Massey Furguson 5 mile Road Race result, March 31st 2013

Photograph Quiz.

Photo no. 141:- In this photo of a 20 mile walk team, why is the man on the right so vitally important to my ‘History of Coventry Godiva Harriers and Other Clubs in the City’? What was his name? What was the event? What was the result for club members?

Dear Blog,

   I have just returned from the Massey Ferguson 5 mile road race held around the pathways of Coventry’s War Memorial Park; a race promoted in the old fashioned manner of you pays your entry fee, you race in the well marshaled race and you get the results. No fanfares, no bunting or airs about being the Midlands answer to some highly sponsored, highly promoted, highly reported, highly priced-entry type race organised by some commercial outfit for the benefit of some commercial outfit screaming that mega quids have been raised for charity, giving the impression that some commercial outfit organising the race had raised the said mega quids when in reality, the commercial outfit had buggerall to do with raising funds as part of the race organisation; it was the sucker runners in the race who had done the fund raising. So this morning’s event was a genuine low key club race organised for the actual benefit of the club runner and jogger. [Although they did give a t-shirt and goody bag ….]. Don’t you think that is a horrible word Blog. ‘Goody Bag’. Makes the hairs on the back of my neck hackle in protest … like ‘bogof’ and ‘for free’. The point I am desperately struggling to make Blog, is that something genuine happened this morning in our sport which is to be commended as our sport has now turned into ‘a grabbit happening’, as they say in posh circles; or so I am told but as I don’t go around in posh circles, I do not know if they say that or they do not say that.

     It was a bit chilly out there this morning, froze the nose drippings, it did. My younger daughter ran home after the race and the presentation. I have told you before Blog but  ….  This reminded me of a time when I was at the Pink Panther University and I was persuaded to jog over to a local 10 mile road race which was about 5 miles away as it would be good preparation for my debut marathon race. The idea sounded good. So two of us jogged over and raced. I came second to Jimmy Alder. Now jogging to a race is all well and good. Racing hard in the race to which you have jogged is all well and good. BUT. In those days of yore, a long, long time ago, for prizes you didn’t get vouchers for a measly amount as a small part payment for a pair of shoes at the local sports shop. No you got prizes. Real expensive prizes. Pot hunting worth prizes. And so it came to pass in those days of yore, a long, long time ago that I won a canteen of cutlery. A heavy canteen of cutlery. A canteen of cutlery that had knives, forks and spoons for courses of food I had never heard of!! When it was suggested that I jog over to this local 10 mile road race which was about 5 miles away as it would be good preparation for my debut marathon race, the idea did sound good. Too good to be true in fact. But I never remember any mention of the 5 miles BACK. Nor was there any mention of incorporating a weights session on the way back either! FACT:- I don’t know whether you know Blog, but it was once the fashion to carry a weight in both hands as you trained. True. Would I lie to you Blog? I remember a few of the old runners when I started running actually carrying a small weight in the palm of each hand. What they did not do however, was carry a bloody heavy canteen of cutlery full of some many knives and forks and spoons that  would be an ample supply for the next London Lord Mayors Banquet and still have enough left over for my fish and chip supper. Sorry Blog, I now do lie to you. Soz. Of course we don’t use a knife and fork when we have fish and chips. Never have. Never will. No way! It is a finger job … which is spoiled in this day and age by the lack of a newspaper wrapping to keep said fish and chips warm. I think I told you Blog, that I once had my fish and chips wrapped in a sheet of newspaper on which was printed my photograph. I was most upset. I went back to the shop and had it out with the people behind the counter. Did they not have respect for the achievements and exploits of one of Coventry’s more famous sportsmen? The chippie ask me who I thought I was? I thought he was trying to imply that I was being rude and that I was acting above my station in life, but he was genuinely asking me who I thought I was as he had never heard of me. Can you believe that Blog. I asked him if he ever read his newspapers before he used them for wrapping paper? He said that if he had time, he would sometimes look at the obituaries column to check if he had died. Comedian, I don’t think so. Who did he think I was? Stupid or somrething? No one looks at the obituaries column to see if they had died because they would be dead, of course. Silly man. I took my fishy custom elsewhere after that I can tell. Who did I think I was indeed? Any way, back to this story about the blessed canteen of cutlery. I had to carry it back single handed. I don’t mean carried it back by myself as my fellow competitor was returning the jog back to the Pink Panther University with me because he worked there. I meant, I had to carry it back for 5 miles by myself because he refused to take turns. Between you and me Blog, I reckon he refused to help me because he was jealous of my success. He was envious of the fact that I had won the heavy canteen of cutlery stuffed full of knives and forks and spoons and he had won nothing.

     Even back then in the days of yore a long, long time ago, I used to recover from races by the next day, or two days maximum. But it took me a whole week to recover from this race. I could hardly take notes in lectures because my arm hurt so much from carrying that heavy canteen of cutlery with its knives for this and its forks for that and the spoons for others and other others for others that I didn’t know about ………….. and here’s the best bit Blog. I still have that heavy canteen of cutlery in my loft, unopened but covered in long since dried sweat which, over the intervening years, has grown some remarkedly different strains of bacteria. Would I lie to you Blog?  And guess what Blog, even more strange … last year the bright spark who suggested we jog to the 10 mile road race but forgot to tell me about the 5 mile jog back was given an Honoury Doctorate by Warwick University for his work on polymers. And do you know what Blog? He did not invite me to his investiture! Can you believe that? I reckon he still holds a grudge, don’t you Blog????

    And now a question for you Blog. Did not that improve in the telling, or did not that improve in the retelling??

                               Colin

Black September revisited.

