Surprise

Prince Charles turned up in Afganistan, on a surprise visit to the troops out there. He was hardly going to announce it!!!

Vitamin WOW!

Its been a while since last we spoke. I guess the blogs been feeling neglected of late. Abandoned over the festive period, the long dark winter nights, shivering in the harsh winter snow. Well fear ye no more blog for I'm back to caress the keyboard (more like stab away with single fingers) and breath new spring life into thee.

Recently my Desert Boots and I traversed and returned from the Copcobana and Saudi sands. In Rio a downpour to rival anything Manchester could muster greeted me, whilst Saudi and its swirling sands recieved me with open arms.

Whilst in Saudi I told to ask for SID, but to be careful as SID is dangerous and if handled wrong showed no remorse or sympathy, SID was, in the country were Vimto is king, a killer.

SID is an alcoholic beverage mainly brewed at home by the Lebonnese, and is illegal in Saudi as intelligence is in the George W Bush household, you know it's there, knocking about somewhere, but no-one admits to having any. Needless to say SID never appeared on my radar.

However, Vitamin WOW not only appeared, its highly polished size 10 Doc Martins left their imprint on my face. Vitamin WOW makes things happen, like Red Bull but instead of wings it has the thrust of a space shuttle.

In its basic form the molecular structure of Vitamin WOW consists of 3 parts.

The Need

The Facilitator

The Supply

Alone each does nothing, mixed together correctly happiness and joy abounds.

I have a Need, I Need a job. I have a friend, a Facilitator who knows someone who has a vaccancy a Supplier.

I can ask the Supplier out right for the job though this would be unsuccesful, as unsuccesful as Burnley in the Premiership.

Our mutual friend the Facilitator knows the Supplier has a penchant for gadgets. He thinks that an Ipod would significantly improve the suppliers workouts at the gym.

The Supplier couldn't possibly ask out right for such a thing. However, the vacancy does need filling and soon, and should an Ipod appear on his desk one morning it would be churlish to see it go to waste.

The Facilitator thinks The Need may require a lift to the electronic superstore in town as The Supplier has a vacancy that could be filled in the morning.

At lunch time the next day The Need is sat amongst his fellow workers in the canteen, The Supplier is pounding the tredmill and The Facilitator has now become The Need with an eye one rung further up the ladder, looking for the next hit of Vitamin WOW!!

Today I has been spent sat at my desk staring into my laptop pretending to write reports. I have tapped keys, frowned, pretended to be engrossed and missed conversations, nodded and laughed when necessary, looked preplexed, confused, consulted notebooks for imaginary facts, shifted from one bum cheek to the other to stop them from hurting, drunk tea, coffee, tea, coffee, tea, coffee, rubbed my chin, scratched my head, looked to the strip lights for inspiration, fobbed off phone calls, slacked my tie, filled my stapler, yawned, stretched, chewed my lip, bitten my fingernails, eaten my lunch at my desk. 8 hours searching the internet god I'm knackered.

Manchester to Blackpool

In answer to the earlier question posted regarding my fitness, the answer is yes and no. Am I fit enough to complete a 100k bike ride, yes, just, and probably never again. I hadn’t prepared as well as I should, and I knew this but I kept convincing myself as I sat in front of Coronation St with a large brew and endless supply of Chocolate Digestives that, because I had managed a couple of 30 mile rides, that 62 point whatever miles is equal to 100k, would be manageable.

The morning started early 5am to be exact. A healthy breakfast of porridge and bananas was washed down with an isotonic fluid drink and positive thoughts. I had, following advice, purchased 2 brand new road tyres the previous day. These new tyres were to replace my current ‘tractor tyres’ and allow me to glide over the road surface instead of chewing it up, that’s the sales patter given to me by the cycle shop owner.
My two cycling companions fully kitted out with colour coordinated outfits, aerospace technology cycles had spent the previous evening resting, re-hydrating and filling up on carbs.

