50:00.002+00:002011-11-13T20:53:39.775+00:00Trussed and OK<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Well, the compression shorts arrived in the post on Tuesday, and very unyielding they are too. Believe me, there's very little scope for a groin to misbehave when under their <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h94BdxnheeM">iron grip</a>. Furthermore, when I read the accompanying leaflet, I was delighted to find out that not only do these shorts offer firm support to troublesome groins, they also have very effective "moisture wicking qualities" to help keep the area in question dry and fragrant. Things are definitely looking up!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6MVTTgDDTIV8zDQdSW93tlGjLVuZbhruojp85Eul5pkpRrcYdlGtNgjSVGnEMZLzHg7PYX_sSENW48rPgIR_AVQd0mKvbKgH_0CLxNtJ1-4QJv7yJkenPSq-y60gbyhRZTcJkOAEnPI8-/s1600/IMG_1817.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6MVTTgDDTIV8zDQdSW93tlGjLVuZbhruojp85Eul5pkpRrcYdlGtNgjSVGnEMZLzHg7PYX_sSENW48rPgIR_AVQd0mKvbKgH_0CLxNtJ1-4QJv7yJkenPSq-y60gbyhRZTcJkOAEnPI8-/s400/IMG_1817.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Add caption</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I gave the shorts an initial try out on a two mile treadmill run at the gym on Wednesday morning, and was very pleased to make it through with not even a hint of a twinge. More than that, though, my whole running action felt a lot more efficient than it had for a long time. Somehow I felt more upright, which in turn made me feel lighter on my feet and this in turn placed less stress on the knees and hips. Not content with providing compression, these are "go faster" pants too. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On reflection, I think perhaps the injury that surfaced last weekend has probably been bubbling under for a while, as in spite of covering a lot of training miles in the past couple of months I have struggled to show the improvement in performance that you would normally expect to accompany them. At least initially, shoring up the injury seemed to have had a much more holistic effect than I'd hoped for.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Putting this hypothesis to the test, I set forth with gusto on a four and a half mile run on Friday morning, and kept up a good pace to the end to beat my previous best for the route by a minute, and again I felt that I was running much more efficiently. This morning I was up early to set off before sunrise on a 17 miler. After last week I needed to complete a lengthy run but with Florence only two weeks away, the 20 miles I had intended to run last week would have been too much to recover from in such a short space of time.</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbcz8NDaGV_ijbIHP63Xi66hyphenhyphenoAUHD87_BlyfvnE8891SRWefIgm1rO2F44NjJ_GMecEkrFF1kF9TlZvcDUm5ntgykmoHIhLJR1G1NvH63p1tGNMKI0zE4wvzpWIU8rwuaVN3Ti4Zvat2b/s1600/IMG_1649.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbcz8NDaGV_ijbIHP63Xi66hyphenhyphenoAUHD87_BlyfvnE8891SRWefIgm1rO2F44NjJ_GMecEkrFF1kF9TlZvcDUm5ntgykmoHIhLJR1G1NvH63p1tGNMKI0zE4wvzpWIU8rwuaVN3Ti4Zvat2b/s400/IMG_1649.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Sunrise over the outskirts of St Albans</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Apart from the health benefits, one of the things I enjoy most about my running exploits is getting out in the open air and taking in the beautiful countryside. As dawn broke today on a glorious mild autumn morning it was fantastic to be outside breathing it all in. The run went well too, especially for the first fifteen miles. In the final couple of miles, though, all of my leg muscles tightened up significantly and felt almost at breaking point. However, nothing that a rigorous sports massage won't be able to address, I feel. I've had similarly taut muscles before, and a visit to the physio has always made a massive difference. I did encounter one unexpected and, for me, unusual problem on today's run, though. Blisters. Two whopping great big ones, one on my left big toe and another on the instep on my right foot.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMOxzT23kop02CUTSTlMYmAxzJVavcefKxCqIMisTIns91wDsFcPNgKwDrkryl6tkUqasQ9d_AsnS8ke6JvCH28R41HcFi5npLZ6GGr9zesGRx0Odyav_KQdNHZFXyl3oyY4f0or1NXHjk/s1600/IMG_1650.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMOxzT23kop02CUTSTlMYmAxzJVavcefKxCqIMisTIns91wDsFcPNgKwDrkryl6tkUqasQ9d_AsnS8ke6JvCH28R41HcFi5npLZ6GGr9zesGRx0Odyav_KQdNHZFXyl3oyY4f0or1NXHjk/s400/IMG_1650.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'd like to think this was caused by my blistering pace......</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Why I've suddenly succumbed to them, I've no idea but I don't see blisters as a serious threat to my performance in Florence, and although last week's difficulties have set undoubtedly my preparations back a little, I'm now feeling much more confident about my prospects. Bring it on!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-34766556083797327662011-11-06T20:36:00.085+00:002011-11-07T15:47:22.064+00:00Injury Time<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I set off at 6:20 am this morning for my final long training run for the Florence Marathon on 27th November. 20 miles was the aim, but after less than one mile I started to feel a disturbing soreness in my right groin area. It's often possible to run off this kind of discomfort and so I pressed on optimistically, but by the time I had covered three miles the pain had become so sharp and insistent that I was left with no choice but to stop running and endure a very uncomfortable two and a half mile limp home, feeling increasingly disconsolate.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEhRktTTQOM4_HZu1ve-LJYYcC3nwzUgUsHpeHl8J6KyaAZcJBwhoVgmswpvWx4zK1KSxZFq9vi8m2Am05-OzNo4114VLp7NLZ3uCJH5VC6cQ2ymbdiwWCZr8s0fqeCpftlrT1Gt8uK_q5/s1600/19780712.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEhRktTTQOM4_HZu1ve-LJYYcC3nwzUgUsHpeHl8J6KyaAZcJBwhoVgmswpvWx4zK1KSxZFq9vi8m2Am05-OzNo4114VLp7NLZ3uCJH5VC6cQ2ymbdiwWCZr8s0fqeCpftlrT1Gt8uK_q5/s400/19780712.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An injury free groyne at Worthing, West Sussex</td></tr>
</tbody></table>A very similar thing happened to me at exactly the same point, three weeks, before my first London Marathon back in 2006. Back then it was my right knee that suddenly and very painfully gave way. After some treatment, treading gingerly in subsequent training and the use of a knee support, I was able to take part in the race and even finish with a respectable time, although not without pain. Ever since I have been wary of any knee twinges, and this year in particular I have been careful not to place too much strain on them. So far they have done me proud.<br />
<br />
This is the first time I've ever experienced groin problems from running. I did need an operation to patch up a protruding hernia on the left over ten years ago, but this was in my pre-running days and apart from the occasional dull ache it hasn't bothered me since. I found out yesterday that, whereas with careful handling, it is often possible to continue with a dodgy knee, the groin area is so pivotal to the action of running that grinning and bearing the pain for this this type of injury is not an option.<br />
<br />
What to do? Well after resting it up for a number of hours, it's feeling a lot better, so I'm going to take a complete rest from running for a few days, try a couple of gentle treadmill runs towards the end of the week and then attempt another final long training run next weekend, although probably a little shorter than 20 miles. I was planning to go for a sports massage next week anyway to revitalise the legs in time for Florence, so if the groin is still playing up at that point I can ask <a href="http://martin-project50.blogspot.com/2011/02/no-pain-no-gain_22.html">Stan</a> to have a go at manipulating the old nether regions. I have also discovered a product, <a href="http://www.physioroom.com/product/PhysioRoom.com_Compression_Shorts_1.5mm_/3101/38363.html">compression shorts</a> for the prevention and treatment of groin injuries and I think I'll give them a try. Hopefully they will offer more support than the lycra I often wear under my shorts (and I was wearing lycra tights yesterday) without the compression element of their design adversely affecting other components of that particular body region, if you know what I mean.<br />
<br />
The therapeutic effect of writing this blog has increased my confidence that I'll be OK. In addition I've been feeling very tired since returning from Japan, so a few days enforced rest from running may be no bad thing.</div>Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-60302271820226751542011-11-04T14:04:00.001+00:002011-11-07T15:48:04.020+00:00Great South Fun<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Landmark time. This is my fiftieth Project Five O entry, although regrettably I'm writing it a number of days after the event, the Great South Run, which took place on Sunday 30th October. This lateness is a result of a combination of feeling completely exhausted after driving home on Sunday evening and the urgent need to make significant inroads into the backlog of work that awaited me on my return from Japan.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNSLDQS_2a4bcs4_ufEcPp2iufmm7exFxBNPPL9yjLc0W7x5sqOU5j_uYxg6B4Mpt2zWRysZotqFvTVYsgy3itlxrzMNBfbVuuM8nBqrrsXSbEOOfn116SU0Ih6RA4PU4UXG228qPSNXCE/s1600/Spinnaker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNSLDQS_2a4bcs4_ufEcPp2iufmm7exFxBNPPL9yjLc0W7x5sqOU5j_uYxg6B4Mpt2zWRysZotqFvTVYsgy3itlxrzMNBfbVuuM8nBqrrsXSbEOOfn116SU0Ih6RA4PU4UXG228qPSNXCE/s400/Spinnaker.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Portsmouth's iconic Spinnaker Tower</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
I've now taken part in the Great South Run six times. It's one of my favourite running events for a number of reasons:<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;"><li>it's very well organised</li>
<li>there's always a great atmosphere with big crowds and lots of bands playing on the course</li>
<li>the course passes a number of interesting sights, historical and modern</li>
<li>it's almost entirely flat (although this benefit is negated a little by the strong headwind that usually prevails for the final two miles along the seafront)</li>
<li>ten miles is a great in-between distance; long enough to require training reasonably seriously but short enough to enjoy without being able to walk properly for days afterwards</li>
<li>taking place in October, the temperature is usually in the mid-teens, ideal for running</li>
</ul><br />
All of these factors combined in 2005 to help me complete the race in 1:37:33, a time which I haven't got close to since and which, looking back, I sometimes have to pinch myself to believe I was able to achieve in the first place. However, it's in the record books, available for anyone to find on the Great Run website. Although I'd started the year hoping I might just be able to better this, reality has since prevailed and so I set myself the aim on the day of further steady preparation for Florence, and to come in below 2 hours, ideally even challenging the 1:50 mark.<br />
<br />
I stayed overnight in a travelodge in Hampshire and drove to Liss, where I boarded the train in order to avoid the monstrous traffic jams that have plagued my departure from Portsmouth after previous GSRs. Overall this proved a successful strategy, although the walk from the station to the start took considerably longer, half an hour plus, than it looked on the map and felt even more of a slog to my tired legs on the way back.<br />
<br />
The start area was buzzing by the time I arrived. I think most of the 24,000 starters were already there. Any event of this size brings with it an invasion of portable chemical toilets, the quality of which (if quality is indeed the right word) has definitely improved since I started taking part in this kind of event. It did amuse me, however, that every single one of the hundreds of portaloos available on Sunday was proudly displaying a misplaced apostrophe.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5uAa__bpu3p1HWb9Po2o07lZQGBNdUwyoodWxYodu6lh7RF2KlPv3ZRz01aAbxTxj2QQqvyIsc0b3Rty6gBvoOoqFiEsBimnqirmcuBII3oVMCLOLKNV1gdd1HzJNYN9eE_FoX_pryC8x/s1600/IMG_0179.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5uAa__bpu3p1HWb9Po2o07lZQGBNdUwyoodWxYodu6lh7RF2KlPv3ZRz01aAbxTxj2QQqvyIsc0b3Rty6gBvoOoqFiEsBimnqirmcuBII3oVMCLOLKNV1gdd1HzJNYN9eE_FoX_pryC8x/s400/IMG_0179.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Pedantic, me? What do you mean? Now, where did I put my copy of "Eats, Shoots and Leaves"?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A funny thing happened a few minutes before the start. I was surprised to be approached by a fellow runner who looked vaguely familier asking whether I was Martin Crisp. "Umm, Yes" I replied a little warily before he introduced himself as someone I had worked with at Midland Bank in Bromley nearly 30 years ago. I'd already been working for the Bank for three years when he joined around 1982. He was on a special scheme, in which he worked at the Bank for a year and was then sponsored through University before presumably having to work for Midland Bank for at least a specified length of time after graduation. A very cushy arrangement, and he was a nice enough lad, although perhaps bordering on the arrogant side of precocious at the time. The over-confidence of youth and all that. We caught up briefly before the race began. My self-deprecating final comment was that in terms of my running career "my best days are probably behind me" to which, rather uncharitably I feel, he replied "let's be honest, your best days were behind you when you were at Bromley" before sprinting off ahead of me as if to prove a point. As I said, on the arrogant side of precocious, and clearly having failed to move on in the meantime. What he thinks of me is of little or no interest to me, but I must admit I was rather taken back by his rudeness, more so by its stark contrast to the friendliness and civility I had experienced in Japan in the preceding days. How I would have loved to catch up and pass him in the later stages of the race, but sadly I dont think I did. Even in such a large field I think I would have noticed.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I started the race smoothly and steadily, as always enjoying the historic dockyards section of the route nothwithstanding the short stretch of cobblestones that demand extra careful foot placement.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj_pGDXEv6KZqdMiXVlFcD-hPO_ivmx5YsolWo2OGOqLCvtrJdCrxySB0Yh2sAlehJbIf-Mkgmayqitwb7vdDgYxMBLv5iyKM4-nSsRDo8EmUcf13RWnCbZQugnaNI07jLYtXxsJL2Lfo1/s1600/ship.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj_pGDXEv6KZqdMiXVlFcD-hPO_ivmx5YsolWo2OGOqLCvtrJdCrxySB0Yh2sAlehJbIf-Mkgmayqitwb7vdDgYxMBLv5iyKM4-nSsRDo8EmUcf13RWnCbZQugnaNI07jLYtXxsJL2Lfo1/s400/ship.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nelson's Flagship, HMS Victory</td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My time at the half way was 54:10, a little under 11 minutes per mile, and on course for sub 1:50 if I could maintain even a marginally slower pace. The second half of the race is less scenic but still fairly well supported and, although I could feel myself slowing slightly, I was still feeling fine and really enjoying myself but once again the final two miles into a very strong wind finally took its toll. I kept running, and eventually sprinted strongly along the final two hundred metres, but all along the seemingly endless seafront I felt like I was running with a length of strong elastic attached to my back. A real struggle.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieASny87Z8XAxYRlJC2lNihKo3b5N-ncCzE_K5KXXltrtqepxpEdVmvxuQW3Loi33bXt57IUC2RErqTaRXFld9p4SH4UU3ZfR_drNqQf-J18B0ojCPoF-b8akigP1nR7OlrATFoMehwbEe/s1600/BLXK0894-12x17+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieASny87Z8XAxYRlJC2lNihKo3b5N-ncCzE_K5KXXltrtqepxpEdVmvxuQW3Loi33bXt57IUC2RErqTaRXFld9p4SH4UU3ZfR_drNqQf-J18B0ojCPoF-b8akigP1nR7OlrATFoMehwbEe/s400/BLXK0894-12x17+%25281%2529.jpg" width="241" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fighting the wind along the seafront at Southsea</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: left;">My finishing time was 1:54:10, which was in line with what I'd hoped for and I was pleased with it. Some way off my PB, but also considerably better than my slowest finish at this race. In fact it was my third fastest time in six attempts, and my best since 2006 so all things considered a good day's work. Once again the Great South Run had proved to be a fun and fulfilling experience - I was nowhere near the back of the field, and in the closing metres overtook a lot of runners much younger than me and, always pleasing, even a few 'proper' runners wearing official running club vests. There's just one more chance left to achieve a PB this year. It's all or nothing now for the Florence Marathon, and if I can just build a little more on where I am now, there's a small chance I may still do it.<br />