Come on now Blog. Joking?? You don’t understand my last letter to you and you want further comments from me. O.K. assuming you are not taking the proverbial mick, I’ll elucidate!! As you well know Blog, if you set out to take the mick and someone comes back with a reposte, have you successfully taken the micky or is it a double bluff and it is you who is the butt. And if it is a double bluff, how do you know? So do you go along with it and then who knows whether you are bluffing or taking the b luff seriously or ….. Stone me Blog this is getting a bit heavy, with a capital ‘H’.

The “Black September” garden sculpture was SERIOUS with a capital ‘S’.

It was meant as a genuine tribute in a small way, to the eleven Israeli athletes massacred at the 1972 Olympic Games in Munich.

It was meant as a genuine tribute to the two brave U.S.A. athletes at the Mexico Olympic Games who had the courage to sacrifice the whole of their future lives to protest at treatment of blacks in America.

It was meant as a dig against the hypocrisy of the Olympic movement, the removal of the colours in the rings and the corruption of the circles, reflecting the insincerity which seems to pervade each Games.

The use of vandalised tyres were meant to be a reminder of the necklacing of the past.

So Blog, there you have it. Off you go for a trudge and reflect on what you have just read.

                    Colin

Spring into Spring

Another of my Garden Sculptures Blog. The Estate Sculpture Park is threatening to be a big hit with the general public over the Easter Holiday period, Blog; a ‘must visit attraction’. Why don’t you bring all the little Bloggies to a viewing. Inspire them it will. (Tickets at the Gate Lodge, reduction for family groups and O.A.P.s.)

Entitled “SPRING”

 

Dear Blog,

          With all the media bombarding us from all sides with stories of woe about the weather conditions during the last couple of weeks, as I crunched along on my trudge in the few remnants of snow here there and everywhere, I thought about the cold races in the past …in half a century of training once, twice, nay sometimes three times a day, nothing compares to this March weather. Yes in my first marathon in 1966, there was a certain amount of snow still in the sheltered hedge rows and a few flurries during the race itself, but nothing to worry my long sleeved vest and gloves too much. It was my first marathon. It was cold. So what was the problem??? No big deal for the media. Coincidentally, it will be the forty seventh (47) anniversary of my debut on Easter Monday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

         Pop back to February and the snow and cold were nothing much to remark about. February and snow and ice goes with the territory. My first Northern Cross Country Championships running for my club, Bingley Harriers, at Witton Park Blackburn, took place in the Big Freeze of 1963. My race, the youths, was the first event in the programme. Remember in those days, it was Youths, Juniors and Seniors; none of this under 16s this, and under 15s that or under 12s the other business. No faffing with Mickey Mouse races!!  And women were a definite no no!! They were still tied to the kitchen sink boiling hot water for the tin bath in front of the coal fire when men like me got back from the races. We had a tin bath in front of the coal fire, did you Blog. Honest. I kid you not. The start of the Youths race was at the bottom of the park, on the other side of the wall from the main road. In the two day respite from the sub-zero temperatures a week before, snow melt had formed a gigantic lake in the depression in the ground over which we were to run after about 400 yards (382 metres to you Blog) from the start. Because the let up in the Big Freeze was brief, the water had not had time to drain away, the ground never thawing out enough to allow water to percolate into the subsoil. So a huge frozen lake, inches (centimetres to you Blog) thick with a thick ice cap had formed to be covered in the first initial rush at the start of the Championship race. Although there was no Health and Safety shenanigans in those days, the organisers had taken the precaution of testing the ice for the safety of the Youths. Workmen had spent time, much to the amusement of those runners warming up for their event, trying to smash through the thick ice with sledge hammers and pick axes. The ice held firm showing no signs of nyielding to the brute force of the workmen. The lake must have been about 300 yards (394 metres to you Blog) across. The gun fired, the youths race started and we rushed towards the erstwhile lake. First came the an ominous groan, then a growl. The weight of 300 seventeen year old males is considerable. The entire field was soon spread across the entire length of the ice covered lake. The creek, then loud crack, much louder than the starters pistol, was audible to all, spectators and runners alike. The ice surrendered. The surface shattered and everyone was thrown into the icy cold waters, battered by the sharp huge chunks of ice swirling and churned around by the runners. It was not pleasant. But no one complained. And no one complained when the second lap took us through the ice berg strewn lake again…. Boy, that WAS chilly!! But it was my first year of running. So what was the problem??? The media were not too concerned.

        The Midland Cross Country Championships at Trentham Park in 1968 was cold and snow packed. But it was winter. But it was cross country. So what was the problem??? The media didn’t give a tinkers.

       Now the first flake is headlines. Two flakes we shut the schools. Three flakes cause motorway blockages and four results in a national crisis of Churchillian proportions. And with all these memories vying for space in my cranium while trudging along dreaming, over I went. Never like that in the old days when it was really snowy and icy.

       So Good Friday was not too Good a Friday Blog.

                                                       Colin

An expensive trip!

