Co-incidence

Photographic Quiz:

Photo no. 7

To win this marathon, I had to run a bridge too far. Which bridge did I cross?

Dear Blog,

Have just dropped my last missive to you in the box. It should have winged it’s way to you on Tuesday!!

I trudged up a path yesterday that I haven’t had the pleasure of a trudge for 43 years .. I will explain why next time. It seemed such a co-incidence that I should end up where I was. It reminded me of other co-incidences. My daughter’s London Marathon and mine arriving on the same day .. and at the same address as well. Strange what? Drivers pay thousands of pounds for a personalised number plate. I got mine purely by chance. What is the chance of that happening? Tens of thousands to one I suspect. Some co=incidence? What is my number you may ask. Well. You know everyone regards a ‘6’ on a number plate as the letter ‘G’. My number plate starts with BL60. So if you transpose the ‘O’ and the ‘6’ and the ‘6’ becomes a ‘G’ you end up with ‘BLOG’. Is that spooky or is that spooky?? And what is more, the three following letters are NVK which of course are my initials, Neville Vincent Kirkham. Scary!! Double spooky. Weird! Well it would have been my name, had not my cousin who is slightly older than me, being christened three weeks before my ceremony. Mum and Dad were not happy. Not happy at all. I thought that they were going to trade me in for a different model. Or perhaps a dog? Or, because it was war time, a few clothing coupons. They saw my potential. They kept me. But they had to think of another name ... hence I became known as Colin.

When I was young, I was Colin. Not Col but always Colin. Simple Colin. There were no other Colins around. Well besides Colin Cowdry and Colin Campbell, but they had standing. Kudos. Classy sorts. None of your working class hoi polloi were called Colin. And so I grew up. Still few Colins around. I was THE one. THEN, along came the TV programme, The Brittas Empire. The repulsive gym attendant was called ‘Colin’. Every crook and low life on film, TV and radio from that point in time became a Colin. The secretary of State in the US was so ashamed of the association with all these reject from society that he decided to call himself Colin, pronounced Co-Lynn. And who can blame him? Who wants to be tarred with that brush? Even Joan stuck n extra ‘L’ in her name. Last week I was trudging around the Coventry War Memorial Park and someone started shouting ‘Colin’, ‘Colin’. I skidded to a halt thinking someone was calling me to give me a £1 or two for the two children’s charities* for which I am attempting to trudge for 4 hours around the city streets of London. ‘Colin’, ‘Colin’. I saw no one I knew. The penny then dropped. An old lady was calling her DOG. HER DOG. Not even a pedigree but a scruffy, louse ridden four legged rat. Sorry Blog, I am going state side.

         Yours Co-Lynn.

P.S. Have you noticed that the former Secretary of State isn’t the only one at it. The country Kenya is now the country Kenya. The Himalayas are now the Himalayas. Boadicea from our school days is now Boadicea. Michelin is Michelin, Margarine is Margarine .... when will the whole thing stop? ‘You say Potato, I say potato. I say tomato, you say tomato.....’  but it isn’t really a joke anymore. Lets clean up all the Colins out there!

Ref * Tiny Tim’s Children’s Centre and Newlife. (£1 per guess at my finishing time in the London Marathon if you wish to win my medal, my t-shirt, etc. but just donate if you just wish to give)