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(Photographs of Spinnaker Tower and HMS Victory were taken on a visit to Portsmouth with Hannah in July 2009) </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div>Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-66395201588260473702011-10-30T15:52:00.014+00:002011-11-03T16:29:16.055+00:00Taking a bow<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFRD4SLpAdXAijoFEEwq2nnNik_wipLRAkAcCYIPRDjN60GrO4FubJEQ8I2JyIRxP-XO4a6CmXiu161YFb0eIqDScsWQYv-bqCCxV6W2depeMtk_DYx7GsAZ0_YDCc4Xvvvu8PBWRUgK9e/s1600/bicycle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFRD4SLpAdXAijoFEEwq2nnNik_wipLRAkAcCYIPRDjN60GrO4FubJEQ8I2JyIRxP-XO4a6CmXiu161YFb0eIqDScsWQYv-bqCCxV6W2depeMtk_DYx7GsAZ0_YDCc4Xvvvu8PBWRUgK9e/s400/bicycle.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="p1"><br />
</div><div class="p1"><br />
</div><div class="p1">Wow, what a hectic week it's been. I'm starting to write this at my seat waiting for the aeroplane to begin taxiing it's way to the runway. In just over twelve hours we will be back at Heathrow after a fascinating, whirlwind five days in Japan. Here are just some of the highlights.</div><div class="p1"><br />
</div><div class="p1">Perhaps my overriding memory will be the amazing politeness, good manners and hospitality of the Japanese. Their culture is much more formal than any I have experienced before, and took a while to get used to but everything is done so cheerfully and with a level of humour that took me by surprise that it was impossible not to fall in love with them. There is a lot that we in the UK could learn from the Japanese about respect, humility and good service. I found the custom of bowing to greet, say thank you or to bid farewell particularly charming, but after meeting so many people in such a short space of time, my neck felt as though it had extended to giraffe proportions.</div><div class="p1"><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div></div><div class="p1">Professor Hideo Nakata organised our schedule in Japan and accompanied us throughout. He has spent much of his academic career fostering cooperation between Universities in different countries. One of his recent collaborations has been to support teacher trainers in Afghanistan to write their own training manual for special educational needs. Hideo loves british detective and spy novels and we spent a lot of time discussing Ian Rankin, Len Deighton and John le Carre amongst others.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>In total we visited five mainstream schools, two special schools and the Board of Education at Tsukuba City Hall and ran a worksop at Tsukuba University. Everywhere we were treated almost like royalty. In addition to the already outstanding Japanese hospitality, we hadn't realised just how much of a big thing it was for them to receive two lecturers from England. They really considered it an honour to have been chosen, and wanted to give us the very best possible impression of their schools. Beautifully presented food and drink awaited wherever we went.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU_3iZSTQ09uwRsEReTaxHfExQ0O3HwKd8MHINnbiuK7OThke2dfSZ4stz5Z9g-5dMLDnlMEYpBYenPF9tKjW_A5Y0QHMoamZ4fnz36kGn7hJwd_cqM6GEPK8Vsaiiwo58T9AOeHFQQZXF/s1600/persimmon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU_3iZSTQ09uwRsEReTaxHfExQ0O3HwKd8MHINnbiuK7OThke2dfSZ4stz5Z9g-5dMLDnlMEYpBYenPF9tKjW_A5Y0QHMoamZ4fnz36kGn7hJwd_cqM6GEPK8Vsaiiwo58T9AOeHFQQZXF/s400/persimmon.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Two types of persimmon, beautifully presented</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
We were subjected to paparazzi levels of photography wherever we went, and soon found ourselves being featured on the schools' websites.<a href="http://midori-kids.weblogs.jp/logs/2011/10/2011%E5%B9%B410%E6%9C%8825%E6%97%A5.html"> Click here</a> to catch us in action. Shoes worn outside are not permitted inside the school buildings, and on arrival we would be presented with a pair of slippers to wear indoors. Again, a lovely custom, but unfortunately even the largest pair I was offered was at least 3 sizes too small causing me to hobble around the schools like a penguin with corns. The children we met were delightful, ever ready with a "konnichiwa" (hello) and a beaming smile. My favourite was the nine year old who with a mischievous grin asked via our translator "How is Prince William doing?"<br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div>At one school, a Kindergarten, the outdoor area was set up to provide a place where the children could play and explore in natural surroundings. This school was towards the north of Japan, and although still some distance away from Fukushima, site of the nuclear reactor disaster, between 30 and 90cm of the topsoil had had to be removed from the outside area due to contamination from radiation. Another reminder of the environmental dangers ever-present in Japan was the slight but clearly felt rumble during one of our interviews with a teacher. Hideo immediately identified it as a tiny earthquake. Sobering.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuMr8rrCNHuRglxCAjxkuVHLN_AyUqaab7bq4wCQ3B-91MLPnCF79Y4oDSS7KIpUUdohA4lbkcqeSn45WxIRJYCrYrOFGQ_gWNkAATPfsPVTP96rGPsgivPiDxKYLD2qt7V-UXCNWIgW_j/s1600/ginza.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuMr8rrCNHuRglxCAjxkuVHLN_AyUqaab7bq4wCQ3B-91MLPnCF79Y4oDSS7KIpUUdohA4lbkcqeSn45WxIRJYCrYrOFGQ_gWNkAATPfsPVTP96rGPsgivPiDxKYLD2qt7V-UXCNWIgW_j/s400/ginza.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Skyscrapers in Ginza</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Although we were fortunate to have such a wonderful introduction to the Japanese people and their culture, there was very little time for sightseeing. We did manage to squeeze in a couple of hours in the Ginza area of central Tokyo en route to a school visit. Ginza is Tokyo's upmarket shopping, eating and entertainment district, and looks spectacular with a very similar feel to midtown Manhattan. I would love to return to see it all lit up at night. It's certain a very cool and buzzy place, and my desire to come back was stoked further by the rather dreamlike experience of watching <a href="http://entertainnow.net/video/photos.php?type=m&id=229">"Lost in Translation"</a> at 2:00am one morning after downloading it in response to my jet lag induced insomnia. There is some absolutely stunning cityscape photography in that film.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRELivMDJ5Sks89fzhnOGsBN9YXcC06jEBJpqkOQA5509JGsrpdahyA6efgXh99jDopaua0c_7xeGUMOakLXUEQyTvs3XfIj7FNK5QcPVb8SqWKhNHzlJErg4uNbiuYehe2zlb1upQvxvJ/s1600/signs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRELivMDJ5Sks89fzhnOGsBN9YXcC06jEBJpqkOQA5509JGsrpdahyA6efgXh99jDopaua0c_7xeGUMOakLXUEQyTvs3XfIj7FNK5QcPVb8SqWKhNHzlJErg4uNbiuYehe2zlb1upQvxvJ/s400/signs.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Street signs in Ginza</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfiZAH5geRyZW6g-EzJEWFCSoi52u4N1kv9KDfL95bL3ttRuZGpPhCFV5N7mrc2yRuleUmAeY5rPK90nA9_AptL0B2yk7vuZWQTWVahwiGjRjdwlJ1-uf2csbiOpxth_He8wsvIIcoZhzt/s1600/shops.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfiZAH5geRyZW6g-EzJEWFCSoi52u4N1kv9KDfL95bL3ttRuZGpPhCFV5N7mrc2yRuleUmAeY5rPK90nA9_AptL0B2yk7vuZWQTWVahwiGjRjdwlJ1-uf2csbiOpxth_He8wsvIIcoZhzt/s400/shops.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">An older part of town.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Tsukuba, on the other hand has the relaxed feel of a University city with plenty of green empty space and many people travelling by bicycle.<br />
<br />
The area around the University guesthouse felt especially peaceful. The guesthouse didn't do breakfast so we would buy ours from a local store and eat it sitting by the small lake on the campus. The temperature, reportedly milder than than usual for the time of year, made this a very pleasant experience in a tranquil setting. We were joined for each of our five mornings by a beautiful stripy spider, whose web remained undisturbed and able to accumulate a growing horde of food as the week progressed.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgmuUESAtBhhWHhPIbEWs_93VgbnecKNiuV5RDp4NL9At1P1ruoEDPY9pP4HrMBPCHpGpV0ivHSk_B-5h7icKQaBFatF9LVOa9xF7LSquoEIWl40qAcm1ietPQ9hGrVNyOpPr4mFpftXHs/s1600/spider.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgmuUESAtBhhWHhPIbEWs_93VgbnecKNiuV5RDp4NL9At1P1ruoEDPY9pP4HrMBPCHpGpV0ivHSk_B-5h7icKQaBFatF9LVOa9xF7LSquoEIWl40qAcm1ietPQ9hGrVNyOpPr4mFpftXHs/s400/spider.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Our stripy breakfast companion</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
</div><div class="p1">We were treated to a wide range of traditional Japanese food during our visit. I was surprised to find how much I enjoyed the raw fish and the tuna was especially exquisite. I was less keen on the horse meat we were served one evening. It would have been rude not to try the raw horse kidney in particular, and although it didn't actually taste too bad it just didn't feel right and I won't be rushing to repeat the experience in the near future. All of the food was freshly prepared and felt healthy. For our Sayonara (farewell) dinner we sat around a low table and were treated to Shabu Shabu, wafer thin slices of beef that are boiled very briefly in a bubbling pot in the middle of the table and served with dipping sources and fresh vegetables, which are also boiled in the pot. Accompanied by copious amounts of beer, sake and another delicious drink distilled from sweet potato (I'm not sure of its name), this meal gave us a wonderful send off, albeit making getting up early for the journey to the airport the following morning far from straightforward.<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM2K4A4mg5oPluwnZNcgzgn11l8fn-lsCQyQdJJ0tNWw_rnWgUzJ8X2LxBA7JC9O46ZhhMKB3pCv0UDmlTNEgiCEn6vAvwBf9jkUpRhNVpp3IS_LksujTjRNAeEivgicDgPJSV_vTlt6pW/s1600/healthy+food.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM2K4A4mg5oPluwnZNcgzgn11l8fn-lsCQyQdJJ0tNWw_rnWgUzJ8X2LxBA7JC9O46ZhhMKB3pCv0UDmlTNEgiCEn6vAvwBf9jkUpRhNVpp3IS_LksujTjRNAeEivgicDgPJSV_vTlt6pW/s400/healthy+food.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Fresh looking accompaniment to our Shabu Shabu</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div class="p1">What a week! I loved what I was able to experience of Japan, and it has left me desperate to return with more time to explore all of the country and Tokyo in particular. For now, though, the really hard work begins - we've got to write up the research.<br />
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(Please note that this is an edited version of my original post)</div></div>Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-65385177166589084712011-10-24T20:56:00.000+01:002011-10-24T20:56:28.153+01:00Happy Birthday Hannah<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">It's exciting being in Japan, but nevertheless I'm feeling a little sad this morning. For the first time since Hannah was born on 25th October 1999, I won't be there to celebrate her birthday with her. Thanks to the wonders of modern technology we should be able to link up by video, whcih will be great but it's just not the same. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPXhxAe4WElTqyH1UOY0Z5nxCPGNF7R2B6sqoGm56JT6NwhwCsQsLMn7gNWpFib_RPS2MVRoNo5XyWicEyr8w9i4beQFg2_43WFWKMnuLQxOfC6m7Bupk9a4GYNqdNAbLEztBVSRQX0Zb6/s1600/Newborn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPXhxAe4WElTqyH1UOY0Z5nxCPGNF7R2B6sqoGm56JT6NwhwCsQsLMn7gNWpFib_RPS2MVRoNo5XyWicEyr8w9i4beQFg2_43WFWKMnuLQxOfC6m7Bupk9a4GYNqdNAbLEztBVSRQX0Zb6/s400/Newborn.jpg" width="302px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">20 minutes old - she hasn't changed much, has she?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I'm sure you'll have a lovely day Hannah, even without your Dad there to share it with you; just make sure you still have some energy left to enjoy it after your sleepover with the girls tonight. You were a gorgeous baby, and you're even more gorgeous now that you're (nearly) 12. Have a fantastic day!<br />
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Loads and loads of love,<br />
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Dad xxx</div>Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-14124602953750811382011-10-23T19:48:00.004+01:002011-10-30T04:19:48.002+00:00七五三<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><br />
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After a long but relaxing 12 hour flight flight, we landed at Tokyo Narita International Airport at 9:15 am (1:15 am UK time) on a muggy Sunday morning. Instead of trying to get some sleep and becoming fidgety and frustrated by failing to do so, I kept myself entertained by reading, watching a movie and partaking of the regular food and drink provided by Virgin Atlantic, some of which was almost edible and the red wine positively zen-like in its effect. At one point, when the cabin was at its darkest, I closed my eyes and may have even nodded off for twenty minutes or so. I would guess that around 70% of the passengers were Japanese, and they seemed to be very quiet and calm travellers resulting in a much more serene on board atmosphere than I have experienced before.<br />
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Minutes after touching down in the Land of the Rising Sun my phone pinged courtesy of <a href="http://charltoncasual.blogspot.com/2011/10/have-really-good-feeling-about-today.html">Charton Casual</a> with the fantastic news that whilst I was airborne, Charlton had beaten Carlisle 4-0 at home. A great result, and in line with what usually happens when I'm unable to make it to the Valley. I always seem to miss the most enjoyable games!<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">We were met at arrivals by our hosts from Tsukuba University, Hideo and Jun, and enjoyed the unexpected bonus en route to Tsukuba of a visit to the <a href="http://www.nrtk.jp/lang/en/sightseeing/01_naritasan.html">Narita Shinshoji Temple</a>. Shinshoji is a branch of Buddhism that came to Japan from China, and this temple was built in 940 AD, later becoming a popular destination for pilgrims. As well as the original temple, the site houses many other pagodas and similar traditional looking Japanese buildings. Following on from the aura on the flight, there was a very serene feel to the place and it felt great to be enjoying such a rich cultural experience little more than an hour after arriving in the country.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw0m6X8r_TVRP7_TG0EMGePr8wMhs6DJf4n9neV3Nsy1353ii917Blry8nLixt_BM4iud7pxM3qyNChIah5sZlj6gEelkXu9ZuqbJ8YECq2aouRSAPV3W_Q_yTQrHsEPoSNfphbVrscAAt/s1600/festival.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw0m6X8r_TVRP7_TG0EMGePr8wMhs6DJf4n9neV3Nsy1353ii917Blry8nLixt_BM4iud7pxM3qyNChIah5sZlj6gEelkXu9ZuqbJ8YECq2aouRSAPV3W_Q_yTQrHsEPoSNfphbVrscAAt/s400/festival.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A 7 year old in festival attire</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Our visit coincided with the <a href="http://hyakkabridal.blogspot.com/2011/04/about-seven-five-three-festiva.html">Seven-five-three festival</a> (七五三), a lovely event that takes part in Japan at this time of year when parents celebrate their children's growth and offer prayers for their continuing health and well-being. Children aged three, five or seven are dress up in beautifully colourful kimonos and jackets. It's a lovely, happy family occasion. Unfortunately my photograph doesn't do justice to the girl's costume, as I had handed the camera over to Hideo on the wrong setting. However, it does give a flavour of the colour of the event, which also has enabled me to learn my first Japanese character, the numeral three: 三.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdYnxD1yx_XCTlq8pKsuUWPLcaeqr0Jn8SeKALwV7iXRCBhcrxV_AZuLPhj1dkhbSj3Ksf2eWrOdQNnOWIhxoyDAjPQh6okbBnPa-wMEJqm0-nr2uj-3CCH8Cx-VOk8aQwepzp1_3qFqCD/s1600/IMG_1764.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400px" rda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdYnxD1yx_XCTlq8pKsuUWPLcaeqr0Jn8SeKALwV7iXRCBhcrxV_AZuLPhj1dkhbSj3Ksf2eWrOdQNnOWIhxoyDAjPQh6okbBnPa-wMEJqm0-nr2uj-3CCH8Cx-VOk8aQwepzp1_3qFqCD/s400/IMG_1764.JPG" width="257px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kieron, Hideo and me!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Whist at Narita, we also had our first experience at sitting on the floor beside a short table to enjoy some fish and seaweed themed food together with some Sake, the clear Japanese alcoholic drink brewed from rice. And when I say seaweed, I'm not talking about the shredded cabbage that goes by the name in Chinese takeaways in the UK. This was the tough and rubbery looking stuff that I remember so well from the Worthing beach of my childhood, and was correspondingly chewy but tasty nevertheless. The Sake was smooth and delicious, but with a relatively high alcohol content of 17% it was probably a good that it was served in small cups, as by now I was starting to wilt a little due to lack of sleep and the muggy weather conditions.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A fishy and rubbery introduction to Japanese food</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">The journey by road to <a href="http://wikitravel.org/en/Tsukuba">Tsukuba</a> passed through flat and green farmland, looking a lot like England in places. Tsukuba is a new city and a real hub for scientific research. It's about a 45 minute journey by express train from Tokyo, and to the north. The city has built up around the University, and with its wide thoroughfares, extensive green spaces and sense of openness, it has the feel of a larger version of Milton Keynes.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