Dear Bloggie,

                     Our sport has become an expensive pass time. Gone are the days when a pair of pumps, a used pullover and some old rugby shorts would do for a trudge here, there and everywhere, and even an occasional race. Now you have to look like a cat walk model with the de rigor gear before you dare venture out of the changing rooms. The price of shoes, racing and training, continues to spiral. I don’t lycra the increase in the price of clothing either. But it’s the expense of training that really grates me. Take for example; last Thursday I wrote to you telling that I had trudged home from the track training night for my session. And I had taken yet another tumble on the way. And the cost … ? I also informed you that I had damaged the plate which houses my false teeth. And the cost …? I had my teeth in my glove as I hit the ground running. And, although not biting myself as has happened in the past, I did manage to dent cum twist the plate as I hit the ground running.  And the cost … ? At home after showering, I tried to eat but the pain in my mouth from my remodeled plate made it impossible. The removal of a shard of metal from the plate which was sticking in my gums helped a little but the damage was done – to my gums! They just wouldn’t fit in my mouth without intense pain. Mouthwatering pain with a capital ‘P’. Over the weekend, repeated attempts to eat with my plate in place proved fruitless even though it was softer and easier to eat than steak! My gums were cut too badly and my food had to be cut, sadly so I could avoid starvation. So it was to the dentist I went. Very nice of the receptionist to fit me in at thirty minutes’ notice. Up the stairs I went and explained to the dentist man that I had had a hand in the plate bending. He looks and he sees and saws the plate down. Eight seconds maximum it took him to grind my plate down. It fit like a glove when it was fitted back into my mouth, just like the one I was wearing when I took a tumble and damaged the plate. Ironic? Walking back down the stairs to the receptionist, I thought that I should have given him a couple of quids for a drink for performing such a satisfactory job so very quickly. I gave the receptionist my signed form still procrastinating as to whether I should tip £2 or £2.50, but as that nice Mr. Cameroon’s friend, Ossie Osborn has just reduced the duty on beer, I had virtually decided on a £2 tip when the receptionist asked me for £17:50 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Stone me, I was thinking of treating the dentist to a drink not booking a bloody three course meal for him and his missus (plus wine). And then the trouble started. I don’t do money. Never had. Never. No need. As a kid I never had any. As a University student at the Pink Panther University, all my fees etc. were paid by the Local Education Authority. And when I started to work, along came the future Mrs. Kirkham who took charge of the family finances, even before she was family. Never needed quids.

           Luckily I had my credit card with me. Not that I have ever used it. My wife got two from our bank and she kindly gave me one. Don’t know why!! I only happened to have it with me today because I keep it in the same pouch as my O.A.P. bus pass. I gave the receptionist the card (credit not B.P.) and she messed about a bit behind the desk and gave me a machine with my card still attached. I thought it was stuck fast and she was unable to release it. So I gave it a tug and it came out easi peasy. No problem there then. As I was putting the card back in my pouch she told me that she wanted my pin. My pin??? Yes my pin number. Sorry missus, I don’t have a clue about my pin number, I have never used it. Blog, I would not lie to you. I have never seen a soap on the television set. Blog, would I lie to you? I have never made a withdrawal of money from one of those holes in the wall things. Blog, would I lie to you? I have never eaten in a McDonalds. Blog, would I lie to you? So I would not lie about my usage of my credit card, would I Blog? Sorry Missus, no can do. ‘Have you any cash to pay with???’ She does not really believe me when I tell her I do not carry money around the country with me. I don’t do money. Never had. Never. No need. As a kid I never had any. As a University student at the Pink Panther University all my fees etc. were paid by the Local Education Authority. And when I started to work, along came the future Mrs. Kirkham who took charge of the family finances before we were a family. Never needed any quids. And now I cannot contact my dear wife because she does not keep her mobile phone switched on. Never. Never has. No need. And even if she had her mobile switched on, which she wouldn’t have, it would be of no use because I don’t know how to use a mobile phone. If I said that I gave up such modern paraphernalia with the four pennies in the slot and press button A, Blog, I would not be lying to you. So it was a standoff. The “O.K. Corral” all over again. She wanted the money and I didn’t have any money. Simple. Who would be the one to leave Tombstone standing? Me or the receptionist? The other lady behind the desk could see things were turning nasty. She grabbed the machine which had nearly eaten my credit card, pressed a few buttons, and then asked me to sign several yards (metres to you Blog) of paper which came spewing from the machine. ‘It is like when we take your credit card number over the phone’ she explained to me as if I were a child not understanding what was going on. I explained to her as if she were a child that she wouldn’t be taking my credit card number over the phone because I don’t use a credit card over, under or without a phone. I rarely use a phone and never a mobile phone. Never. No need. She smiled. Bless. I did not bother to explain to her that the dentist had spent eight seconds rectifying my plate problem and I had been charged an arm and a leg. If the dentist happened to work the same hours as the average British work man, every week for a year allowing for two weeks unpaid holiday with his family to visit Blackpool like the plebs tend to do, he would have a salary of £800,496.50 per annum (‘each year’ to you Blog. ‘Per annum’ is your actual Latin. I had to do Latin at my Northern Grammar School instead of woodwork which I preferred; but the staff at the said grammar school put me in the top set and it was only the plebs, as in plebeians, that did the woodwork and chiseling and stuff ‘cos it was essential that in later life they would earn many more quids than I did teaching their sprogs, while they ripped me off building my new kitchen. You can’t amas a fortune teaching but amo spent building a kitchen can amount many quids )

So Thursday’s 6 mile (9.5 kilometres to you Blog) trudge cost me nearly twenty quids!!! A taxi would have been cheaper?

                                         Colin

P.S. In the past, I have given you some hot tips from my friends in high places before the press and the general public has been informed. So, hows about this then Blog? Keep it under your hat but remember where you first heard it ….. in the next edition of Burke’s Peerage validation has been established that Michael Ibsen, the Canadian living in London who provided the D.N.A. which was used to confirm the identity of King Richard 111, is really the true heir to the English throne, the direct descendant!!! So it’s King Michael and none of you Queen Katie nonsense stuff after all. A court case to establish King Michael’s claim is scheduled for the High Court next January. Would I lie to you Blog? Apparently, there is consternation in Buckingham Palace. Her son believes the former Queen Elizabeth has made a right Charlie out of him. Meanwhile, the former Prince Phillip was reported to be going back to Greece until he heard about their debt crisis. He has decided to move his personal wealth to Cyprus instead. And the corgi’s are reported to be off their old chum. Ibsen, Henrik not Michael, could not conceive of such a plot for one of his plays!!!!