Yours truly was, sporting a dishevelled old cagoule, a borrowed pair of padded cycling shorts, borrowed cycling socks (apparently they have padding in them???) borrowed fingerless cycling gloves, these made me feel like Fagen and it was all I could to do to refrain from bursting into a very poor rendition of “You’ve got to pick a pocket or two. And with that the double-decker bus transporting us to the Old Trafford starting line pulled out of the car park. Like the riders the bikes were of all different colours, conditions. It was obvious to spot those who would be home, feet up and enjoying a Sunday morning bacon buttie, before some of us reached Wigan. Alternatively, there was one participant who was dressed as a Clown riding a small childs bike and is still out there somewhere yet to complete the course.

It was 7.30am when I turned my back on Salford Quays and headed towards the salty air and seaside thrills of Blackpool. I had surpassed my previous personnel best distance of 30 miles and by 11am I was refuelling with Gatorade at Preston Docks after completing the first 40 miles. Despite a slight twinge in my right thigh I was feeling fairly good and trying to envisage the remainder of the route, we had been given a map but mine was performing cartwheels in Wigan somewhere. It was about this time that things began to go slightly of course.

The route to Blackpool was not the one I had convinced myself would be taken, instead a tour of Salwick, Lea, Barton and other places I never knew existed totally threw me and my concentration. This route culminated with a short, steep, sadistic hill in Kirkham that resulted in an elderly gentleman overtaking me in his “Super Scooter” and fellow cyclist bemoaning “This isn’t Cricket” My internal sat nav re-programmed the route was convinced of a right turn at the next lights. The signpost instructed us to carry on straight ahead and into to the welcoming arms of a head wind.

This is where it nearly ended, Freckelton. By now my thigh was burning, my arse was sore and butting my head against a blustering head wind was beginning to demoralise me. I had geared down a few miles beforehand and whilst my wheels were still going round I wasn’t really making much progress. My mood was not enhanced by the constant passing breeze of other cyclists over my right shoulder. At one set of lights a cyclist asked the steward how much further “8 miles” she replied, it was not an encouraging figure.

Lytham, all along the coast road, again, with my minds eye I was planning the route to the finishing line. Again I was to be disappointed. Maybe it was the head wind but I never realised Lytham was so bloody long. Fairhaven Lake came and went as tiny grains of sand pricked my salt stained skin like tiny arrows being fired from archers hid amongst the sand dunes. One unlucky riders chain decided to give up the ghost 5 miles from the finish line. He was last seen launching the bike into the Irish Sea.

The finish line was embellished with expectant relatives clapping and cheering, as riders scanned the crowds for loved ones and the smell of fried onions filled the air. And that was that by 1.30pm I had completed the course, devouring my way through a greasy Blackpool burger and salivating at the thought of a cold beer. Had it been worth it? Yes. Would I do it again….. the decision is currently being debated by a jury re-hydrating with cold beer.

Tickets Booked

Parka Dusted Down

Vespa Polished

Paul Weller Preston Guildhall 28.11.09

Done!!!!

These babies arrived today, and I'm rather happy.

However, it wont be long before the soft delicate suede is deformed by some clod hopping size 10 moron the first time they're worn.

Until i master the invisable force field I'm designing in order to protect them I shall embalm them in suede protector and woe betide anyone who comes within a 20 metre radius. You've been warned!!!!!

Help! Has anyone seen my mojo

Maybe it’s something to do with the sultry balmy weather that threatened to raise our hopes of a summer comparable with those of our youth, before drowning our hopes and reverting to type.

Maybe its something to do with my new half pint demanding her daily 4am feeds, or maybe its down to the enforced abstinence of alcohol.

Whatever the reason, my Mojo has not only left its packed up, shipped out and emigrated. It’s currently horizontal on a hot sandy beach, having its toes cooled by a tropical aqua marine ocean whilst drinking, through a straw, freshly prepared cocktails from a garishly adorned glass.

By Mojo I mean the ability to concentrate and write anything other than drivel. I know that covers most of what has been posted so far on this blog but I do try to write seriously.

So, should you find my Mojo on said beach, please ask it to come home, there is a chap sat staring blankly into his laptop in need of a "yeh baby" moment.