After a late working lunch and a tour around the campus following which Jun headed back home to Tokyo, Kieron and I were ready to collapse into our beds in the spartan but clean University guesthouse. At £25 per night, it's proving very popular with our research projects' purse-holders! Hideo is such a gracious and accommodating host that we felt a little uneasy saying we needed to forsake dinner to get some much needed sleep before our 7:15 am pick up in the morning, having by now been up for over 30 hours.<br />
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After about five hours of very heavy slumber, my confused body clock caterpulted me into full awakeness at about 1:30 am local time (6:30 pm UK time). Unable to return to the land of nod, I've used the time profitably to write this post, but now I'm starting to feel very tired again, so hopefully I'll manage another couple of hours sleep before the alarm bursts into life.</div><br />
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OK, so the rather dubious lyrics of this 1980 song from Guildford based band, the Vapors, may have very little to do with Japan and Japanese people, but as soon as I knew about my imminent trip to Japan, I felt duty bound to add it to my "running" playlist in on my ipod shuffle.<br />
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My flight to Japan leaves Heathrow at 1:45pm today, and so with the Great South Run in Portsmouth just over a week away I had to bring my weekend training run forward from its normal Sunday slot to 6:00 am this morning. I always have my ipod in shuffle mode, so that the tracks play in a random order, and my "running" playlist includes over two hundred songs, so I was absolutely amazed when I stepped out of the front door into the darkness to be greeted by the opening chords of "Turning Japanese". To say I belted it out as I headed out towards the bypass doesn't do justice to the gusto with which I joined in the singing.<br />
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Anyway, 8 miles, a refreshing shower, and the completion of packing later, I'm shortly going to be heading to the airport. Juliet and Hannah are coming to see me off, and we are picking up my work colleague, Kieron, on the way.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH7QwdajVwvMcu1do54sK_1E5ful4ATKhTe7GYjCYcFeHhnEAQMzdKEOlg9UALeRlXDgvTdXU2xlhaAeQrUpniWwS-X4m7mzDIJ_dPNczy4lvwVoC7jnGwxFoVIhig14SXtSMEt1MmgyyS/s1600/photo+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH7QwdajVwvMcu1do54sK_1E5ful4ATKhTe7GYjCYcFeHhnEAQMzdKEOlg9UALeRlXDgvTdXU2xlhaAeQrUpniWwS-X4m7mzDIJ_dPNczy4lvwVoC7jnGwxFoVIhig14SXtSMEt1MmgyyS/s320/photo+3.jpg" width="228px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Essential reading for the journey</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The purpose of the visit is to carry out research into special educational needs provision in Japan as part of a larger research project. It's the first time I've been involved in anything like this, so as well as being very excited about the opportunity to experience a culture that is very different to anything I have experienced before, I'm quite nervous about the work side of it. However, Kieron has a lot of experience in this kind of work, so I'm sure I will learn a lot and everything will go fine.<br />
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Well, that's going to have to be it for now. Kieron's just called to say that he's arrived at St Albans Station earlier than expected. So I'm off. Stand by for hopefully a number of updates during the coming week, wifi availability permitting.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 24px;">さようなら </span><br />
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<h3 class="r" style="display: block; font-size: medium; margin: 0px; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-overflow: ellipsis; white-space: nowrap;"><nobr>(Sayōnara)</nobr></h3></div>Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-44113049987782933372011-10-09T21:26:00.173+01:002011-10-09T22:12:16.901+01:00To My Herts Content<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">This morning I took part in my final 10k of Project Five O, the Herts 10k. After a very encouraging time of 1:04:26 at Newham back in March, my subsequent three 10k attempts have plateaued out around the much slower 1:09 mark, and even with an increase of intensity in my training in the two weeks since the Windsor half marathon, I was not expecting today to get anywhere near my sub one hour 10k PB from 2005. Instead my hope was simply for an encouraging performance as I start to build up in earnest for the year's piece de resistance, the Florence Marathon at the end of November.<br />
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The Herts 10k starts and finishes in Harpenden, and leaving Juliet and Hannah behind in the agreeable surroundings of Caffe Nero, I walked the half mile or so to the start on what was a mild October morning following some heavy overnight rain. A trainer from Nuffield Health and Fitness led an excellent warm up that got me feeling in fine fettle for the start, even though the complete lack of coordination in my attempts at some of the aerobics style exercises could come back to haunt me if they survive the cutting room for the video that was being made about the event. The camera seemed to be pointing at me for an awfully long time.<br />
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The first (and last) km of the race was through a damp and heavy grassy field, which was easy on the knees but very hard work for the muscles. The rest of the route passed along bridle paths and narrow country lanes, except for a short meander past some very desirable Harpenden houses, for which you'd be lucky to get much change out of a couple of million. There was one moderately challenging hill around the 4km mark, but otherwise the course was not too taxing except for the opening and closing sections.<br />
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I ran smoothly and comfortably through most of the race, only beginning to struggle a little between 8 and 9km. My legs seemed to have settled on a steady pace, and whenever I tried to speed up they would not respond. It was almost as if they were saying "look make, you're not exactly Mo Farah and what's more, you're 50 now so be realistic, we can cope at this speed without too much difficulty, but don't push your luck!"<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeling good as I approach the finish line.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>And so it unfolded. I was finally able to pick up my speed for a pleasingly strong finish cheered on by Juliet and Hannah, who had by now emerged from Caffe Nero, donned their wellies and made their way to the finishing straight. My time was 1:08:38, my second best of the year, although it somehow felt quicker than this. As such I do feel it was an encouraging step along the way to Florence. However, following Windsor that's now two distances I won't achieve a PB for during Project PB. That's a disappointment on one level but when I consider that all 5 of my 10k times this year have been faster than any I recorded during the preceding three years, that makes my efforts feel more than worthwhile. I'm fitter at 50 than I was at 49, and therefore there's no reason I can't be fitter still when I'm 51. On top of which I have thoroughly enjoyed having a go at all of the races so far. <div><br />
</div><div>Bring on the final three!<br />
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</div></div>Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-58550627971645852262011-09-30T09:14:00.000+01:002011-09-30T09:27:52.996+01:00Longest Mile - The Movie<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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This is just a very quick postscript to <a href="http://martin-project50.blogspot.com/2011/09/longest-mile.html">my account of the last weekend's Windsor Half Marathon</a> in the form of two very short video clips. In the first clip you can see me labouring up the Long Mile at the start of the race. I'm number 1538, and appear after a couple of seconds to the left of the picture. I'm sporting a navy blue top with orange stripes on the arms and wearing a red, white and blue headband. Click on the play button to watch the clip.</div>
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I'm easier to spot in the second clip, which shows me trudging exhausted towards the finishing line.<br />
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Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-72393926905429277442011-09-28T21:45:00.000+01:002011-09-30T09:37:46.120+01:00MK Don @ MK Dons<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I realised the other day that I'm an MK Don! Don't worry, I haven't suddenly and inexplicably switched my footballing allegiance to a club that didn't even exist eight years ago, and only came to be following the highly dubious process of taking over Wimbledon Football Club and relocating from South London to Milton Keynes in Buckinghamshire. No, what I'm saying is that I'm a don as in the university lecturer definition of the word, and working for the Open University, I'm based in Milton Keynes. So that makes me an MK Don in a non-football sense.<br />
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Milton Keynes is an strange place. The pretty village of Milton Keynes dates back to the 11th century, but the much larger town that has been built around it started life as one of the post-war new towns in 1967. It's famous for, amongst other things, the grid system of its roads, its numerous roundabouts and of course its <a href="http://www.netcomuk.co.uk/~mdownes/concows.jpg">concrete cows</a>. I've only been into the town centre on a few occasions, and have found it a grey and characterless place. Milton Keynes' outer areas, though, are green, pleasant and extremely pedestrian and bicycle friendly, with fields, lakes, canals and a wide variety of leisure facilities.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">University Roundabout, Milton Keynes</td></tr>
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The Open University, often referred to simply as the OU, is based in the parish of Walton to the south of central Milton Keynes. Walton Hall, the old manor house, is now a part of the university campus and is used as office space, including the Vice-Chancellor's office.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walton Hall</td></tr>
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The large campus is similar in look to many of the newer universities in the UK, but as the OU specialises in distance learning approaches, the only students on campus are the 200 or so postgraduate research students. The OU was started in 1970 by Harold Wilson's Labour Government, and has gone from strength to strength ever since, although the current changes to the funding of higher education in England are going to present the University with some real challenges over the next few years. Much of the campus has the feel of the 1970s, although in recent years it has been enhanced by a number of more contemporary and innovative buildings.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jenny Lee Building</td></tr>
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Each building is named after somebody important in the history of the OU. I'm based in Stuart Hall Building, which makes me chuckle every time I enter. After swiping my security card to open the automatic doors, I have visions of a Belgian dressed in an over-sized animal suit attached to a length of strong elastic hurtling down the stairs to the accompaniment of wheezy and infectious laughter or half expect to hear those dulcet Mancunian tones pronouncing "And here we are at the Coliseum for a match of titanic proportions ..." Sadly, though, the the building is named after Stuart Hall, the eminent cultural theorist and not the loquacious broadcaster. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stuart Hall Building</td></tr>
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My footballing namesakes, the MK Dons, play at Stadium mk on the outskirts of town towards Bletchley surrounded by light industrial and retail estates. Charlton were the visitors yesterday for a 7:45pm kick off, which provided me with the rare opportunity of attending a midweek away game. Not much to look at from the outside, inside Stadium mk is a spacious and comfortable place to watch football. The concourses are wide and airy, the seats padded with plenty of leg room and excellent sight lines to the pitch. As yet no seats have been installed in the upper tier, exposing yet more unattractive concrete. Stadium mk was chosen as a venue for the 2018 World Cup, and the plan was to put the rest of the seats in by then, but of course the English Football Association were not prepared to pay the necessary backhanders to FIFA officials, and consequently failed to be awarded the tournament. Therefore when or indeed whether the stadium will be finished off is anyone's guess. Even with the current capacity of 22,000, the MK Dons struggle to fill even one third of the ground with their own fans, so unless the opposition are a team like Charlton who were backed about a thousand noisy supporters last night, the ground must feel very empty and lacking in atmosphere.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside Stadium MK. It wasn't much fuller after kick off.</td></tr>
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Charlton approached the game as league leaders and unbeaten in their first nine games of the season. MK Dons were only a few points behind, however, and were easily the better team in the first half playing some lively, attractive football. MK went ahead in the 21st minute thanks to a penalty awarded for a rash challenge by Chris Solly on Dean Lewington. I was sitting behind the goal not far from the incident, and at the time I was convinced that there was little wrong with Solly's challenge and that the award of a penalty was harsh in the extreme. I must have been at just the wrong angle, because having seen the television replay there can be absolutely no doubt that the ref was correct.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A scramble in the box as Charlton press for an equaliser.</td></tr>
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After the break, Charlton were much improved and the game developed into an exciting end to end affair. An equaliser seemed to be coming, but almost as likely was that Mk would equalise at the other end. On 75 minutes a superb spin by substitute Danny Green left his marker for dead and provided the time and space for the Charlton winger to whip in an inch perfect cross for another substitute, Yann Kermorgant, to latch onto with a powerful header that found its way into the net via the post and the motionless goalkeeper's leg. The travelling fans, myself included, erupted with joy. Further chances were spurned at either end before the final whistle, a draw probably the right result. Two good teams had produced an entertaining game, with fans of both seeming in very good heart as they started to make their way home.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Charlton players thank the fans for their support.</td></tr>
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A day in Milton Keynes that had combined business with pleasure was nearly at an end. Forty minutes later I was back home in St Albans after smoothly negotiating a succession of roundabouts and the relatively uncongested M1. </div>
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Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-49315156223670410392011-09-26T22:51:00.000+01:002011-09-27T13:27:19.847+01:00The Longest Mile<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My intention was to write this blog entry last night. Unfortunately I felt so shattered after my exertions during the afternoon that after a hearty dinner and a long soak in the bath I went straight to bed. So here I am one day later, surprisingly free of aches and pains, beginning my report on the Windsor Half Marathon.<br />
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I'll start by saying straight out that it didn't go to plan. Nowhere near in fact. The weather let me down. My legs let me down. The lack of flatness in Windsor Great Park let me down. But it was fantastic nevertheless. Doesn't make sense? Let me explain.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading towards the Copper Horse statue of King George III along the Long Walk at the start</td></tr>