P.P.S. Did I ever tell you about the sculptures scattered over my estate Blog? Thought you might be interested. The yoiks in the village are. Come up and gorpe at them quite often, they do. Here’s one of my favourites entitled “Black September”. Enjoy!

Midland Road Relays at Sutton Park, Birmingham Saturday March 23rd. RESULTS

So what did you do with your spare Saturday Blog? We all could have missed that relay race at Sutton Park at the weekend ….. the snow at Sutton Park was quite deep and the roads in places were totally impassable,  especially at the top of the course which is used by the spectators to run back and forth to view the runners twice on each of their legs. Of course, because there were no runners no spectators bothered to turn up so not a single spectator was trudging back and forth supporting none of their runners during the whole afternoon. Mind you there was little to see besides the snow tumbling down, not even the kids bothered to venture out to sledge! In September and October of last year, the Midland and the National men’s six stage and the women’s four stage didn’t take place at Sutton Park because of the e-collie outbreak amongst the wandering cows of the park, and now the twelve stage hits the snow dust. If this is taken up internationally, we could have the Olympics in 2016 not being stage in any country but Brazil. Or the Olympics not being staged anywhere in the world every three years out of four. Mind you Blog, conditions in Sutton Park, Birmingham were so white over on Saturday, that the Winter Olympics could have been held a year early.

For the Women’s Midland Road Relay however, scheduled for Saturday March 23^rd 2013, not single team turned out on time. It would have been quite impolite to all those aged officials who preferred to stop at home rather than risk hypothermia in the bitterly cold wind, if those runners who didn’t arrive hadn’t been so ungrateful.

 Godiva’s first runner might have been quickly away into the lead had she not slipped into oblivion on the first snow drift and ruined what could have been a close first leg if there had been any runners and she had not started without anyone else to run against. If she had bothered to turn out, she would have had it all her own way. Cool. Taking over for the second relay, Godiva’s young orienteer didn’t fill in at the last minute because our first choice on this leg, like the other six had heard on the local radio the night before that the event had been cancelled and decided to stay in bed. What are the coaches doing to encourage such attitudes? In my day, we would have all turned up and frozen to death without a single murmur of complaint. And we would have not been wearing gloves, nor t-shirts, nor leggings like the wimps do these days. We were men, with a capital ‘M’.

The third leg runner for our team would have blown the field apart because she is so fit. And she is quite a capable runner too. As it was, only the snow and wind were doing the blowing. Working together as a team, they had made the unrunable path by Keepers’ Pool unrunable; so it was extremely fortunate that none of the runners who didn’t turn up, didn’t have to run across that section of the course.

The fourth relay runner didn’t start very fast. Indeed, like all the rest of the team, she didn’t start at all. But in her case it was unforgivable because she only decided not to run at the last minute when she texted the team manager to say that she could not get out of her house because the snow had drifted so deep in her driveway. And she had done the local Park Run that morning.

So with no one else there, the fifth leg athlete might have had it all to do herself. None of the officials who had stayed at home were concerned at the lack of a competitive field and would have encouraged her to the day’s fastest time had they, or even her, been there. But they weren’t and she wasn’t so they didn’t and she wasn’t.

It is stating the obvious Blog, that the runner on our final leg would have really found the last uphill section to the finish difficult. The snow was so deep and underneath the white blanket, the road surface was very slippy indeed. In a tight finish, slipping and sliding would probably have caused adductor, not to mention abductor, problems the next day with the muscles being so stiff from not being used to racing in those conditions.

I think the organisers at the Midland Counties Office have decided to put the event on ice for a while until things have cooled down. Then in the summer they hope that the club runners will take a more responsible attitude to competition and  someone might turn up to relay around around.

                              Colin (writing from an igloo somewhere in Sutton Park, Birmingham)

Photograph Quiz:

Photo no. 143.2:- This is not the Midland Road Relay at Sutton Park on Saturday March 23rd 2013. BUT who is the chappie on the left playing Greta Garbo? 

Compensation for Blog.

CANCELLED

The Midland 12 stage Road Relay has hit the dust.

So to help cheer you up Blog after that massive disappointment…..

Another poem by Colin in the style of the minimalist Geeko School, popular in the surfing regions of Hann Oracs.

'Train

Strain

Pain

Job done.

Race

Pace

Place

Well done.'

'But if there is snow

It just goes to show

The race is no go.

That is a blow!'

Bet you can hardly wait for another cancelled race Blog?

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow .....

Dear Blog,

           What a difference a year makes …. Sweating last year, freezing and slipping in the snow twelve months later as in this year. But some things stay the same Blog. Trudging last night, over I go, crash, bang, wallop, what a picture lying thrashing about in agony outside the pub in Tile Hill. And did anyone help the poor old man? What a night I spent, tracksters torn and my gloves all rent. Grazed my hands, banged my thumb ….. And worse of all, I split the plate of my dentures, Blog, I kid you not. And that’s going to cost me a few quids, no doubt. The teeth on the right side of the top plate have buckled causing the metal to splinter. Nasty fall. It is very fortunate that in the tumble my face wasn’t damaged badly by the plate splitting. I suspect that it might have been because my false teeth were in my pocket at the time!!!

             Now tomorrow is the Midland 12 Stage Road Relay at Sutton Park. Dire warnings were issued on the television weather forecast last night as I sat there feeling sorry for myself nursing the bruising to my shoulder, neck and ego, that disruption from the snow fall was to be expected on Saturday. What a difference six months makes. I did moan about the six stage being cancelled because of e-collywobbles or something last October, but a repeat cancellation would this time around have my backing. The relays involve many runners from different clubs and a stack of willing officials. The event lasts four for hours plus and it is not nice to have a group of old people (no disrespect meant) standing about for that length of time in freezing snowy conditions. They may devote a great deal of time to their hobby and they do expect conditions to be rough at times but the body can only take so much. And the older you get, the more susceptible to weather conditions you do become. And it won’t be much fun for the officials either!

