Running out of time

In eleven weeks time I am due to run the Brighton Marathon. This isn't as much time as it sounds. As the last two weeks are intended as something of a warmdown, or taper as they call it in the business, I only have nine weeks to build myself up to marathon level. I was hoping to do an 8km run today, but I don't think my legs have fully recovered from my previous two runs, and so while the romantic thing would be to run through the pain, as so often is the case, the romantic thing is also the stupid thing. The clever thing is to wait until tomorrow, so this is what I shall do.

No one said this would ever be easy.

They want you to fail

because they don't want to be alone.

Tesco Pubs?

What a monstrous thought! Thankfully, as far as I know, despite branching out into banking, weddings and car insurance, Tesco have yet to start a chain of pubs. And I don't think it's going to be happening any time soon.

Why mention it, then?

Well, it was what you might call a train of thought. And any train of thought will always call at the station that is my blog.

I was sitting in a pub in Hove after having made a long walk through town. I had bought a half pint of bitter shandy for the surprisingly sharp price of £1.55. As I sat down sipping it, I thought to myself about the pub environment. What a comfortable, warm place it was. On thinking about the price of the drink, and how it compared to other places I had been, I was somehow reminded of the fact that pubs and restaurants, by law, have to give out tap water for free if a customer requests it.

A few years ago there was a news story about an old lady who fainted in Tesco. The staff relieved her and a bottle of water was taken from the shelf to assist her. Once she had recovered, she was then charged for the bottle of water they had had to use.

Beggar's Belief, you might say. It's true, though, like so many other pathetic stories. This of course, made me think what would happen if Tesco did run a chain of pubs. They'd have to give away free water, wouldn't they!

But can you imagine a Tesco pub? All the facades would be the same. Instead of witty pub names like the Chorister's Arms or The Bishops Curtains (or even straightforward ones like the Royal Oak and the Fox & Hounds), they'd just be called Tesco, perhaps with the street name underneath. Of course, they'd have to put the word 'pub' somewhere too, lest any confusion emerge when a child walks in to buy some sweets.

The idea of pub facades being Tescofied is bad enough. But what about the innards? You can expect standardized furniture and interior design. Anyone who has been to more than one Subway on a frequent basis will know that all the pictures inside are the same nationwide. The same will be true of the Tesco. There'll be stock pictures of people smiling, drinking beer, a photo of a fireplace and a nice little countryside scene, allowing people to reminisce about the good old days before Tesco owned every public house in the country.

On tap will be all variety of Tesco brand alcoholic beverages, including the infamous Tesco Value Lager, which will be a bargain at 79p per pint!

Expect the busier Tesco branches to have self-service bars as well, where you just pour your own drink and put some coins into a machine.

The pubs will be very popular, naturally. This will cause a problem, as pub premeses are traditionally small and there won't be a lot of seating available. That's alright though, each seating area shall have a queue attribitued to it, including a special area for people drinking one pint or less.

Some pubs will just keep the same opening hours as they did before, but expect large, 24-hour pubs to open in major population centres, particularly where there are many students. Of course, they'll have to shut at 4pm on Sundays, as even a company as powerful as Tesco can not change the Sunday Trading Bill. And in that they shall be at a disadvantage against the traditional pubs.

But a half-pint of bitter shandy will definitely cost less than £1.55.

Cheers!

Can't think of a good title for this blog post and have already used 'Running Updates' for the previous update.

6km in 42 minutes. This includes a 2 minute break at the halfway point and a 1 minute comfort break. For consistency, I should report that on Wednesday I took a 4 minute break yesterday at the halfway point, and so even if the running bit had only taken 33 minutes, the total journey time was 37 minutes.

As the occasional breather/rest break will feature in the marathon itself, I feel it would be good practice for me to measure the total start to finish time from now on. Thus the results so far:

27/1/10 - 5km, 37 minutes (8.1km/hr)

29/1/10 - 6km, 42 minutes (8.6km/hr)

I will keep this tally up in all my future posts.

I must say, it's fun to tally up lists of numbers for things which actually matter for a change. Not that I'm saying there's anything at all pointless about my accountancy work. But running makes me healthy and happy.

Am very satisfied to have done the full 6km. Am still not sure precisely what my plan for Sunday's run will be. It depends a lot on how I feel on the day. By 'feel' I mean physically, not emotionally. There are fewer things better at moderating ones emotions than a good bout of mindless exercise.

  

I am ambitious to try seven or eight kilometres. Again, the route will be along the promenade, though I shall have to go East of the Peace Statue at some point, as there is no practical way or running past Hove Lagoon, the westernmost part of the promenade.

It really is a brilliant place to run.

Running Updates

Just ran 5km in 33 minutes.

To the more experienced jogger, this may not look too impressive.

And to the non-runner, it may make no sense at all as they have nothing to compare it to.

Either way, it's a start, and I'm finally embracing the transition to distance-running. I know it's 5km because I was running along the Hove promenade, where they have markings every 1/2 km. I know it took 33 minutes because I have a stopwatch. That makes my average speed 9km/hr which, incidentally, is twice the speed I walk at.

What's my plan for Friday then, run 5km in 30 minutes?

No, my plan is to run 6km in however many minutes it takes. The focus at the moment is on distance, not speed. That's what a marathon is all about.

I say 'Friday' rather than tomorrow because the current recommendation on the Brighton Marathon website is to practice distance running every other day, whereas at the beginning of training, I was doing short sessions almost every day.

It seems ironic, then, that as my runs are getting longer and less frequent  my blog posts are getting shorter and more frequent.