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After a few weeks of distinctly chilly autumnal weather, summer decided to return for this, my final half marathon of the year and with a 1:00 pm start, much later in the day than is usual for such events, I found myself sweating even as I stood amongst the massed ranks waiting to start. This was not encouraging, especially with the first mile of the course comprising of a steady incline along Windsor Park's majestic '<a href="http://www.thamesweb.co.uk/windsor/greatpark/longwalk.html">Long Walk</a>'. </div>
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'Learn from previous mistakes' I told myself, 'Take it really slowly to start with; don't use up all of your energy early on'. And take it slowly I did, expecting the terrain to level out once the 'Long Walk' had been negotiated. However it turned out that the second mile was mostly uphill as well, and in fact the whole course was surprisingly undulating, the only exception being a mile long level section approaching the impressive <a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c8/Guards_Polo_Club_-_geograph.org.uk_-_1802884.jpg">Guards Polo Club</a>, along which seemingly out of nowhere a fierce headwind made forward momentum nigh on impossible.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As if running 13.1 miles on a hot afternoon wasn't hard enough!</td></tr>
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After three miles I was really struggling. My legs felt like lead, screaming their dislike of the heat and hills combination with every laboured energy sapping stride. What goes up must go down, however, but whilst the downhill sections were very welcome to start with, negotiating them soon began to pull painfully on different muscles and place an increasing strain on my knees. The whole experience felt brutal. Progressing so slowly, I felt for a while that I would never make it to the finishing line. The stretch between 6 and 9 miles seemed particularly endless. Only a week before I had completed a 10 mile training run trouble free and fleet of foot, and I found myself wondering how it was possible for my body to feel so different from one long Sunday run to the next.</div>
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The scenery, though, was fantastic. Windsor Great Park is vast and especially beautiful at this time of year as the leaves begin to turn into the browns, reds and oranges of autumn. The tied houses of the Royal Estate workers were fascinating, some of them pretty chocolate box cottages, others not insubstantial country piles in their own right. The park even has its own pub and <a href="http://www.berkshirehistory.com/villages/village.html">Village Store</a>. The route was very well marshalled by cheerful and encouraging military types, who were assiduous in clearing up discarded water bottles almost before they had landed on the ground. Strict orders from their boss in the castle, no doubt. The Royal love of horses was there for all to see, not only in the strategically placed statues of Kings and Queens on horseback, but also in the pungent lumps of manure that necessitated the occasional swerve as I progressed along the estate roads.</div>
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Struggling almost from the outset, I found myself nearer to the back of the field than I've been in other events this year. Amongst such company a pattern emerges, as floundering athletes summon up the energy for a burst of overtaking before fading again and being overtaken back by the runners overtaken shortly before. It's a recurring cycle and soon you start to recognise and feel an affinity with your fellow strugglers, get chatting and encourage each other along. It's very uplifting and enjoyable, and something those serious runners towards the front lose out on in my opinion. Particularly worthy of a mention yesterday was runner number 397, name unknown but affectionately dubbed by me as 'Bird Man'. He was probably a few years older than me and his running style looked even worse than mine felt, but every time I caught up with him he would point out something of interest overhead. 'Look, there's a flock of parakeets over there!' or 'Did you see that Hawk just now? I think it was a red tailed one.' Fantastic! In the end, I managed to pull clear and finished a couple of minutes ahead of him, but I bumped into him again after collecting my bag and shook his hand.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">The finish, and beyond that, Windsor Castle.</td></tr>
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The final mile, back along the Long Walk was torturous even though it was downhill. Every inch of my legs was hurting by now, and although the finish was in sight all the way, a cruel optical illusion meant that for a long time it didn't seem to be getting any nearer as I pounded towards it. With Windsor Castle in the background, though, this was a majestic and inspirational end to the race and I overtook a lot of runners as I approached the finish, only being overtaken once, by a young couple at least twenty years my junior. Once over the line, I felt strangely elated. The race had been tough, really tough but I'd made it in one piece and the visual magnificence of that final mile had somehow raised the experience to another level.<br />
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My time wasn't good by any stretch of the imagination. It was by some measure the slowest of my three half marathons this year. It meant that Project 50 would not be graced by a PB for this distance. On the bright side, though, it was comfortably faster than both of the half marathons I ran last year, in itself a pleasing and worthwhile outcome. It also made me realise just how well I'd done to achieve my PB (over 30 minutes faster) five years ago at the age of 45 having started running only two years before that. Everything's relative. I'm beginning to think that without some kind of bionic implant I probably won't get close to that particular time again, but that's not going to stop me from continuing to lace up my running shoes and enjoy the incredible high and the sense of well being that comes from a really good run, irrespective of the time. And as yesterday proved, even a bad day on the road can end up as a positive experience if you just stick at it.</div>
Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-76948900966276794012011-09-07T18:49:00.000+01:002011-09-07T19:20:15.076+01:00First day of Term<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It was back to school today for Hannah. But this wasn't just any old first day of term, it was her first day at secondary school so something of a big deal. Well, a big deal for Juliet and me, as Hannah seemed to take it very much in her stride telling us to stop fussing about and getting all emotional. It's hard not to, though, when you feel so proud of your daughter and she looks so grown up and smart in her new uniform.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All set for the first day at Secondary School</td></tr>
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It doesn't really seem so long ago that Hannah was about to embark on her first day in Reception. Was it really seven years ago?<div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reception Class at St Marks awaits</td></tr>
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So, a new chapter begins. No more dropping off and picking up from school for me now. Hannah will be walking to and from school with her friends from now on. It feels like an independence day of sorts. I hope that Hannah enjoys her new school as much as she has enjoyed her two primary schools. With her natural enthusiasm, I'm sure she will make the most of all the opportunities that will come her way. <br /><div>
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Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-82806217758291750072011-09-04T15:40:00.000+01:002011-09-06T19:37:22.312+01:00Back of the Kew<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
September has arrived and the last few days have felt decidedly autumnal. The summer, if you can call it that, has absolutely flown by and today brought the first of my busy programme of running events scheduled for the final four months of Project Five O. I'd originally planned today's race, the Richmond River Run, as my final attempt at a 10k but coming too soon into my post-holiday training to offer any chance of a decent time, I decided to treat it as a more glamorous training run and have entered into another 10k race for the beginning of October.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOJ8B-P9oe-TLu73nutoeFPwtZStNO_eX5JQ_y83GrGhdYJ_pEaJMlGhiSvX-tQnQSUcylfTmC2hn5Ufr3Ua-2tjylskiJ4FzN8QgtCMaqFTWYhUyXfbMaCa0YetStkA_oNWkykvT4u-qn/s1600/IMG_1573.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOJ8B-P9oe-TLu73nutoeFPwtZStNO_eX5JQ_y83GrGhdYJ_pEaJMlGhiSvX-tQnQSUcylfTmC2hn5Ufr3Ua-2tjylskiJ4FzN8QgtCMaqFTWYhUyXfbMaCa0YetStkA_oNWkykvT4u-qn/s400/IMG_1573.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A canoe gliding sedately by</td></tr>
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About 500 runners set out at 9:00 am from Kew Green right outside the entrance to the world famous Botanical Gardens, and I positioned myself towards the back of the field. This turned out to be a tactical error as after 800 metres it was necessary to climb 8 narrow steps onto the tow path, and by the time I reached them a considerable queue (or should that be Kew?) had built up causing a delay of well over a minute and I experienced a sense of deja vu having spent most of last Friday afternoon stationary on the M25. If I'd been in with a realistic chance of achieving a PB today, this hold up would have dashed my hopes straight away. In the event, it was no more than a minor annoyance.</div>
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For the first 4 kilometres I maintained a steady if unspectacular pace, but started to slow slightly as the route turned for home at the half way stage after passing under Twickenham Bridge and a brief incursion into Richmond's Old Deer Park. Aptly named I thought at the time, not feeling at my most sprightly by this stage.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5j14VLRmBVxIq2aO8FdlwnMkzWhIpghxmsychckjW7qB5pnjJ7h_Ac_CEtN7QW2gImqkiJNGMlzfypd0-vuoutfIm6_Qon3ucWIgDxzzyQdnE8hSAwUlRLGB3ZeYqLDWoSvLDDQhR9JxF/s1600/IMG_1578.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5j14VLRmBVxIq2aO8FdlwnMkzWhIpghxmsychckjW7qB5pnjJ7h_Ac_CEtN7QW2gImqkiJNGMlzfypd0-vuoutfIm6_Qon3ucWIgDxzzyQdnE8hSAwUlRLGB3ZeYqLDWoSvLDDQhR9JxF/s400/IMG_1578.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camera shake on the move at the 8k mark</td></tr>
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This section of the Thames is very pretty and extremely popular with joggers, walkers and cyclists even relatively early on a Sunday morning. This did necessitate a bit of dodging and weaving at times, and the tow path itself was a little uneven in places, interrupting my rhythm, but I thoroughly enjoyed the surrounding, which stirred great memories of when I walked the entire length of the river back in 1997. Not in one go I hasten to add, it took me 10 days, which amazingly is 2 days longer than the comedian <a href="http://www.sportrelief.com/whats-on/the-bt-sport-relief-challenges-walliams-vs-the-thames">David Walliams</a> is hoping to swim it this week to raise money for Sports Relief. Now that's impressive.<br />
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Kew is directly under the Heathrow flightpath and I lost count of the number of aeroplanes passing overhead. It can't be much fun for the local residents, but there's something very exciting about being so close to aeroplanes just after they've taken off, wondering where they're off to and thinking about journeys you've been on in the past and ones to come. In my case, I found myself starting to get very excited about my work trip to Japan next month. And all the while I kept plodding on towards the finish, nearly grinding to a halt between 8 and 9k, before surprising myself with a very dynamic sprint finish. Before I knew it, it was time to receive my medal from the Mayor of Richmond.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj36fyU28yjLj57uD9f4wnn1-Jtqfk5ODNjc1OCwn3PntPX7v5FNoJO5zEQwVbS_15yAH8eFQ-8K4l2WYLua-VGeXjh6IpIIYIwQzXYXZriMcKHHwXhfTQGAAK31sY9mU8hcr_T5eStMiLZ/s1600/IMG_1580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj36fyU28yjLj57uD9f4wnn1-Jtqfk5ODNjc1OCwn3PntPX7v5FNoJO5zEQwVbS_15yAH8eFQ-8K4l2WYLua-VGeXjh6IpIIYIwQzXYXZriMcKHHwXhfTQGAAK31sY9mU8hcr_T5eStMiLZ/s400/IMG_1580.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Mayor of Richmond waiting to place a medal around my neck.</td></tr>
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My time was slow as I had expected, 1:09:18, but I was encouraged by the thought that, but for the queue at the steps, it would have been my second fastest 10k time of the year, although still a long way short of my PB for 10k. Realistically I'm coming to the view that my I may never be able to regain sufficient speed in my legs to achieve my times of 5 years ago for the shorter distances (if you can call 10k, 6.25 miles short) and my best chance of achieving a PB may well be in the Florence Marathon in November. Nevertheless, I'm going to give this particular distance one last go for Project Five O in the Hertfordshire 10k on 9th October.</div>
Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-65974627317886061982011-08-19T20:41:00.423+01:002011-08-26T11:17:58.850+01:00Camping it up!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In my younger days I went camping on many occasions, and really enjoyed the outdoor experience. However, with Juliet consistently showing zero enthusiasm for holidaying under canvas, until last summer the most recent nights I spent under campus were back in 1997 when I walked along the Thames Path from its source at Kemble in Gloucestershire to the Thames Barrier at Woolwich.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Last year, however, I finally found myself a campsite companion when Hannah announced that she wanted to go camping during the summer holidays. So, with a new tent and various other bits of equipment packed into the back of the car we set off to Norfolk, where after we'd set up camp in fine sunny conditions, it started to rain and didn't stop for the entire four days of our stay. Fortunately the novelty of being under canvas kept Hannah's spirits up and didn't dampen her enthusiasm for another attempt this year.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Juliet's sister, Rachel and her family have been living in Jersey for a year. Against all expectations when we started to think about planning a visit for this summer, Juliet announced that she was willing to give camping a try. After all, she reasoned, if things got too grim in the tent, there would always be Rachel's sofa to sleep on if an emergency room couldn't be found in a hotel. In the event, Juliet seemed to even quite enjoy the outdoor experience, although possibly not enough to want to repeat it in a hurry.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1sAusLfooJhBCpGb12JWucLLhoN_A_zBiP4EsMlv7ZF7KrB65y9cKihKB1wl1VMN4CjOB7HEiHToFkElceK-9cfF74O2ijBpEAUNuqSVEgOZiaC4wSMVt34gtHrUd_iv7U_vs1gzsIn0K/s1600/Rozel+campsite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1sAusLfooJhBCpGb12JWucLLhoN_A_zBiP4EsMlv7ZF7KrB65y9cKihKB1wl1VMN4CjOB7HEiHToFkElceK-9cfF74O2ijBpEAUNuqSVEgOZiaC4wSMVt34gtHrUd_iv7U_vs1gzsIn0K/s400/Rozel+campsite.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Our tent is to the left next to the caravan.</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The weather was mostly fair during our stay, and the campsite at Rozel was picturesque and well kept with very clean facilities in the shower and toilet block, which even included a hairdryer no less. I think perhaps the only real negative, and it's the one thing about camping that I really struggle with myself, was the inconvenience of getting up in the night to answer a call of nature. Or in my case, calls of nature, my bladder sadly nowhere near as efficient as it was in my younger camping days. It's a right old pallaver, and even more so in rain as heavy as we expeienced on our final night, even though as a male I have the advantage of being able to use mother nature's own urinal, also known as the grass a few steps outside the tent.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr20AxU1scwmdABAituL3AA8LdfsmDxKiQKIyKD7-yq09tAnyYWqnbMjsk2v0NxA4t8VLF0DsOF4nIq1j2cbd0r_Eyt3b-jaJFukyEqOS6YffxH70Gi7QtjCku5wGRw4aw0QJRgP2_QMy3/s1600/Rozel+Harbour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr20AxU1scwmdABAituL3AA8LdfsmDxKiQKIyKD7-yq09tAnyYWqnbMjsk2v0NxA4t8VLF0DsOF4nIq1j2cbd0r_Eyt3b-jaJFukyEqOS6YffxH70Gi7QtjCku5wGRw4aw0QJRgP2_QMy3/s400/Rozel+Harbour.