            And this unseasonable weather doesn’t help with the household chores does it Blog? Washing clothes for example. How to get your kit dry when it is cold and damp outside?? Not easy peasy. I allowed my wife to invest in a tumble drier recently to cope with the desmelling of my clothes and kit. She is not technically minded. Bless. All those dials and things on the front of the machine offer her an unfathomable puzzle. Bless. But look on the bright side I always say. For every dark cloud there is a silver lining if you look hard enough. And so it is with the new drier. My wife may not be au fait with the heat and time settings, but she is helping to solve the clothing problems of those poor displaced children in Syria. Bless her. All my woolly socks and jumpers have shrunk to child size. My thermal underwear now will fit a five year old, keep the Syrian kids warm in their refugee tents.  Bless her and I often do. So looking on the bright side of life, I am so fortunate that she does not go to the trouble of washing my trudging shoes. And also, having to replace the whole of my wardrobe with new clothes to fit me, will help that nice Mr. Cameroon and his Challenger, Ossie Osbourne, to solve the country’s economic problems with one big shop. With my help the clothing industry is about to come out of recession so that should please the Chairman of the Conservation Party, Mr. Wilfred Pickles. Did you know Blog, that he comes from Keighley like as what I dodo. Would I lie to you Blog? And that Keighley used to be a woolen town of some renown? True. Wilfred grew up like as what I diddid, amongst those dark satanic mills. Although by the time he was old enough to attend secondary school in the town, the Comprehensible system of education had been introduced and the old Grammar School had been confined to a footnote in the history of the borough.

           So for tomorrow, it’s “Snow, snow faster, Ally ally aster” like as what we used to say when Wilfred and I were kids in Keighley.

                                 Colin

Santander - the peeeeeple's bank.

Dear Blog,

                Let me state at the outset that I have never had a problem with my shoe laces in a race. Never, touch wood; say three hail Marys and turn to face the moon. In training yes. Some brands are notorious for the quality of their shoe laces. The material is all wrong, lack of friction causing slipping and then the lace becomes untied. Even after knotting! Wosh, enough said. I have a special way of tying my laces which not only ensures that they always stay tied but with one pull of one of the ends, slip undone without effort or the need to fiddle with the lace knots. Clever or what Blog?? As I wrote at the start of this little message to you Blog, my shoe laces have never come undone in a race ………… But wotif ..

           If I raced and my shoe lace became unfastened I might question why. If in a second competition, my laces became untied I would begin to ask question why because the result of a race is very important and a great deal of time is devoted towards training to win a race and that object is ruined when you have to stop in a race to retie an errant shoe lace. If the situation arose where every time I raced my shoe laces, one or both, invariably became untied I would investigate the matter and do my very best to find a solution because the result of a race is very important and that is what a great deal of time is devoted towards. Stick with the analogy Blog. Concentrate.

       I have had reason to ring up my bank four times in the last three weeks. I must say they have rather nice music to listen to while you spend time ‘on hold’ and I do get a bit annoyed when they keep repeatedly interrupting the tune to tell that I am in a queue and  my phone message is important to them. Connection to a VOICE is made and I am given a stack of options from which to choose. I select the appropriate one so that I can be given a further set of options from which I select the most suitable. Then comes the questions which may recorded for training purposes as my bank have the most highly trained staff on the high street. The time they must spend training probably accounts for the long time I have to wait in a queue listening to their rather nice music. They are all probably learning to play a musical instrument to enable the Bank to record a different tune at some time in the far distant future. Any ways, then comes the questions one of which asks me to state my date of birth in a six figure number …. I never know what the next question is because I never get that far. The VOICE doesn’t like my six figure number and I make the mistake of giving up and starting to redial my Bank all over again. MISTAKE BIG TIME. The whole procedure is repeated when I ring up again. Viz:- I must say they still have rather nice music to listen to while you spend time ‘on hold’ because my phone message is still important to them. Connection to a VOICE is eventually made and I am given a stack of options from which to choose. The same stack of options as before. I select the appropriate one (the same one as before, the VOICE has either forgotten or doesn’t recognise my voice, [so much for regarding my message as important if they forget what I have said in the space of a couple of minutes] so that I can be given a the same set of the further set of options as previously stated and from which I again select the most suitable. Then comes the questions [again] which may recorded for training purposes as my bank have the most highly trained staff on the high street. The time they must spend training probably accounts for the long time I have to wait in a queue listening to their rather nice music. They obviously haven’t mastered the instrument they chose the last time I phoned. Any ways, then comes the questions one of which asks for my date of birth in a six figure number …. Now this is where I outwit the VOICE. Clever me. The VOICE doesn’t like my six figure number again again again but I don’t hang up. FOOLED YE! The VOICE asks again for my date of birth as a six figure number. The VOICE still doesn’t like my six figure number but I still don’t hang up. For a third time the VOICE asks for my date of birth as a six figure number but doesn’t like what it hears, it breaks down in tears and passes me over to a real human being. No messing. No smarmy talk about the importance of my custom, none of that bollocks. Straight in. I do miss the music though, it was getting quite addictive. I was getting quite fond of that particular air! As I said to you Blog I have had reason to ring up my bank four times in the last three weeks and have had to go through the whole of this farce four times. On the fourth occasion I asked to speak to a superior and said that the Bank’s Voice was having trouble with my date of birth given as a six figure number. I was asked if I used to be a Scottish Mutual customer in the days before the carpet baggers came along and stole the members silver. I said I was. “Ah, that’s the problem sir. We always have problems with customers from the Scottish Mutual when they try to give their date of birth. It is a regular problem. It happens every time.” !!!! Now Blog, is it me or is it me??? As a multi international bank, wouldn’t you think my custom was REALLY important to them as they kept telling me and would do something about their problem instead of pissing me off every time I phone? So I won’t be phoning Spain again thank you very much. I will try to find a bank which plays a different tune!

