Feet in the Clouds

Photograph Quiz:

Photos no. 69, 70, 71 and 72 …. Well it is Christmas Blog.

I was fortunate to see this unusual cloud formation as I travelled up to Yorkshire last week ….. as I went over the moors towards Haworth …. It was there in the sky. AMAZING. Was I on cloud nine or was I on cloud nine? Did you see the fuss it caused on the national t.v. channels, Blog, with all those spurious explanations about inversion levels? The clouds looked the right way up to me from where I was standing. It is the same formation you see on hard packed windblown sand, and you don’t not get no inversion level there? Any way, it was most impressive. Never seen anything like it before except on hard packed windblown sand. No wonder the ancients would think something mystical was occurring. Even today, in the age of enlightenment, you see something like this in Yorkshire and what happens, I hear you ask Blog. I’ll tell you what happens when you see something like this happen in Yorkshire …. everyone sits round a chopped down fir tree in their living rooms and get sizzled. Slard ti belief intit Blog???? Yud not foool pimple lick that nowsa daysie. Pimple int dift are they, blig???

On boxing day, I went over to Kenilworth to see the annual cyclo cross race. When I got to the Kenilworth Common, the weather was so pleasant, I couldn’t resist going for a trudge instead of watching a load of bikes being wrecked by people who couldn’t stay in the saddle. Thinking I’d get back before the end of the cycle race I mentally mapped out a 6 mile trudge along the cycle way, across the fields and back to where I had dumped my car in time to slip on a few extra clothes so as not to get a chill. Can’t be too careful at my age, Blog. Like Mr Blobby, Bloggie, I trudge along the new Sustrans cycle way to the cyclo cross course in all my extra kit. The race lasts an hour; after 60 minutes the result of the race is determined by the position held by the riders at that point. Now the best laid plans of mice and men …. I planned to get back to the finish area in good time which would have happened in every year since I can remember. Unfortunately, some wise guy official decided that this year the race would only last for 45 minutes and the said official forgot to tell me!!!!! Ta mate, I am on the telephone, you know. So I arrive in plenty of time to see the finish but I didn’t arrive in plenty of time to see the finish. Ta mate, the postman passes my front door most days, you know. Well I briefly saw my grandchildren there, so that was OK.

 I do find it hard to equate honest endeavour of honest athletes who rely on their own honest training with those athletic types who have assistance. Cyclo cross for example. A few quids and you can buy a better bike than the bloke next to you on the start line. A better machine must make a difference. If it doesn’t, how come the motor racing sport is just a procession, year in year out since Adam was first turned on by his ignition. Mike Buttons was great this year in that machine but was hopeless last year in that other machine. Manchester City have a few quids to buy the odd player or two and what happens? Need I go on? If I could afford to live and train at altitude I should be better at trudging than I am now, surely? If I could afford to buy one of those special altitude tents to sleep in, I should be better at trudging than I am now, surely? Any spare quids for me Blog, so I can investigate whether my proposition is valid or not??? ‘Give blood’ certainly does make a difference, especially when you make a withdrawal from the Bank at a time convenient to yourself.

After lunch today, watching my wife slice the small piece of Christmas cake I allowed her to have, I was reminded of a relation.(Cannot remember which one, possibly granddad) Alongside his Christmas cake which he used to slice thinly, he had a lump of cheese which he also used to slice thinly. He would then proceed to eat a slice of each together. I asked my wife if she knew of the practice. She mumbled something about strange things happening up north. When she goes into one of her moods there is no getting any sense out of her … she can say good bye to tomorrow’s slice of Christmas cake, cheese or no cheese, I’ll tell you that now, Blog. No pleasing some people; I am glad I ate the marzipan and icing myself now, before I gave her the slice of cake. I suppose I must blame myself for marrying a foreigner, marrying outside the faith. I have to admit that I was told. I was warned what it would be like. ‘A good Yorkshire lass’, is what my granddaddy told me. ‘You can love a rich one just as easy as a poor one’ he added. So I blew it on both accounts, Blog.

As I was showering after my morning blowout, I listened to a scientific investigation on the morning radio about the Yeti. Radio Four. Now I am sorry Blog, but there was no way that the investigation was serious. I reckon it was written by Alan Partridge. The Radio Times asserted it was a genuine programme and the newspaper critic dismissed any claim that it was not a piece of serious journalism as phooey. I reckon the journalist was in on the joke. Pull the other one Blog. Am I not the only one in the entire country who recognises an Alan Partridge when I see one, whether it’s in a pear tree or not? Come clean BBC. Tell the nation how intelligent I am, being the only one to crack the code. Yeti today, enigma tomorrow and Da Vinci the day after. Is there no end to my hindsight?

Now the sad news Blog. I ainta gonna trudge in the London marathon this year. I was 4 minutes too slow last year to gain a guaranteed entry. Unless my mate Dave Bradford fiddles me a wild card entry  …………………………………………………HHHHHHHHHHHHeeeeeeeeellllllp.

                                             Colin