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The picturesque harbour at Rozel Bay, about a mile from the campsite</td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We had a lovely relaxing time throughout our stay in Jersey. My young niece and nephew, Katie and Josh loved spending time with their older cousin and vice versa. An unexpected and massive bonus for us were the front row tickets that Rachel had bought us for the famous "Battle of the Flowers" parade, which has been an annual highlight of summer in St Helier since 1902. It was by some distance the most colourful, creative and enjoyable carnival style event that I have ever attended and we all left the seafront buzzing with excitement.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijo_B3H9VxUceaFfZOduH-O0ucKkuAjZQf3oasiYorG0OocUztPdTsp7oJSHfsjm4a-f04z3S_fdMRRxny5XWIHk7aBh1TxmlLkfJ8vedNwIvR-W2lJ7uqNfxpggfdsTiiKxYdEAOEpPtP/s1600/Peace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijo_B3H9VxUceaFfZOduH-O0ucKkuAjZQf3oasiYorG0OocUztPdTsp7oJSHfsjm4a-f04z3S_fdMRRxny5XWIHk7aBh1TxmlLkfJ8vedNwIvR-W2lJ7uqNfxpggfdsTiiKxYdEAOEpPtP/s400/Peace.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A throwback to the 1960s during the "Battle of the Flowers"</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This was my third visit to Jersey, having spent a week there in the early 1980s with my brother Simon and a weekend in 1987 on an inter-bank sporting visit when I was working in the City. The Sunshine Hotel, where Simon and I stayed, no longer exists having been pulled down to make way for a residential development. Not surprising really I suppose, as it was already pretty dated when we stayed nearly 30 years ago but I was nevertheless disappointed not be be able to spot it as we emerged from tunnel that passes under the Fort at St Helier. There was an element of hi de hi about the hotel with its chalet style rooms and organised evening entertainments. Dining room places were allocated in advance and non-negotiable. We were placed next to a couple of lairy OAP eastenders, Bill and Lil. Lil was especially loud and Bill had a fondness for string vests and pants that extended to putting more of them on public display than was strictly necessary, but they were a game old couple who meant well and enjoyed a laugh. For the whole week we managed to keep up the pretence with Bill and Lil that I was a dustman and Simon was unemployed and that I'd paid for him to come on holiday to cheer him up. They kept repeating how kind this was of me (e.g. "Ahhh, ain't that lovely Bill?), and were also unnaturally interested in what my job as a binman involved. By the end of the week I'd described so many of the unusual objects we came across in people's bins that I almost believed I really was Bromley's answer to Curly Watts.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Another noteworthy couple on that holiday were Mr and Mrs Buckle, whose chalet was next to ours. The Buckles, who seemed to disappear back to their room immediately after dinner every night, told us nearly every morning that we had woken them up on returning to our room in the middle of the night. We felt that this was unfair as after their first complaint we were careful to slip back quietly each night and concluded that either Mr and Mrs B were very light sleepers or just habitually miserable. Either way their moaning grew increasingly irritating and eventually prompted us to exact a measure of revenge on our last day. As we left our chalet for the last time we noticed that the Buckles had left their key in the door on the outside. We quietly approached the door, removed the key and buried it in a flower bed. Twenty minutes later as we waited in reception for the coach to take us back to the airport, an announcement was made over the tannoy,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Would Mr and Mrs Buckle please return their room key to reception"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"You had it last," said Mrs Buckle to her husband "where did you put it?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"We must have used it to get into the room when we returned from the shops this morning" replied Mr Buckle, "Are you sure you haven't picked it up since then?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"No, it must be in your trouser pocket" answered his wife "Oh but you've changed into your going home trousers since then. It must be in your suitcase"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">At which point Mr Buckle started to empty his case onto the floor just as the coach arrived. Ten minutes later the Buckles, very flustered and arguing with each other, were the last people to board the coach. Of course, as a responsible 50 year old I would never do anything like that now, but I do allow myself a little chuckle every time I remember this episode.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Anyway, enough for now of anecdotes from my youth and back to August 2011. After a brief interlude in Cornwall (see <a href="http://martin-project50.blogspot.com/2011/08/doin-it-dreckly.html">Doin' it Dreckly</a>), Hannah and I dropped Juliet off at Newquay Airport for her flight to Gatwick and subsequent return to work, and headed back towards Weymouth to spend a further three days under canvas at Haven's Littlesea holiday park.</div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our idyllic pitch at Littlesea next to the Wildlife Reserve<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The park, which is enormous, consists mainly of very well equipped static caravans. The camping area, positioned next to a beautiful wildlife reserve, is very well kept with washing facilities even more pristine than those at Rozel, and campers have the same access to all of the central facilities at the park as guests staying in the permanent accommodation. However, once we had put up the tent in sunny but blustery conditions, somehow our enthusiasm for camping seemed to have evaporated. Our hearts were no longer in it. I'm not exactly sure why. Perhaps, unless you are a die-hard camper or a member of the SAS, living under canvas is fine up to a point but that after a certain number of days, five in our case, a tipping point is reached at which the lure of your own bed and the attraction of a short dry journey to the lavatory seizes control and starts to override everything else. At 4:00 am on our second night we were woken by the rain hammering down on the tent even more fiercely than we had experienced in Norfolk last year. It was still coming down just as hard when we eventually dared to brave the outside world 6 hours later and heard from fellow campers that so heavy was the deluge, large parts of Bournemouth and Poole, a few miles along the coast, were completely under water. Fortunately the camping area, although sodden, was relatively high up and so not in danger of being flooded, but by now our minds were made up. If there was a break in the rain, we would pack up the tent and return home one day early. This just wasn't much fun any more.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And luckily, that's exactly what happened. The rain relented for an hour or so, just long enough for us to break camp and set off for home just as the heavens opened again. At home the following day, prolonged sunshine and a keen breeze enabled me to put up the tent in the back garden and allow it to dry out and be be packed away neatly ready for next year. By then, of course, my enthusiasm for camping will have returned. However, I'll definitely be taking my tipping point theory into account in the planning process. Four days max!</div></div>Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-66654509154170781152011-08-15T20:03:00.257+01:002011-08-21T13:58:47.551+01:00Doin' it Dreckly<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgQxVrCypWG7kC3x3mNldgQKaCUPsdnKsu2IPqU3Dpj3Cn1kQ9MSXnX4O4v_1ztwQhIPvsyKVob3-I8CpWeLZFCO4xMOESfE5xGfZkVPMBEe6zdzkakwe7IDXMeP9xFkj2WTFQ29NRW2GJ/s1600/headluv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgQxVrCypWG7kC3x3mNldgQKaCUPsdnKsu2IPqU3Dpj3Cn1kQ9MSXnX4O4v_1ztwQhIPvsyKVob3-I8CpWeLZFCO4xMOESfE5xGfZkVPMBEe6zdzkakwe7IDXMeP9xFkj2WTFQ29NRW2GJ/s400/headluv.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hedluv and Passman in full swing</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
If you have read my previous entry, I'm sure you will be pleased to learn that with the assistance of travel sickness tablets and a much more benign sea, our return to the mainland from Jersey was far less traumatic than our outward crossing five days earlier. I'm going to reflect on our time in Jersey and the camping experience as a whole when Hannah and I return from phase 3 of our trip that is just about to begin. This entry will cover the short second leg of our West Country jaunt, our two days in Cornwall.<br />
<br />
The reason for our visit was to attend the 80th birthday party of Rose, my artist aunt, who I wrote about back in January in my first <a href="http://martin-project50.blogspot.com/2011/01/holidays-of-lifetime.html">Holidays of a Lifetime</a> post.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG8s1UOhw501dI76vdDpbvUGDgs_3U6CqQ6_7-i2N7506xxYJtDFi2TQKDQqXiL0tCy0aFwMuYmxTTg5wgEAANcFNF-A5mC9RH72GoDjLRCuAYbvr5r6nMMXS7wFVPGYZ_H41IU1504C__/s1600/rose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG8s1UOhw501dI76vdDpbvUGDgs_3U6CqQ6_7-i2N7506xxYJtDFi2TQKDQqXiL0tCy0aFwMuYmxTTg5wgEAANcFNF-A5mC9RH72GoDjLRCuAYbvr5r6nMMXS7wFVPGYZ_H41IU1504C__/s400/rose.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rose enjoying the Cornish rapping</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Rose is a lovely, exuberant and very talented person and the warmth felt towards her by every one of the 100 guests who made their way from far and wide to the marquee set up in her garden in Botallack was clear for all to see. The sun duly shone throughout the afternoon and early evening and everyone present seemed to be having a fabulous time. Much alcohol was consumed, more by some than by others. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, but rather than describe everything about the party I'm going to write about two aspects in particular.<br />
<br />
The first concerns an Anglo-French diplomatic incident in the food serving area that I observed as I queued to fill my plate from the buffet. Chefs are well known for being temperamental and French chefs perhaps especially so. On this occasion the beautifully prepared salmon was taking an eternity to be served to the queuing guests by the Gallic gastronome and Bo, Rose's son and my cousin, understandably wanted to hurry things along and so started to divide up some of the remaining fish into individual portions. Hands on hips the chef downed his tools and stared scarily at Bo, who carried on cutting.<br />
<br />
"Look at me" thundered the chef "Can't you see how angry I am?"<br />
<br />
"I'm only trying to help," countered Bo, "the queue is moving too slowly."<br />
<br />
"Do you understand why I'm angry?" continued the chef "Nobody interferes with my food."<br />
<br />
"I'm Rose's son and you need to speed up" Bo replied, unfortunately without producing the desired effect.<br />
<br />
"I don't care if you're the son of God", the chef interjected, "you don't touch my food!"<br />
<br />
At which point Bo, having completed cutting all of the salmon, made a closing remark [censored] and stormed off. Avoiding the gaze of Mr Angry, I quickly collected my food and moved away. No blood was shed but there was a definite hint of menace in the air.<br />
<br />
My other abiding memory will be the cabaret. Now, when you read on the invitation for an 80th birthday party that the afternoon's events will include cabaret, the kind of thing that comes to mind is perhaps a mature singer belting out covers of hits from the fifties and sixties. Or perhaps a scaled down version of the Glenn Miller Band. On the other hand, a pair of twenty something rappers probably wouldn't feature too highly in most peoples' expectations. But that is exactly what we got, and what's more they were absolutely astonishing and went down a treat. Rose had been to a H<a href="http://pastiesandcream.com/2010/07/14/doin-it-dreckly-yeah-were-doin-it/">edluv and Passman</a> gig a couple of months ago, been bowled over by them, and - ever with a penchant for the unconventional - decided to book them for for her big day.<br />
<br />
Their style was actually a mixture of singing, rapping and interesting microphone effects as they delivered their ironic and very funny slant of life in Cornwall and various other humorous topics. The lyrics were very clever and often accompanied by vigorous dancing and thrusting that added to the spectacle. Surreal in the extreme at times, their act had me crying with laughter more than once. Their signature number, 'Doin' it Dreckly' has a very catchy hook that is still going around in my head as I finish writing this entry nearly a week later, 'dreckly' being a Cornish dialect word loosely meaning 'later' in a similar way to how the Spanish use 'manana'. Hedluv and Passman's act is so unique, I'm not going to attempt to describe it in any more detail - you need to be there to appreciate it. If you're ever in Cornwall (or perhaps elsewhere as their fame spreads) and get the chance to see their act, take it without hesitation.<br />
<br />
<div class="p1">Our stay in Cornwall was very brief and unfortunately there was insufficient time on this occasion to return to our childhood beach at Nanjizal, which is now only reachable by a lengthy walk along the coastal path. It's a definite for next time though. We did have time for a quick visit to St Michael's Mount, though, making use of our National Trust membership to enjoy the well preserved castle at its peak and take in the lovely views over the ramparts.</div><div class="p1"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg57HSTzlmSprh5XUicaU0mb7x3FFEveHr5QVb6Vjl_TeNP7aTxKiM9huuUHbURWWMAS4BHUie4dqUyUdrpW_5T3u2y-AARYb9eoh4ezRjog3fFeeGYEtTPOhu4p_czetzo0fVEft5HTmbp/s1600/causeway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg57HSTzlmSprh5XUicaU0mb7x3FFEveHr5QVb6Vjl_TeNP7aTxKiM9huuUHbURWWMAS4BHUie4dqUyUdrpW_5T3u2y-AARYb9eoh4ezRjog3fFeeGYEtTPOhu4p_czetzo0fVEft5HTmbp/s400/causeway.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More visitors crossing the causeway to St Michael's Mount</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="p1"></div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">We weren't under canvas for this short section of our holiday, but stayed in one of the four bedrooms built out the back of the <a href="http://www.thenorthinnpendeen.co.uk/index.htm">The North Inn</a> in Pendeen, a small old fashioned no thrills pub that serves good beer and simple hearty food, including a great cooked breakfast. </div><div class="p1"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLbNrH2sN1GYaADhhRttb2GE46dAESrs0Lk_40z7OHNXnym3Xa-lbfyYnR9v24FQHxBvRWzRcbIFQb0DKHfyBKotu5KmrnAbUVnoVsqHgnmU7FCex47HQ6vVVePM8yuHnI4stWd6GNBJA6/s1600/northinn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLbNrH2sN1GYaADhhRttb2GE46dAESrs0Lk_40z7OHNXnym3Xa-lbfyYnR9v24FQHxBvRWzRcbIFQb0DKHfyBKotu5KmrnAbUVnoVsqHgnmU7FCex47HQ6vVVePM8yuHnI4stWd6GNBJA6/s400/northinn.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Accommodation at the North Inn Pendeen</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="p1"></div><div class="p1"><br />
</div><div class="p1">Amongst the overnight guests for our second night were some Germans which brought about a vivid flashback to my schooldays thanks to the utterance, on a number of occasions, of the word 'Spiegelei', the German word for fried egg. Apart from having a wonderful resonance in its own right, Spiegelei was also the nickname awarded to my first German teacher at school, a very strict, bald as a coot, stern looking man with very small round wire glasses. So fixed in my memory is he as Spiegelei, I can't actually remember his real name, but he was an effective teacher for the inattentive and mischievous schoolboy I was at the time, and laid firm foundations for my learning of German which I subsequently went on to study successfully at A Level.</div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">A colourful memory of this visit to the far reaches of Cornwall will be the vivid orange <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/gardening/plants/plant_finder/plant_pages/6890.shtml">Montbretia</a> that was in evidence all around, and in particular along the side of the narrow country lanes.</div><div class="p1"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK0WAe90frBCvEz8x1HwcuYmfdfidpS9zcToY4_xSkHbQZwOhQt90ImxQYG5F1_EjFbn3kMEQvUVaiLQsrlw1YxC6iaTpAzwnhAyRdL82PFF2aNJmv82OzBMWUZu_1XF4n5gYYLTjQVQ6B/s1600/IMG_1612_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK0WAe90frBCvEz8x1HwcuYmfdfidpS9zcToY4_xSkHbQZwOhQt90ImxQYG5F1_EjFbn3kMEQvUVaiLQsrlw1YxC6iaTpAzwnhAyRdL82PFF2aNJmv82OzBMWUZu_1XF4n5gYYLTjQVQ6B/s400/IMG_1612_2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Montbretia and Heather beside the Pendeen Lighthouse</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="p1"></div><div class="p1"><br />