                                       Colin

      P.S. And …. I don’t know whether in the circumstances I should admit this … but I will. My nephew is a senior person in Santander. And in which department you ask Blog? Well I am glad that you asked that question Blog. He is the department which is the section which deals with computer problems within the Bank!!! Blog, I kid you not!!!!

THE Crick Run, Rugby 17th March 2013 result

Hot off the press
Dear Blog,
               Quick ........
                                 ............. you'll never believe this Blog. 30 minutes, yes THIRTY MINUTES, ago I had reason to travel back from Kilsby near Rugby ... and guess what? GUESS WHAT. You will never believe me Blog. Sign at the side of the road "Caution Runners", on a Sunday afternonn. What's trhe event mate????? You will never believe it Blog. It was the annual race from Rugby School. THE CRICK RUN ... the oldest race in the world?????? 175 years!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! They were caked in mud. Incredible. And the publicity. ZERO, ZILCH,  NOWT, NUTTIN.
                          And as you read this Blog, they have not yet probably finished. Can you believe it BLOG?
                                  Colin

A 'Coventry Way' event on April 7th 2013

Dear Blog,

       Sunday April 7^th is a big day in the Kirkham household calendar. It is the day of the annual ‘A Coventry Way’ walk / run, an event encompassing 40 miles of footpaths which circumnavigates the city of Coventry. The event has been renamed in honour of the late Cyril Bean who did so much to promote the idea of a pleasant walk on the city boundary, never is any point on the route more than 5 miles from the city centre. The field has reached it’s advertised limit of 250 entries long ago, but Blog, if you wish to join the Kirkham extended entourage, you are more than welcome. Although you cannot now enter, you can now enter with us!!! You do not have to raise any sponsorship; that is entirely up to you. So there is no pressure then!!!? We will be covering the route in an informal relay fashion with each runner / walker doing just as much or as little as each runner / walker wishes. For example, my grandson who is in a wheel chair will be doing the section along the newly tarmacked path along the Kenilworth Greenway (aka the route of proposed HS2 which received a fillip in the High Court yesterday!) with his mum. We will try to raise a few quids for Tiny Tims Children’s Centre which provides help for disable children. A couple of staff will be in the team. Do come along Blog. How far will you wish to run / walk Blog? Bring a couple of the Blog family with you. The start is 6am but that is very flexible … In the case of the Kirkham Entourage, it will be very, very flexible. The organisers provide drinks and sandwiches at many points around the route

A few years ago I ran round by myself. In those days the runners were supposed to start at 9am. I had arranged for my wife to be at certain points around the route at given times with drinks as a boiling hot day had been forecast. In those days it was held in the summer time when the weather was nice. I arrived early at the nine o’clock start. The organiser told me that there was no need to wait until the official start time of 9am as I could set off when convenient to me as there was a running watch to record starters and finishers. So off I trudged 40 minutes early. That was a BIG mistake with a capital ‘B’, Blog, I kid you not. A MEGA BIG mistake. Why you ask? Read on ……. I soon caught the back markers, the first slow walkers despite their departure being a couple of hours before mine and I arrived at my first, then my second prearranged drinks station with no sign of my wife but at this early stage I was not unduly perturbed. The other feed stations came and went, the sun got higher, the mercury crept relentless upward. After a couple of hours I had overtaken the whole field and was now beginning to get really worried at the non-appearance of my wife. Worries about accidents etc began to fester. The endless climbing of stiles and field gates was beginning to tire me and the desire for a drink was predominant in my thoughts. I was arriving at the official watering stations well before they were set up by the volunteers because they did not expect anyone through their checkpoint so early; this I foresaw, hence my arrangements with my wife to supply me with drinks during my trek around the forty miles. Slowly the penny dropped as my thirst grew. By setting out forty minutes before I was supposed to do, the timing of the points at which I had scheduled to meet my wife had become meaningless … and of course she was completely oblivious of my position on the course, thinking she had missed me because my planned schedule had been over optimistic; she started searching back towards the start, not thinking for one minute that I was miles ahead in the other direction. After a shade over five hours I arrived at the finish in record time and finally was able to get a drink. Forty miles in blistering sun with no liquid intake was a dangerous exercise for any athlete. ANY athlete. It was only because I had acclimatised over the many years by always running in excessive amounts of extra kit and knowing how to cope with a lack of water that my plight was no worse than it actually was. At the finish with a steady supply of water / shandy / tea / coffee, I did eventually recover after a couple of hours of slipping in and out of consciousness. Lying on the grass in the hot sun in the shade of a tree opposite the pub where the event ended, few spectators realised just how bad my situation actually was; they thought I was playing it cool so I played along and I pretended to be enjoying the post-race euphoria; but the periods of enforced unconsciousness must have been patently obvious to an astute observer. The First Aid had cottoned on and were worried and checked on me frequently but were reassured by me as to my state of being. My wife eventually arrived and instead of showing concern, gave me a bollocking in front of the assembled throng for wasting her morning and afternoon forcing her to drive fruitless around the Warwickshire countryside cooped up in a car on a boiling hot day!!!

          No such drama is expected on April 7^th Blog, I can assure you. The course is much easier to negotiate with kissing gates instead of the 136 gates and stiles I had to climb. The underfoot conditions are much improved with a solid couple of miles on the Greenway and no fear of heavy plough and the like in the fields. Footpaths will be much more runnable than they were a dozen years ago, through familiar and frequent usage. There will be no scorching sun. Promise!!! Everyone out to enjoy the run / trudge / walk. Perhaps if the weather is pleasant we can organise a Bar-b-q? Interested Blog et al?????

Oh yes and its my wife’s birthday on April 7th I believe ……………………..

                                 Colin

Old King Coal was a merry old sole and a merry old soul was he ..

Photograph Quiz:

Photo no. 140:- This gentleman was not a particular star …. but he knew how to work his handicap!! I don’t suppose you know his name Blog, or why he was special … what did he organise??? Where did he work???? All the answers are contained in my ‘History of Coventry Godiva Harriers and Other Clubs in the City’. If I could finance it, I would produce it in three volumes:- Volume 1 “The First 67 Years”, Volume 11 “The Second 67 Years” and Volume 111 “Me, Myself and I”.

Dear Blog,

          One of my trudges, used when tired, is from the Warwick University to the Greenway (the old railway track) and around the country pathways, taking in Crackley Woods, and back. Twenty five years ago, there was great concern because the area around the old railway track was the preferred site for the proposed new super coal pit. Part of the reasoning for that particular choice was the simplified infra-structure offered to the coal mine by the easy reinstatement of this railway, closed by the Dr Beeching cuts of 1963 (March 27^th is the 50^th anniversary of his report – a report that change the face of transportation in this country, Blog, I kid you not). Now Daw Mill, a few miles to the north was closed down for good last week due to an underground fire with the loss of several hundred jobs. Daw Mill was the site of the foundation of the Democratic Mineworkers Union, which backed Thatcher in her fight with the National Union of Mineworkers, the conflict causing so much family strife when close relations opted to support different factions in the dispute, brother against brother, father against son; I taught in a mining village at the time and it was not a nice place to be. Daw Mill leaves millions of tons of coal reserves under Warwickshire. Interesting that not only those reserves but the vast coalfield stretching towards Birmingham would be easily accessible from the Greenway area … and of course, with the building of High Speed 2 railway line, a means of distribution of mined coal stocks would be available with no cost of expensive infra-structure in the form of a rail head, falling on the Coal Company – a mouthwatering prospect, killing a whole flock of birds with a single well aimed stone. It has been tentatively suggested already in high energy places (or so I am lead to believe, hint, hint, nod, nod) and at least one Freedom of Information Act request has been made for any details that may or may not be available to the public at the moment. Six months down the line (pun intended Blog!! Is that clever or is that clever??) the newspapers will climb on board the train (oh Colin, you are such a literary tease). It will be intriguing to see which way the politicians play the story with an election not too far away … HS2, environment, national energy shortage looming, stacks of easily accessible coal (without the need for a deep mine?). Mmmmmm interesting.

       As part of my ‘History of Coventry Godiva Harriers and Other City Clubs’ I get requests for information about relatives who may or may not have been in Godiva. I have said this to you before Blog. Also I get supplies of information from interested relatives which often opens up new lines of enquires to me. One such request last week, involved me doing a search of results in the 70s. Have I told you before Blog, that I never kept a training log Blog, of my performances. Slogging through pages and pages of past results, I was amazed to find that I had run on the track at Crystal Palace in the Inter Counties!!! I could remember running in the 20 mile road race (32 kilometres to you Blog) for my county but have not the slightest recollection of running 10 kilomtres on the track. Worrying or what Blog?????????????? Now ask me what my trudge was ten days, ten months, ten years ago and there is no problem, but yesterday’s evening meal. Errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

               Cloin 

What a difference a year makes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

‘What a difference a year makes’ Most people using that quote, Blog, refer to past events like l might comment that a year ago everyone was sweating in the strange unseasonable hot March weather we were experiencing in this country and I was unable to trudge because I was in agony with a bad back; the back being so bad that I could hardly move that I had to sleep for a couple of months downstairs in a chair. Every time I tried to lay flat on my back I screamed out in pain  … and then would be unable to get up off the floor. What a difference a year makes. The weather is freezing again this morning with snow, as I write to you Blog, blanketing down. Blog I kid you not. And my trudging is unbelievably of the highest quality???

‘What a difference a year makes’. Up until two days ago, I had meticulously planned my summer holidays in God’s Own County, booking up a little cottage on the Dales and carefully planning which road side layby I would use to watch the Peloton of the Tour de France flash by on the Bradford Stage One, and the Leeds Stage Two. Careful planning for maximum enjoyment. Careful planning for a pleasant place to Bar-b-q in the convivial company of like-minded people while taking in the breathtaking scenery waiting for the Tour to arrive.

‘What a difference a year makes’. Two days ago, a friend told me that the Tour takes place in England in 2014 and NOT 2013. Blog, I was totally shattered. All the effort. All the planning    ……….. Blog, do you know anyone who wants to hire a little cottage in the Dales in July? And it comes with the recommendation of some pleasant laybys nearby, at no extra cost.

                                 Colin

P.S. Spent yesterday evening doing a session of repitions in one of my ‘lighted’ grass stretches where interval work can be done because of the illumination of the street lighting; there are plenty of convenient areas like this around so I cannot for the like of me understand why athletes have to train in the winter months on a hard unforgiving track and worse, an even harder unforgiving road. Bit of lateral thinking needed from the coaches??? And I still haven’t seen the blessed comet. No comet – no comment.   

Inter Counties Cross Country Championship results at Cofton Park, Birmingham Saturday March 9th 2013

Bye heck, sum folk have nowt much abart em wen you thinkson, Blog.

Two weeks ago were t’National Championships at Sunderland, an a lass free our club went owt fast an t’were int lead by seven odd seconds after abart 800 yards (am told thats abart 800 metres fer thee Blog?) an fair doos, she eld on, an kem int ferst ten attend o’race. But she mun ad done better wi usin a bit o’nowse.