</div><div class="p1">In the sunshine it looked amazing and complemented the gorgeous purple heather that was omnipresent on Botallack Moor to stunning effect. This part of Cornwall is very remote, and undoubtedly bleak at times, particularly in the winter but it is undeniably a beautiful part of the world.</div></div>Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-89591965017193230092011-08-08T07:04:00.070+01:002011-08-26T13:48:10.009+01:00Holidays of a Lifetime Part 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;">We made a very early start this morning in order to be in Weymouth in time for the 6:30 am high speed ferry to Jersey. It would have been even earlier if we hadn't decided to stay overnight in the spartan surroundings of the Yeovil Travelodge, which enabled us to have a lie in until 4:00 am before the alarm woke us up. The sunrise over Weymouth harbour made the pre-dawn start seem worthwhile, although 30 minutes into the four hour crossing, I'm starting to feel distinctly queasy and wondering how long I can keep looking at my laptop screen as we bounce speedily across the channel.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="p1">Well, that was as I managed to write on the ferry before my forehead started to break out in a cold sweat, and I needed to close my eyes and sit very, very still until we finally docked in St Helier. We are now fully set up in a lovely campsite up the hill from Rozel Bay in the north east corner of Jersey with a beautiful view across the shimmering sea to northern France. More about our camping holiday will follow later in a later post. For now, in between various holiday activities, I'm going to write about what I'd set out to cover on board the Condor Vitesse, although due to the absence of broadband in our tent and so far only being able to connect to French mobile phone networks I have no idea when I will be able to get it posted.</div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">Back in January I wrote<a href="http://martin-project50.blogspot.com/2011/01/holidays-of-lifetime.html"> a nostalgic piece about our family holidays in Cornwall</a> in 1969 and 1970, which received a very favourable response that suprisingly went well beyond the family members who took part all those years ago. Inspired by our journey through Thomas Hardy country en route to Weymouth, I thought the crossing would provide an ideal opportunity to extend my nostalgic ramblings to the five consecutive years between 1971 and 1976 that we spent our summer fortnight in the Dorset seaside town of Swanage.</div><div class="p2"><br />
</div><div class="p1">If you've read <a href="http://martin-project50.blogspot.com/2011/01/holidays-of-lifetime.html">my Cornwall memoir </a>you will already be familiar with the daily routine centered around a six hour stint on the beach. It was exactly the same at Swanage. For five years. The only differences being different beach and different house.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjDc8QVh48POsTbIr5miWThodcKkrVvuOjftQpjIFVSuY8SK0mihU_FW5zL_x-29IACbMyvbHkJ8fGfsdtZ73L35FEHt1qlz8uC5xzpg33LqcDZyDFVaykZVQo-nGdwXv-cpLZUl2ahvEb/s1600/Digging.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjDc8QVh48POsTbIr5miWThodcKkrVvuOjftQpjIFVSuY8SK0mihU_FW5zL_x-29IACbMyvbHkJ8fGfsdtZ73L35FEHt1qlz8uC5xzpg33LqcDZyDFVaykZVQo-nGdwXv-cpLZUl2ahvEb/s400/Digging.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beach at Studland Bay</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div class="p1">The beach at Studland Bay extends for a number of miles as far as the Sandbanks chain ferry that links the Isle of Purbeck to Sandbanks, Poole and beyond. The beach is backed by extensive sand dunes, and we would set up for the day a fair old hike from the car park to where other groups of sunseekers were few and far between. Once our patch for a particular day had been identified, the ancient ritual of erecting the windbreak would begin. Ours was no ordinary windbreak, however. Oh no! It was home made, far more substantial than any available in the shops and is still breaking wind effectively 40 years after its construction. It was, and is a marvel in yellow, red, black and white. Its sturdy construction is not the only reason for its remarkable longevity, though. Equally important is that its six posts have never, ever been banged in using a mallet or similar implement. Instead, after the direction of the prevailing wind had been determined, the windbreak would be placed flat on the sand and each of us six boys would have to dig a hole beside the pointed end of each of the six posts. The windbreak would then be lifted and inserted into the six holes, which would be refilled and compacted to provide the securest of underpinning. Simple but effective!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpTkUCq4xRAEIavacpkxBojKTIiIdvoxATWritLad0C-s7LJt0B8S2rH7wq2JZU60zYEOO4WXyunqKKirtNrtQShU16gRBemOzGc8W6R3hOQ7WnDO1q8Jsx8jIP8RW2ftrrUlD217oaESx/s1600/Gma%2526Gpa%2526windbreak.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpTkUCq4xRAEIavacpkxBojKTIiIdvoxATWritLad0C-s7LJt0B8S2rH7wq2JZU60zYEOO4WXyunqKKirtNrtQShU16gRBemOzGc8W6R3hOQ7WnDO1q8Jsx8jIP8RW2ftrrUlD217oaESx/s400/Gma%2526Gpa%2526windbreak.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma and Grandpa joined us for the day on this occasion</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div class="p1">Digging holes at Studland wasn't confined to windbreak erection, however. Sand excavation constituted one of the major activities throughout all of our Swanage holidays. Paul was the most accomplished practitioner of the art, able to sustain the concentration and willpower to bore down to incredible depths, but in truth none of us were at all shabby in our hole digging capabilities. After a couple of years honing our skills, a new expertise emerged. Two adjacent holes would be dug simultaneously, and these would then be joined below the surface to create a tunnel that we would then crawl through. A kind of precursor to the Channel Tunnel if you like. Looking back from these days of over-zealous health and safety regulations, such undertakings seem outrageously dangerous and ill-advised but at the time they just felt like a bit of harmless underground fun and adventure.</div><div class="p2"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWMgHgZPetzKZMOvefjZTAGCc79DAA2Id1EJiSHKOhSOUqhimeN-i1T0NOleeQwiKfEbvwbiPR0OnjVd5yUr5nHV06z3oprnZa48-hI5uLOAq_wz_tSuxZqHiM_AJGYPJJcBuG_kGrR3rX/s1600/tunnel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWMgHgZPetzKZMOvefjZTAGCc79DAA2Id1EJiSHKOhSOUqhimeN-i1T0NOleeQwiKfEbvwbiPR0OnjVd5yUr5nHV06z3oprnZa48-hI5uLOAq_wz_tSuxZqHiM_AJGYPJJcBuG_kGrR3rX/s400/tunnel.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Going underground</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
</div><div class="p1">Another favourite activity was cricket, a game of which would sometimes go on for hours. The sand at Studland was wonderfully soft and deep, and so all deliveries were of necessity full tosses, which narrowed down the choice of bowling styles but enabled spectacular diving catches to be attempted with very little danger of sustaining an injury.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSFAXWq5Z6gFOp0gzBrUwJfLtObKaMKPiGLH8_w-r2GRpKla_oUouFM8MTJkllt-YU_8_tVApGq7QXpcigo0jd-XLo7wUPm4aJzF7euN7zKtmHezOWvBxS9UBJ7ogPgvzIHQBQZkpR3wDl/s1600/cricket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSFAXWq5Z6gFOp0gzBrUwJfLtObKaMKPiGLH8_w-r2GRpKla_oUouFM8MTJkllt-YU_8_tVApGq7QXpcigo0jd-XLo7wUPm4aJzF7euN7zKtmHezOWvBxS9UBJ7ogPgvzIHQBQZkpR3wDl/s400/cricket.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cricket on the beach</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div class="p1">Our clothes for the beach were made to measure, no less. Distinctive too. Our paternal grandmother, Nanny, was an absolute genius with a sewing machine and could knock up a tee shirt or a pair of shorts in not much more time than it took to make a cup of tea. Every Thursday morning she would rise with the lark in order to secure the best choice of bargains from the fabric stalls in Bromley market, from which she produced many of our outfits over the years. Many of these were entirely tasteful, but floral prints were usually preferred for beach shorts and, although the style of fabric we sported all those years ago is not dissimilar to that commonly seen on beaches in 2011, back in the 1970s our shorts were by some margin the lairiest ones on show. Quite simply we were ahead of our time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM40npk8Zkd-F4AMk1XwgMGohWrl-vLNK-YFjsX77e8tKvnyjXYIZnth4xgAltLJcvRJZbt-D5n54U0lHILZcq9lfly9dZ0ohEXIm3aFA5iQbe5M-6fEhizFRLEXzLxWQK5H55I0KbZ5gd/s1600/tartan+hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM40npk8Zkd-F4AMk1XwgMGohWrl-vLNK-YFjsX77e8tKvnyjXYIZnth4xgAltLJcvRJZbt-D5n54U0lHILZcq9lfly9dZ0ohEXIm3aFA5iQbe5M-6fEhizFRLEXzLxWQK5H55I0KbZ5gd/s400/tartan+hat.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where did you get that hat?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
</div><div class="p1">After a year or two, I can't remember precisely when or how, we made the discovery that about a mile towards Sandbanks from where we pitched our windbreak, in amongst the sand dunes, was a nudist colony, and what's more, every now and then naked people would break cover from the dunes and take a dip in the sea. Well, teenage boys being what they are, suddenly going for a long walk or run along the beach in an easterly direction became a popular addition to the activity menu. I can't actually remember whether we ever saw any naked bodies, which means that we probably didn't. In my mind, at least, I think there was something of the saucy postcard or Benny Hill in my image of what we might come across. Quite how we would have reacted or what we would have done if we had suddenly stumbled across a large group of cavorting naturists is anybody's guess. In all probability we would have turned away in embarrassment and ran back at great speed in the opposite direction.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju9eXF5hMFnrWQF9rcjQdVCsgpNM5mYfhBX7-chprBn__Vfjp8mhOpajP1FSVDEtvcufs5BbiVU3sxjsNns4mSP231Qby6VDo8ElR_56uOSc8HN2jD8kDWRiL-IAX5Qj-IBzCE8N1YpQIL/s1600/Ulwell+Rd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju9eXF5hMFnrWQF9rcjQdVCsgpNM5mYfhBX7-chprBn__Vfjp8mhOpajP1FSVDEtvcufs5BbiVU3sxjsNns4mSP231Qby6VDo8ElR_56uOSc8HN2jD8kDWRiL-IAX5Qj-IBzCE8N1YpQIL/s400/Ulwell+Rd.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">85a Ulwell Road.</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div class="p1">Our base for all five holidays was 85a Ulwell Road. It was a strange bungalow with only a tiny garden and consisted largely of a series of rooms either side of a rather gloomy corridor. It belonged to a couple from our church, Mr and Mrs Coverly, who I think planned to live there in their retirement. There wasn't a television, so board games and reading were the main entertainment after dark. It was at 85a Ulwell Road that I first read the Diary of Anne Frank, a book that made a profound impression on me as a 14 year old, the same age as Anne Frank when she kept her diary. It's a book I have read numerous times since.</div><div class="p1"><br />
</div><div class="p1">Swanage town centre, which we visited every morning and sometimes in the evening too, was where we got to spend our holiday pocket money, the bulk of which was supplied by our kind next door neighbour Mrs Stringer. Lillian Stringer and her brilliant but reclusive husband, Fred, who was fluent in many languages but rarely left his own study, let alone his house had lived at 119 Farnaby Road for many years before we arrived next door at the end of 1966. Mrs Stringer, in particular, was to become a big part of our lives, and we hers over the next twenty years. Originally from Liverpool, Mrs Stringer had something of the Hyacinth Bucket about her and liked to name drop, especially in relation to the work that Fred did at the BBC. She had a heart of gold, though, and was generous to us as a family in many ways. Every Saturday morning all six of us would accompany her the half mile of so to Shortlands 'village' where she would do the rounds of her weekly shopping, which memorably included buying a few slices of tongue for Fred from the deli counter at Harrisons. As Dad worked every Saturday at this time, these weekly 'Saturday Club' outings gave Mum a welcome breather for a couple of hours. The pay off for us boys was the money we got to spend in the sweetshop – I think this started at sixpence, but then increased over the years, thanks to index linking I assume. Anyway, the night before our holiday to Swanage Mrs Stringer would present each of us with two envelopes, one labelled 'first week' and the other 'second week', both containing sufficient money to spend on ice creams, Dickie's Donuts, crazy golf and the amusement arcade amongst other holiday consumables. How lovely is that!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipKmazkS-VIroLy1wY1hf7vSbDCXcrziFnkfJkI8tvYqeLVqqQ5xEsBE0EA8bJE35DsYvmCz9bJ2SY5jKfBgiILCqK3GdSwbZNs-41Yf6Rld_1zpouwA8RoswqbrMS4jlgkQL61WJigcir/s1600/19750113.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipKmazkS-VIroLy1wY1hf7vSbDCXcrziFnkfJkI8tvYqeLVqqQ5xEsBE0EA8bJE35DsYvmCz9bJ2SY5jKfBgiILCqK3GdSwbZNs-41Yf6Rld_1zpouwA8RoswqbrMS4jlgkQL61WJigcir/s400/19750113.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nanny, Mrs Stringer, Auntie Jim and Uncle Will</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><div class="p1">If it ever rained while we were on holiday in Swanage, then I can't remember it. Certainly there wasn't a single day that we didn't go to the beach, even though I can recall a handful of days which were more overcast than sunny. It's often said that people recall the sun shining through most of their childhood summers, and there may be an element of this in my reminiscing. However, I would be very interested to access the met office records for our five fortnights in Swanage, and would be extremely surprised if they didn't corroborate my assertion that for the 70 days that we were there Swanage was rain-free.<br />
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</div><div class="p1">Happy memories of happy holidays.</div><br />
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</div><span id="goog_2145690830"></span><span id="goog_2145690831"></span></div>Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-16535393404370571482011-07-27T10:20:00.186+01:002011-07-27T20:46:12.909+01:00The People's Cup<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Hannah and I went to the Valley last night to watch a pre-season friendly between Charlton and FC Den Bosch, a second tier team from the Netherlands. I normally give this type of fixture a miss as they are usually contested at well below full pace and are often little more than glorified training sessions. However, the coming together of a number of factors persuaded me to head south yesterday and make my way to the Valley:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><ol style="text-align: left;"><li>Following a significant turnover of players during the summer, the game would be my first glimpse of what will essentially be a new Charlton team this season</li>
<li>The fixture had an interesting and heart-warming back story </li>
<li>The evening offered a rare chance to see Charlton, potentially, win some silverware</li>
</ol><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">More of number 2 and 3 shortly, and oh, I nearly forgot, there's a fourth reason too. I won't disclose how here but I had managed to get my hands on a couple of complimentary tickets. Not exactly as hard to come by as London 2012 ones, I admit, and with entry for paying customers only £5 a head probably not requiring disclosure on a tax return, but if I needed a final push to make the trip south then this was it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxsNWF5eG7gWfefdMVTk96UoQsS38cV_aLKTEXIDmzEVMiyYY5lz56xgcTUOdHA9SiW_zTyuz1hyphenhyphenqhjkPbIFel61HUQBRIt__uDb9JYF1v7vQ61oSHU12uMhArUUjo_7IJfSllrenmcsFo/s1600/IMG_1300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxsNWF5eG7gWfefdMVTk96UoQsS38cV_aLKTEXIDmzEVMiyYY5lz56xgcTUOdHA9SiW_zTyuz1hyphenhyphenqhjkPbIFel61HUQBRIt__uDb9JYF1v7vQ61oSHU12uMhArUUjo_7IJfSllrenmcsFo/s400/IMG_1300.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlton's sword v the Den Bosch dragon on the Valley's new big screen.</td></tr>
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div>It was announced a few days before the game that the Den Bosch supporters had donated a trophy to be awarded to the winners on the night to mark the similarities between the histories of the two clubs. It would be called the 'People's Cup' in recognition of the crucial contribution of fans in saving the Dutch club from going out of business a few years ago in a situation with parallels to how Charlton almost went out of existence in 1984 and left the Valley for an highly unpopular ground-sharing arrangement with Crystal Palace that inspired supporters to form a political party and eventually orchestrate a return to the Valley.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFhcPz3RLe53gNEyBDWnO9SdtXbePkh6OSvPSiXSRX231sITkDulaUUOlbLNWz24Ljw39g_Ln035RSY5FTgWD23C9d1UIK4IUr4X_GjXjMng5uAs5WHj_Y-0BQLfDW8qcOV2tOfutPiSjx/s1600/IMG_1297.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFhcPz3RLe53gNEyBDWnO9SdtXbePkh6OSvPSiXSRX231sITkDulaUUOlbLNWz24Ljw39g_Ln035RSY5FTgWD23C9d1UIK4IUr4X_GjXjMng5uAs5WHj_Y-0BQLfDW8qcOV2tOfutPiSjx/s400/IMG_1297.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre-match photo</td></tr>