On Satdi, it t’were t’Inter Counties in Birmingham at t’Park near weir the med cars, ant sem lass free our club went owt fast an t’were int lead by nine odd seconds after abart 800 yards (am told thats abart 800 metres fer thee Blog?) an fair doos, she held on an kem int ferst twenty attend o’race. But she mun ad done a lot better wi usin a bit o’nowse, given that shed nobbut done t’sem start thing two weks afour.

 So she chucks a medal an a vest down t’oil in fifteen days. Nobbut a bloke wi a armful of badges cud advise sumon to do that. Tecs talent likeus I allus sed. Wi all them as badges, he mun know wot he’s upto like. I know nowt abart it sos al gob up.

                                                      Colin

Pressure. Under Pressure.

Photograph Quiz:

Photo no. 139:- Not seen one of these trophies before, then along comes two, in my interviews for ‘The History of Coventry Godiva Harriers and Other Clubs in the City’ in the space of three weeks recently. What was the relay event??

              As part of my superior position in local society, I recently attended a Charity Auction where people with more quids than they know what to do with, place excessive bids for items they do not really want but feel obliged to participate in the excitement because of peer pressure (see below on pressure!!). No I don’t know why I was invited either Blog!! I don’t know if you have ever been to an auction Blog, but I used to go fairly often to pick up odds and ends for work. We were desperately short of cash at school, and when I took over the department, I had the problem of dragging it into the modern era … part of this remit involved the need to provide accessible storage for staff and pupils (sorry, ‘students’ in the modern idiot, or ‘educational customers’ if you are really political with a capital ‘P’ Blog). So I needed cabinets, viz filing 4-drawer type. For some reason which I cannot recall, I knew the auctioneer, either I taught his daughter or she came down the running club or she used to run in the Coventry Schools Races with which I used to help … anyway, I used to go to the sales rooms. If I needed stuff for work, the viewing was on a Saturday morning, and on one occasion, while doing the walk around viewing business, my dear wife and I spotted a rather nice oak dresser. Not for school mind, but for us. We discussed at some length what we could afford and decided that £350 was absolute tops and that would push our financial bounds somewhat .. remember that this was thirty or forty years ago and quids were tight!! The auction ran at a speed of 100 lots per hour. Because I was in for a bit of shelving for the stock room at work, I opted out of work midmorning on the day of the sale because I had a free lesson. It would also get me to the saleroom in time to bid on the dresser. “I have two five”, the bidding for the dresser had already started as I entered the auction room .. late but not too late. “Three” came and then a pause. “I have three” said the auctioneer any more interest?” A pause. “No interest?” “I have three once”. Oh well still inside our limit, “Three five” goes I wondering what the new terminology was all about. It was usually, two, two fifty, three, three fifty etc. oh well what the heck. The auctioneer gave me a strange glance; a sort of ‘what are you up to’ glance, or a ‘are you off your trolley’ type of glance. “I have three five, do I hear four” “Four”. Now  four hundred and fifty quids was way more than we could possibly afford but anyway it is so easy to get carried away in the bidding excitement with the adrenalin flowing full pelt, and my dear wife and I did really like the dresser; it was rather splendid. I gave my nod. “Four fifty I have”. Committed was I! “Have I five” And the room went active. Bidders were all over the room. “Five”. Well that’s me definitely out. “Six”. “Six fifty”. “Seven”. “Seven fifty”. “Eight”. Eight fifty”. And stop. “I have eight fifty once”. “I have eight fifty twice”. “I have eight fifty three times. Gone to George. Eight thousand five hundred pounds for the oak dresser.” Hey, hang on a minute, where did this thousand business come from???????? Thousand quids????????? No wonder the auctioneer gave me the funny look stares at four fifty; I was on four fifty quids matey, while you were on four thousand five hundred quids – no wonder you gave me the stare. That zero was important. Not a lot but a lot. Like bloody hell what have I nearly done important. If I had known what he was on about, I would be staring at my definitely brown trousers. Boy, Blog, was I lucky to lose that auction. God only knows what would have happened if I had been the successful bidder. Teach me to be late for an auction! I did have a laugh at my expense when I had a chat with the auctioneer the following week and I explained what all my bidding had been about. A few months later I occasion to attend a rather grand function at the Guild of Freemens’ Hall in Coventry. A posh DO. ……….. and there in the hallway, groaning under the weight of the Guilds silver ware was my dresser. MY DRESSER. My eight thousand five hundred quid dresser which was slightly less than I had paid for my three bedroom detached house in a rather desirable part of Coventry about twelve months earlier!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now Blog, that was scary, with a capital ‘S’ and a capital ‘BU’ for brown underwear. I would have been nervous if I had known. Very nervous. If I had known, the pressure would have been really on me trying to figure out how we could possibly afford to pay for it. That is pressure. REAL pressure. Life changing pressure. I read in the press and see interviews on the television set where athletes talk about the pressure of their competition. Perhaps they feel pressured to say that they were under pressure. Pressure??? Get off!! At their level, the concept of pressure is blown out of all reality. Firstly, that so called pressure is self-imaginary because in most cases no one else gives a toss. At club level athletes talk about pressure which is even more self-delusionary because in 99.99999% of cases there is not the remotest chance of the athlete winning some Mickey Mouse race. And for both scenarios, surely the indictment must be that their coaches have not done their job efficiently. Athletes should be taught that the nervous excitement of competition is what the sport is all about. They should be taught to cope and taught that everyone feels the same at the start of a run, jump or throw’s contest. But far more importantly, they should be taught at an early age to enjoy the sensation of pressure, to enjoy the feeling of dread before competition. After all, the excitement, the anticipation, the expectation and every other synonym is what athletic life is all about. From my observation, UK don’t appear to offer a badge in ‘Pressure and How to Enjoy’. I could be wrong???

                                                  Colin