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It took a while for Charlton to settle in the first half, and the Dutch team looked the more likely to score early on, but in spite of some good passing and movement by both sides at times the opening 45 minutes provided little in the way of excitement. What we needed was an Erica Roe style interruption to liven up proceedings, or failing that someone running across the pitch dressed as a <a href="http://www.mysmurfsvillage.com/wp-content/gallery/smurfs-village-team/smurf.jpg">Smurf</a>. If you're wondering why on earth I found myself thinking about Smurfs at this point you've got a point. I think it was probably because of their low countries origin and the <a href="http://www.mysmurfsvillage.com/wp-content/gallery/smurfs-village-team/smurf.jpg">Smurf-like shade</a> of blue of Den Bosch's kit.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi87jFyaNixO4R5KTcnpUMd8sKvK1o09M-hWoh637UMGDBpG6d6pQqo2N1v-3c8HFMx9BIa8OX5_3eJTXE4O832Simf-F4KndPm2GGsOkS_rS0niJ6T5a-XInnX_r_e8srQ34_D6YEAdX3B/s1600/IMG_1305.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi87jFyaNixO4R5KTcnpUMd8sKvK1o09M-hWoh637UMGDBpG6d6pQqo2N1v-3c8HFMx9BIa8OX5_3eJTXE4O832Simf-F4KndPm2GGsOkS_rS0niJ6T5a-XInnX_r_e8srQ34_D6YEAdX3B/s400/IMG_1305.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Den Bosch defence scramble a second half corner to safety</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
The pace picked up considerably after the break, however, with Charlton's midfield new boys Stevens, Green and the topically named Hollands particularly catching the eye. A subtle and expertly paced lob over the Dutch goalie by Bradley Wright-Phillips in the 78th minute proved decisive and with Charlton hitting the woodwork either side the goal, the victory could be considered well deserved. That it was achieved against opponents who appeared pretty accomplished themselves can only bode well for the season about to begin.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQKCvK7c8K0kwVNeh5bn4F3tYfJOcVop2wM9MhLS_8N2MqGtZi9HbVnj8lw8Ejoc9AEfN1O34C6v1irndgWPRWP0GoxWKiStbNhsy5HYkJ_uzulVYTaPQ7-5OiYOqq6X7QRS5twOeKSCG/s1600/IMG_1310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQKCvK7c8K0kwVNeh5bn4F3tYfJOcVop2wM9MhLS_8N2MqGtZi9HbVnj8lw8Ejoc9AEfN1O34C6v1irndgWPRWP0GoxWKiStbNhsy5HYkJ_uzulVYTaPQ7-5OiYOqq6X7QRS5twOeKSCG/s400/IMG_1310.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The fantastic Den Bosch fans</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Most of the noise on the night came from the boisterous but good natured 136 Den Bosch fans amongst the small crowd of 3,951. They had obviously come to enjoy themselves, and succeeded admirably. Just before the People's Cup was handed over to Charlton captain Johnny Jackson, it was announced that whilst in London during the day, the Dutch supporters had engaged in some fundraising and raised £500 for Charlton's favoured charity Demelza House, an organisation that provides hospice care for children with life-limiting illnesses and their families. It wasn't clear what this fundraising involved, but what a fantastic effort! Hearing this brought an even warmer glow to an evening that became increasing enjoyable as it went on. By now all thoughts of Erica Roe and Smurfs were long gone.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiINTVEwkAgaHNWSWrpc1DbxloB-_4q5zDE-rBw1rQuF6D3f9Wfh4CYoIRiGKYloZNqRjuYZolviL-x0TM9TNFUo8hsAvWsJD0v-qEZMbcvB4yle0SxwS3ObPSN1rFhYG0-_3dJ781JCkW/s1600/IMG_1317.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiINTVEwkAgaHNWSWrpc1DbxloB-_4q5zDE-rBw1rQuF6D3f9Wfh4CYoIRiGKYloZNqRjuYZolviL-x0TM9TNFUo8hsAvWsJD0v-qEZMbcvB4yle0SxwS3ObPSN1rFhYG0-_3dJ781JCkW/s400/IMG_1317.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'"Our first silverware of the season" announced the tannoy. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Johnny Jackson's exaggerated hoisting of the trophy very much captured the happy spirit of the evening, and I really hope that Charlton arrange a reciprocal visit to the Netherlands next year. I will certainly be up for it.<br />
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Not long now until the serious stuff begins. My next visit to the Valley will be for the first league game of the season against Bournemouth on 6th August. I'm feeling cautiously optimistic.<br />
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</div>Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-81806906884418339342011-07-24T22:39:00.182+01:002011-07-25T18:26:33.850+01:00Moore the merrier<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">When you are part of a large family it becomes increasingly difficult to get together with all of them at the same time as the years go by and numbers multiply and disperse. So it has been great over the past four days to spend some time in St Albans with quite a few, although not all, of my immediate family and their children. First to arrive, on Thursday afternoon, were Mum and Dad. With a number of days leave still to book before the end of September, I decided to take a couple of days off to spend a little more time with them. On the Thursday evening we all headed to the <a href="http://www.thewickedladypub.co.uk/">Wicked Lady</a> pub in Wheathampstead for some delicious food and wine in very agreeable surroundings. It was our first visit to this this establishment, for which Mum made a commendable effort to dress up in the style of a wicked lady with her vivid scarlet dress and matching lipstick. Judging by the lady depicted on the pub's sign, however, the Wicked lady in question was probably the one played by Margaret Lockwood in the 1945 film of the same name. The film is about a nobleman's wife who secretly becomes a highwayman to bring some excitement into her life. There is a local link here in that the film is based on the alleged exploits of Lady Katherine Ferrers, wife of the the major landowner in the nearby town of Markyate, which is positioned on the former main London to Birmingham road (now the A5).<br />
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Friday's main event was a visit to <a href="http://www.hatfield-house.co.uk/">Hatfield House</a>, childhood home of <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrQlaZoVsPrIFs9irFLaCf4dmoN-QT8mYi50B0Rtl5pr88RC3nHF4QO1RzqQZ0cOC0WFpXdZZtN_YR3mNoSp-qhefw6Q87IWwiqSXa-sqBiaVmdKzroTbKjBBx7ONnpevL4uJLw0ffFLOS/s1600/Rebekah-Wade-001.jpg">Queen Elizabeth I</a>. It's a fine looking house and the current owners have done a fantastic job with the facilities for visitors. There's a lovely courtyard area housing a great cafe, a range of tasteful shops and the all important rooms in which to spend a penny. This area as well as the car park was free to enjoy, but with entry to everything else on offer adding up to a small fortune (even with the disappointing £1 seniors discount that would have applied to two out of three of us), we opted to focus on the collection of Henry Moore sculptures on display in some of the formal gardens and the more unruly woodland areas.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0YsypXTgahF0VUEEn0KKFURKTX7valME2IH_-O1qhCTBo3RJM9wUjy7rjIIUGxR2iwuLdZzaxXDZBVtispmYAqpsY5Nx5hiNnY4EAvbMwoXYIVdsKAz0pWZJx934jFQhEzLb8Zx5YBbIS/s1600/IMG_1202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0YsypXTgahF0VUEEn0KKFURKTX7valME2IH_-O1qhCTBo3RJM9wUjy7rjIIUGxR2iwuLdZzaxXDZBVtispmYAqpsY5Nx5hiNnY4EAvbMwoXYIVdsKAz0pWZJx934jFQhEzLb8Zx5YBbIS/s400/IMG_1202.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Large Reclining Figure' with the Old Palace in the background</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Henry Moore (1898-1986) always maintained that his creations were made for display in natural surroundings. Indeed, in 1951 he wrote "Sculpture is an art of the open air ... I would rather have a piece of my sculpture put in a landscape, almost any landscape, than in or on the most beautiful building in the world.'<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">1</span> It's not exactly sculpture, but now you mention it, Henry, I wish I still had that papier mache dinosaur I made at primary school - it would look so much more fetching nestling beside my tomato plants in the back garden.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF_47NqsK7e6kXtHBDDGH21qRpyolB5hTuzrqFzCnM2-dogdCcP-Mv-lePMbZR6ZdKyYnr9oBhEKaNHWYaOC_iIRG3suT9FICPsCfWDH7p2216B44FwA7O1OwiHtlqHpW3cXcfkJF0zoHA/s1600/IMG_1213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF_47NqsK7e6kXtHBDDGH21qRpyolB5hTuzrqFzCnM2-dogdCcP-Mv-lePMbZR6ZdKyYnr9oBhEKaNHWYaOC_iIRG3suT9FICPsCfWDH7p2216B44FwA7O1OwiHtlqHpW3cXcfkJF0zoHA/s400/IMG_1213.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'Draped Reclining Figure'</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>Some of the structures were more abstract than others, but they all looked great in their surroundings, particularly I thought those placed amongst the long, meadow-like grass in the woodland areas. </div><div><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbT2tj9rDt5NZofuIRQg-DjvBKHLhtaw5Wl7euizFB94LDivybihkDEysVUBkJ7sKGVdd1wImD5Ophr2j05OPobsx4iXRBV8cwWI3lzOrHBckXFxYE7nXWKWKM1jdz2LhjOjMhGBN441aG/s1600/King+and+Queen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbT2tj9rDt5NZofuIRQg-DjvBKHLhtaw5Wl7euizFB94LDivybihkDEysVUBkJ7sKGVdd1wImD5Ophr2j05OPobsx4iXRBV8cwWI3lzOrHBckXFxYE7nXWKWKM1jdz2LhjOjMhGBN441aG/s400/King+and+Queen.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'King and Queen'</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>It was also lovely to spend some time wandering around chatting with Mum and Dad. One consequence about being 50 is that my parents are now in their 70s, and although they are both still very active and mentally alert, the thought does enter my head from time to time that they won't be around for ever and so days like Friday become increasingly special as the years go by.</div><div><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQXdmsQTMpaUA_Ias99N-wCpQwTKiDmuiibAWsmPwkdsQiJQogKF7FlLDP9ANOdlA-hEmdEZCBp6D745j4yk9aWgxS9M_yIDHBAm8L0Ulx3Ci5HCz74o1iTHaSmYQxDhG0cNCDomoEAFn/s1600/Mutti+and+Putti.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQXdmsQTMpaUA_Ias99N-wCpQwTKiDmuiibAWsmPwkdsQiJQogKF7FlLDP9ANOdlA-hEmdEZCBp6D745j4yk9aWgxS9M_yIDHBAm8L0Ulx3Ci5HCz74o1iTHaSmYQxDhG0cNCDomoEAFn/s400/Mutti+and+Putti.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">'King and Queen with clothes on'</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>A real bonus of visiting somewhere like Hatfield House with my Dad is having access to his fantastic knowledge of plants. He knows the names of every one (Latin and common) as well as loads of interesting information about them, the result of his horticultural training and many years working with plants.</div><div><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEhvgY-kgSRjIqgqryaoXDbvI1w1yqmAz_D8gnA1VwGm0xDxE4Ahxk7SRz4fXrmOsdYno1CISzZ9xEsPbczW8IToj1VLGHfMHPzm7PIS0QfnQbATx05cLuKtgD_zJSgazu5fdnpY629Qbv/s1600/IMG_1238.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEhvgY-kgSRjIqgqryaoXDbvI1w1yqmAz_D8gnA1VwGm0xDxE4Ahxk7SRz4fXrmOsdYno1CISzZ9xEsPbczW8IToj1VLGHfMHPzm7PIS0QfnQbATx05cLuKtgD_zJSgazu5fdnpY629Qbv/s400/IMG_1238.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Name that flower (Latin and common terms please)!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><br />
</div><div>One tree did defeat him, however. Mind you, I was quite prepared to believe it was an 'Oozlem' tree, a name Dad made up on the spot and had me going with for a few minutes before admitting that he didn't actually know. As we were speculating further about its' name, a passing employee informed us it was in fact a <a href="http://www.yvonnejerrold.com/planting/2007-Oct-MedlarTree-630.jpg">Medlar</a> tree. These are self-fertilising trees that can last for hundreds of years, so this one may have even been present as the young Elizabeth strolled around the Hatfield gardens.<br />
<br />
1:00 pm on Saturday heralded the remaining arrivals for the partial family get together. In total there were 16 of us (8 adults and 8 offspring ranging, I think from 5 to 23, although I could be wrong). It was a lovely relaxed time and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. After a couple of hours of snapping away happily with my camera to compile a photographic record of the occasion, I remembered that I had taken the memory card out earlier and not replaced it, so I'm hoping that Andrew, who arrived with a lens approaching the length of the Blackwell Tunnel attached to this camera will have captured more of the afternoon than I managed to.<br />
<br />
A real sign that I've reached my "middle youth", as Juliet prefers to call it, is the time and care I spend on the upkeep of the lawn. Consequently I was a little nervous about how well it would stand up to invasion.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6RBQEmmDaGdeyk4ypKVl47ZLoTof959Q5vS6Sryzt_-1ZNvPinZon7s9owREXzDBkFiNy4Ef2GDYS-WFab1XD7NS9BtZNqFiTWs5CYqjxMVgqzJbYFNg1zXjfqX7awL21IiG015Nyqptd/s1600/Josh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6RBQEmmDaGdeyk4ypKVl47ZLoTof959Q5vS6Sryzt_-1ZNvPinZon7s9owREXzDBkFiNy4Ef2GDYS-WFab1XD7NS9BtZNqFiTWs5CYqjxMVgqzJbYFNg1zXjfqX7awL21IiG015Nyqptd/s400/Josh.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Josh putting the durability of the back lawn to the test.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Well, I'm pleased to say it stood up admirably. Not that I would have minded really if there were a few signs of wear and tear. It was just great to see people enjoying themselves on it. Admittedly I didn't see all of the action as I was periodically required in the kitchen but the highlight for me was Andrew and Brenda rolling back the years for a swashbuckling game of badminton. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A fun afternoon.</div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">1. Sculptures and Drawings by Henry Moore, Tate Gallery, 1951, p.4.</span></div></div>Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-90393981478514480402011-07-04T20:20:00.370+01:002011-07-06T18:17:21.003+01:00Recipe for Success<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">We were up early yesterday and made our way to London along empty Sunday morning roads. I had decided to slip in an extra 10K race to assess my progress and decide how best to use the rest of the summer to prepare for my autumn PB attempts. Our destination was Regents Park, which hosts a <a href="http://www.regentsparkraces.org/">series of five 10K races</a> on the first Sunday of each month from May to September. These are relatively small events, with up to 500 runners taking part, and usually such events are the preserve of the very serious (i.e fast) runner but I was encouraged by the description on the event's website of "A mixed ability race series. All runners welcome". Hopefully I would not be awarded a wooden spoon at the finish.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheEluUvxfTTu9mAI6kVQUTQBGOVqU3Qpq9hfEmgfBrowil3HVk2b-t444f02zhSfJstU2n5XRNAqdKtG1FTSCXXEV_PHH20OAH5W0jwPKQpjk-HW01maw6leqDygSuVCvp4OXT6zp_Lvn2/s1600/mosque.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheEluUvxfTTu9mAI6kVQUTQBGOVqU3Qpq9hfEmgfBrowil3HVk2b-t444f02zhSfJstU2n5XRNAqdKtG1FTSCXXEV_PHH20OAH5W0jwPKQpjk-HW01maw6leqDygSuVCvp4OXT6zp_Lvn2/s400/mosque.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Regents Park Mosque</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The start time was 9:30 am, and we arrived in very good time and parked on Regent's Park Outer Circle very close to the entrance to London Zoo. It was a glorious summer morning with not a single cloud in the sky. One of the Royal Parks, Regents Park is a vast open space right in the very centre of London and it looked magnificent in the sunshine. The start and finish line was next to <a href="http://www.royalparks.org.uk/parks/regents_park/hub/thehub.cfm">the Hub</a>, a great facility located a few hundred metres from Monkey Gate, appropriately named in view of its proximity to the Zoo. The Hub's attractive circular cafe sits on top of a grass mound, which on closer inspection houses entrances to facilities including changing rooms and showers. It's the base for a range of sports that take place within the park as well as exercise classes and children's activities.<br />
<div><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Ie8HuJl4Z0H3SQraAv6eK8u_eC-TIbprU6Bh6wvWoZtPD-_Ym1VTA5MJ9QDMQjHFxfUD6b3XKr94wE9_v391xE_rV5errziikUMjOBqROMmBQBOsBmHr-200rTaF9YSYWhXj1pfDy45y/s1600/hub.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Ie8HuJl4Z0H3SQraAv6eK8u_eC-TIbprU6Bh6wvWoZtPD-_Ym1VTA5MJ9QDMQjHFxfUD6b3XKr94wE9_v391xE_rV5errziikUMjOBqROMmBQBOsBmHr-200rTaF9YSYWhXj1pfDy45y/s400/hub.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The visible part of the Hub</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The race itself consists of <a href="http://www.regentsparkraces.org/RegentsPkRacesMap.pdf">three laps around a route</a> in the northern half of the park, skirting the boating lake and the Zoo on the way round. It's an interesting and attractive run, especially on such a glorious morning.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirTIlT4jx1svPlzwiowmMG6RwhqLV4PImylFHucmDakPMd41HumZQInoZyiJloJqk7Wwy_eMIQsMkPvj77aIoRdG-CPqv-BKvkZVCLltRvxttVNFz3CHguEfhqslzpHiiTTAYBXiVQxyOD/s1600/Gorilla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirTIlT4jx1svPlzwiowmMG6RwhqLV4PImylFHucmDakPMd41HumZQInoZyiJloJqk7Wwy_eMIQsMkPvj77aIoRdG-CPqv-BKvkZVCLltRvxttVNFz3CHguEfhqslzpHiiTTAYBXiVQxyOD/s400/Gorilla.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mother and baby gorilla - photo taken on a visit to the Zoo with Hannah earlier in the year.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>The route was well marshalled by smiling members of the Mornington Chaser's Running Club, and every km was marked by a luminous yellow sign. The start and finish area was presided over by an extremely cheerful fellow with a loud hailer which he used to good effect both for organisational purposes and to broadcast his often amusing encouragement to runners as they passed through or approached the finish line at the end of their final lap. The whole event exuded a friendly, happy atmosphere, making me very keen to take part again - maybe on a regular basis.<br />
<br />
I completed the first lap in a fraction over 20 minutes, an encouraging start. From then on, though, I began to wilt in the heat to the extent that when I passed the fringes of the zoo for the third and final time my pace was probably on a par with some of the more ponderous inhabitants of its famous reptile house.<br />
<br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDap-UGXcYFehpCDscwaxYuwWQBZwpZ-J6Ee2KqQ9qRFD0utBESw2KruFZmTa5ZN_jUZaowKsGXhSbLxsJSYzm6EiI12CquVFnNkkbJRFbHXoX08qvFtj1Nll8WhIqZSGzEMeHcWYY2q8R/s1600/terrapin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDap-UGXcYFehpCDscwaxYuwWQBZwpZ-J6Ee2KqQ9qRFD0utBESw2KruFZmTa5ZN_jUZaowKsGXhSbLxsJSYzm6EiI12CquVFnNkkbJRFbHXoX08qvFtj1Nll8WhIqZSGzEMeHcWYY2q8R/s400/terrapin.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Terrapins are reptiles and not amphibians in case you're wondering</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div>Along with many other participants, I was lapped on my second circuit by the runners on track to finish in 40 minutes or less. Now that's an impressive feat and I salute their speed and stamina. Some of them, however, I could teach a thing or two about personal hygiene. Moving at considerable speed, they were only within my nasal radar for a fleeting second or two, but at least three or four of them left behind an overpowering scent of the worst kind of body odour as they sped into the distance. There's no excuse for it in my view. Sure, running is a sweaty business, especially in high temperatures, but it must require a monumental avoidance of baths, showers, washing machines and deodorant to build up a smell like that. Very off putting to say the least.<br />
<br />
Anyway, rant over, back to the race itself. In spite of summoning the energy for an impressive sprint finish, my watch showed a disappointing finishing time of 1:10:01. My official result on the website was a slightly more respectable 1:09:58, which was marginally slower than my time for the London 10k just over a month ago. Although I finished towards the back of the field, a steady stream of runners continued to pass the finish line for quite some time afterwards, possibly putting my performance on such a hot day into perspective.<br />
<div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeBj1tnSHiEW8nR9XGW2ZrjzVDcjI3JSZoGEZSC5mFk_PotG9UBizVAxcUFynWOwwahjR6cQ_cV129VMu0iPhlqIPB_ExtzTnoutdkWkrnk1RRHKvVkpHa42TJVDWBv85LNoX86M79cMco/s1600/Feeling+the+Heat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeBj1tnSHiEW8nR9XGW2ZrjzVDcjI3JSZoGEZSC5mFk_PotG9UBizVAxcUFynWOwwahjR6cQ_cV129VMu0iPhlqIPB_ExtzTnoutdkWkrnk1RRHKvVkpHa42TJVDWBv85LNoX86M79cMco/s400/Feeling+the+Heat.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Feeling the heat with the finishing line in sight</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
So where does this leave me? Even allowing for the effects of the heat yesterday there's no escaping that after making very good progress towards my goals for the first three months of the year, I have since reached a plateau of Hog's Back proportions. After the Newham 10k at the end of March I calculated that if I could improve by just another 10% I would give myself a good chance of beating at least some of my PBs during the Autumn. However, in spite of sticking to my training intentions fairly closely if anything I've got slower.<br />
<br />
I think perhaps I need to take another look at my diet. About 9 months ago I changed my diet to avoid anything containing wheat as far as possible, and this has had a very positive effect on the health of my digestive system and my fitness generally. It's given me a lot more energy and, unlike before, I very rarely get a headache nowadays. You may have heard that since switching to a gluten free diet at the start of the year, new Wimbledon champion Novak Djokovic has only been defeated once in fifty one matches and today took over from Rafael Nadal as world number one. So avoiding wheat seems to be a good idea, but to match the scale of Novak's improvement I think I probably need to make a few other changes too. Yes, chocolate and alcohol I'm looking at you!<br />
<br />
Don't worry, I have no intention of giving either of these up completely. Both are high on my list of life's little pleasures and after my earlier misgivings about reaching 50, I have come to view 2011 as a celebratory year and the sense of celebration would not be complete without the occasional glass of wine or bar of Cadbury's Whole Nut. Nevertheless I do seem to have been consuming increasing quantities of both recently and a more controlled approach may well lead to improved results in the Autumn I feel.<br />
<br />
So there you have it, my recipe for success: continue to stay away from wheat, keep on building up the training gradually, and restore wine and chocolate to their previous status of occasional treats. It sounds straightforward enough, but sticking to it may prove easier said than done!<br />
<br />
Alternatively, I could stop having baths and washing my clothes .....<br />
<div><br />
<br />
</div></div></div></div>Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3968250207489927731.post-5882585139648644172011-07-02T22:38:00.346+01:002011-07-04T21:18:29.748+01:00Take That<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When a number of months ago I managed to obtain 4 tickets for Juliet to see Take That at Wembley Stadium I had envisaged that she would go along with Hannah and a couple of other females. As the months passed, however, Juliet kept asking me "are you sure you don't want to go?", and I eventually found myself thinking "you know what, I think I do. Take That are not really my thing but they're known for putting on a spectacular show, the Robbie Williams angle should be interesting, and it really is about time I experienced the new Wembley."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And so, last night for the first time in 13 years I found myself making the famous walk from Wembley Park station along Wembley Way.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht-zClDTf0VLOmMHk5XyginIhXR-z4x0mEskNcEVUGKDbRT2LijmD2Ls7l8rCyi6GgSNXUl2GF2QExbytLX7DnEyeyrQjUQgeQvyvD5Iuu_2zL746yfN5LPybepEZTcayPbwGFHh1i2jJY/s1600/Stadium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht-zClDTf0VLOmMHk5XyginIhXR-z4x0mEskNcEVUGKDbRT2LijmD2Ls7l8rCyi6GgSNXUl2GF2QExbytLX7DnEyeyrQjUQgeQvyvD5Iuu_2zL746yfN5LPybepEZTcayPbwGFHh1i2jJY/s400/Stadium.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The new Wembley Stadium</td></tr>
</tbody></table>My last visit, on 25th May 1998 (more of which later), was to the crumbling old stadium. Although a visit here was always special and infused with a sense of history, the facilities were outdated and gloomy and the view often poor. The new version couldn't be more different. The surrounding area is much smarter and cleaner and the arch that replaced the iconic 'twin towers' is a magnificent architectural structure that's visible for miles around. Our seats were in the top tier which is reached via a series of long escalators.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGax3PN6MPnTobx0A8Y2j3cSnEIKD5FF5s2p7dHKX4JAsi_JtOXf1ajA2D7BJeabprNJRDdz92ki_FklDKCTKBGxXvooXvnyRd_lKaA4z2d92o_bYOr_4e8HMH659d0iPuEF7EaEQW5X2s/s1600/Arch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGax3PN6MPnTobx0A8Y2j3cSnEIKD5FF5s2p7dHKX4JAsi_JtOXf1ajA2D7BJeabprNJRDdz92ki_FklDKCTKBGxXvooXvnyRd_lKaA4z2d92o_bYOr_4e8HMH659d0iPuEF7EaEQW5X2s/s400/Arch.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The magnificent arch of the new stadium</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I'd told Hannah that Wembley was like the Valley, but not quite as good. From the outset I don't think she believed me, and the view on entering the arena itself immediately confirmed that I had been very economical with the truth on this occasion. The panorama was breathtaking; a scan around took in the precipitously banked seats that must ensure a great view from any part of the stadium. Our position, directly in front of the stage would be a superb vantage point for watching a game of football, although was too distant to be able to make out the performers on stage in any detail although of course this is overcome to some extent by their projection onto the big screen</div><div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRoJx4BsWHqY8-s8JNlxXzyOScLsmqZYedpk1gNwxZB8vKzYXF2_KkvPMG_1Ie7IsA5lfXRFqJ_ggWrR0LBB4p1vFKuVs6iE2eHgwER2qQzjQJwD-zy4NFB8FEHAk4z8ytlwDNQaGvYNcN/s1600/Hannah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRoJx4BsWHqY8-s8JNlxXzyOScLsmqZYedpk1gNwxZB8vKzYXF2_KkvPMG_1Ie7IsA5lfXRFqJ_ggWrR0LBB4p1vFKuVs6iE2eHgwER2qQzjQJwD-zy4NFB8FEHAk4z8ytlwDNQaGvYNcN/s400/Hannah.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still filling up during the Pet Shop Boys' supporting set</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The warm up set by the Pet Shop Boys was enjoyable and evocative of the distinctive music scene of the 1980s. I particularly enjoyed "West End Girls" and "You were always on my mind", although largely for the music, which rather drowned out Neil Tennant's vocals. However with the lyrics being so familiar it was easy enough to sing along.<br />
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When I started teaching in 1994, many of the 7 year old girls in my class were avid Take That fans. They'll be in their mid-twenties now, and some may well have been in the audience tonight. How time flies! I have a feeling, though, that our section of the stadium may have been sponsored by Saga or one of those Stairlift companies. Whilst there were some youngish fans around, plenty fell into the more mature category, with a generous sprinkling of <a href="http://www.visit4info.com/details.cfm?adid=3269">Thora Hird's</a> among them. Whatever age, however, most of them seemed to be overcome with hysteria as soon as the Take That boys arrived on stage. And it seemed they all knew every single word of every song.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7cED7A5GTzI5jLxPgTBQtzaZxdAb-pMp3TCEK-htMDqDdkYQUhMR1H7BK0dHHK9xXhRoPgO7FrfGB3qy4Ba467YulB0qyzDXVC3IqbKaS0y62AyGiAte4hwF-DbU_6Hynyno8PSwluHHC/s1600/Granny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7cED7A5GTzI5jLxPgTBQtzaZxdAb-pMp3TCEK-htMDqDdkYQUhMR1H7BK0dHHK9xXhRoPgO7FrfGB3qy4Ba467YulB0qyzDXVC3IqbKaS0y62AyGiAte4hwF-DbU_6Hynyno8PSwluHHC/s320/Granny.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A typical fan in the Saga enclosure</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The large lady to my left urged me more than once to join in with the mass arm waving that continued for most of the concert. "Come on, you know you want to!" she told me. I didn't, actually, although I was quite happy to stand, tap my foot and sing along to the bits where I knew the words. It's probably diplomatic to add at this point that Juliet was sitting to my right.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTo842Kgsua_GIyFw0Z3Z-KhgrsXF3w5SmCUAUTkDFvWgnT9Elwymgl11TMtK0s08Yji6lel0k7BjJRjA8xuXe_5QhNbr3HLR9LE3v5ggsFy1wRFOZ9VpmYS9tDh4w7UB71KYFALZSKQzY/s1600/runway.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTo842Kgsua_GIyFw0Z3Z-KhgrsXF3w5SmCUAUTkDFvWgnT9Elwymgl11TMtK0s08Yji6lel0k7BjJRjA8xuXe_5QhNbr3HLR9LE3v5ggsFy1wRFOZ9VpmYS9tDh4w7UB71KYFALZSKQzY/s400/runway.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gary, Mark, Jason and Howard surrounded by hysterical women</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The first part of the show consisted of the four group members left after Robbie's departure in 1995 singing songs from the period after they reformed in 2006 (Greatest Day, Rule the World and Shine being perhaps the most enthusiastically received). My perception was that this selection of songs was the most wildly enjoyed of the whole show, and hats off to Gary Barlow, they are great pop songs ideal for singing along to.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip_wEOVMLF1IhpgqaGIYKLV3aSUvtOpG-Nj9JWX7KdheC3rHpYgZf4KqGATwIWRm1lEOQoWfy_irrvodDFxgDdAtM7Ust2U7MvZmBi8zZyRsd9-JHZEFei2WvBTvv8R9j7pqAxGoqSPcJP/s1600/Robbie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip_wEOVMLF1IhpgqaGIYKLV3aSUvtOpG-Nj9JWX7KdheC3rHpYgZf4KqGATwIWRm1lEOQoWfy_irrvodDFxgDdAtM7Ust2U7MvZmBi8zZyRsd9-JHZEFei2WvBTvv8R9j7pqAxGoqSPcJP/s400/Robbie.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Let me entertain you! Robbie on the big screen</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Phase two of the show was a solo section by Robbie. He started with "Let me entertain you!", which has never failed to send shivers down my spine since it was played to accompany the teams, surrounded by dense smoke from celebratory fireworks, out of the old Wembley tunnel at the 1st Division Play Off Final in 1998. This was the amazing game (4-4 after extra time, 7-6 in the penalty shoot out) which saw Charlton promoted to the Premier League for the first time, and featured a hat trick by Clive Mendonca that was as close to a work of art as it's possible to see on a football pitch. It's a day and a game I will never forget (I'll highlight the clever Take That link there in case you don't notice it); I left the stadium physically and emotionally drained and drenched in sweat purely from being a spectator.<br />
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</div><div>Other Robbie classics, including "Angels" and "Rock DJ" followed, along with some banter consistent with Robbie's bad boy image. To be expected, I suppose, although unfortunate given that there were quite a lot of young children in the audience. As with the Gary Barlow compositions, hearing these numbers together highlights just what great pop songs they are, although there is greater edge and character to a lot of Robbie's stuff, making it more to my liking.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSLQ5f6lvvgadxfUYSIk1TftMnlD-xDAuCUbqEx1HoiIm4CoDp0X6Um-v3yhL5K4zYIV8RVYQqDLEabQeLj4H3ZUOXtKkV1FtyWleyToVnxuWBgFICthyphenhyphentdyDxORLdsBuaBKaQT3e9Pt-l/s1600/Lights.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSLQ5f6lvvgadxfUYSIk1TftMnlD-xDAuCUbqEx1HoiIm4CoDp0X6Um-v3yhL5K4zYIV8RVYQqDLEabQeLj4H3ZUOXtKkV1FtyWleyToVnxuWBgFICthyphenhyphentdyDxORLdsBuaBKaQT3e9Pt-l/s400/Lights.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Building up to a grande finale</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div><div><br />
The rest of the band rejoined Robbie for a selection of songs from their reunion album, Progress, starting with "The Flood" which was very enthusiastically received. However I sensed a growing restlessness among the faithful as further tracks from the album were churned out. They seemed to be neither typical Take That numbers or particularly tuneful. More familiar songs were wheeled out for the finale and encore, which reignited the hysteria, adding to the impression that all most of the audience wanted to do was sing along and wallow in nostalgia. And why not? I found myself doing the same, although off at a bit of a tangent. I recalled sitting in a similar position in the old stadium watching England's magnificent demolition of Holland in Euro 96, and being pressed up against the stage, like many of the arm waving women last night, at Hammersmith Palais in December 1979 as the Clash belted out numbers from the greatest album of all time, London Calling. Memories, eh! The Clash gig was raw, rough at the edges excitement - no need for the kind of extravagant set and supporting cast surrounding Take That 2011 style. It's not that the giant robot, dancers, acrobats and other paraphernalia adorning Wembley weren't spectacular. They were, I just didn't really understand the thinking behind them.<br />
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There's no doubt about it, though, Take That are very, very good at what they do. On a lot of different levels it was a fantastic evening. I'm so glad I was persuaded to go. </div></div></div></div></div>Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17157096989531756573noreply@blogger.com0