Schedule

Anyone who knows me well will know that I am obsessed with schedules and routine. I often ask other people intrusive questions about their sleeping hours and how long someone takes to do a certain task.

It turns out I'm not the only person interested in this sort of thing either.

There is a whole site dedicated to the topic, which can be seen here:

http://dailyroutines.typepad.com/daily_routines/2007/07/benjamin-frankl.html

n.b. this is not the main page; there does not seem to be a main page, so I have just posted a link of one of my favourite schedules found here.

Of course, like most things we obsess over, it's something I know I'll never really be able to have. And if I do get it, I'm sure the experience will be awkward and desperate.

Or will it? Since may week in the North my sleeping hours were generally between 4am and 11am. Obviously this was to adapt to the rigours of student life. Now that I am back home, I should probably get back to normal.

But what is normal? What are my natural sleeping hours? Does such a concept exist?

For some reason I have the rough times of "1.30am to 9.00am" as my normal hours. Yet at school, for ten years, it was 10.30pm to 6am. Did I spend all that time fighting nature? Or are we able to adapt? Perhaps I should take consolation in the fact that, in both cases, my body seems to agree that seven and a half hours is probably optimum.

Many might suggest that the phenomenon of jet lag shows that we are able to adapt to any sleeping hours we like. After all, though the first days are difficult, eventually you get into rhythm with the local definition of 'day'.

But what are we adapting to, exactly? If, for instance, I went to stay in Peru for twenty days, would I only really be happy if my natural sleeping hours were, relative to the longitude, the same as they were in England?

Perhaps we adapt to what is practical. But is there anything practical in schedule at all? I appreciate that doing things by the clock is an essential component of modern industrial society, but what about someone like me? I can set my own hours, for the most part. Is there really any benefit to me getting up at sunrise?

I am not sure if my desire to get up at dawn comes out of some irrational lust for self-discipline or out of a simple desire to be at one with nature. It's probably just an ego thing, actually. I like the idea of getting up early, it's something I can aspire to, seemingly a way of improving myself.

But I have discovered in the past that it is something that we must slide into gradually. And that's the task I have ahead of me. Having got up somewhere between ten thirty and twelve on all but one of the last ten days, I feel it is time I slid into a more sensible routine. But how to achieve this. Naturally, or through alarms?

Well, I shall find a hybrid. I shall make my waking hour earlier, but not to a strict pattern with a strict aim. I shall find out as I go along. I shall set my alarm earlier each day; not by a fixed, predetermined amount, but by my instincts.

This blog post asks more questions than it answers. You can help by answering some of them yourself.

Three Posts in one day? He's mad!

I am indeed mad, although it should be brought to your attention that the first post was in fact written last night, but like most (ex-)students, my actual day eats into the next calender day as a matter of course.

I have a few months in which I do not really plan to leave Brighton, save a day-trip or two to London or France. Accordingly I can set some plans in motion. Here they are.

1) Marathon
Everything else has to revolve around this. Training recommences tomorrow after a break during my time in the North. Fortunately I did enough walking around (including 10 miles through Coventry) so as not to become completely unfit.

2) Driving
Not planning to take my test for a good while yet, but I'm going to have to pressure my father into insuring me on his car and letting me drive it. Of course, being on a green licence I am required by law to have someone supervising me, so I will take to the habit of driving errands.

3) Work
Had a great time in the Midlands. But for some reason, all I could really think about is how nice it would be to just have loads and loads of cash and be able to do whatever I want. Well, now's as good a time as any, and tomorrow I'm back to work.

4) Projects
Peru Report is done. Not dusted, mind you. But done. I can now direct my creative efforts elsewhere. Am currently drafting up a board game about the upcoming General Election. I won't give too much away here, and I am not sticking to any strict schedule. But whenever I produce it, and whatever form the game takes, it will be good. Which is pretty difficult, as the key dynamic in game design is finding good balances. Between skill and luck, between impressionism and conceptualism, between accuracy and playability... &c.

Just came back from Ask in Lewes. I used to go there quite frequently with my family back in the good old days when we had a disposable income. Apart from the fact that the service was a little slow, it was an excellent dining experience and the food was to a high standard.

Anyway, better get on with things. Is going to be a critical three months.

The Wartime Cartoons

During my time in the Midlands I stayed one night with the Sylvesters of Coventry, courtesy of Mme. Tan. Though I was never entirely sure how many of Nancy and John's relations lived in the area, I saw one room full of children's toys. Some of these toys were old-fashioned, others were not. With the exception of a beautifully 22nd-century electronic music device, most of the newer toys were based on modern children's cartoons, including a doll of a Boo-Bah. I believe I saw the inaugural episode of that. It was terrible. The Boo-Bah's had ridiculous names, such as Zing-Bah and Zingzingzing-Bah. They are tremendously ugly, the sort of sinister children's doll a phobia might stem from.

Of course, these programmes are designed for pre-school audiences. What about those cartoons intended for older children? Well, they do not inspire much faith either. Most children's television today seems to be fast-paced American and Japanese creations with poor character development and patronisingly undemanding plots, as if children need something unsubtle and quick lest their attention wonder.

I try to be careful not to be one of these people who bangs his fist on the table about how good the past was. The fact is, I was never in the past and am not the past. My formative experiences were in the nineties and I grew up in the 00's. However, it is clear that the modern commercialisation of children's television has resulted in a dearth of creativity.

Take Disney for an example. Most of us, men included, will have grown up with the magical elements of certain Disney films battered into our heads. Classics like Sleeping Beauty and Fantasia, the visual-musical associations of which never die. Can we honestly say the same about Home on the Ranch (2004) or The Lion King III?

I have decided that the golden age of the cartoon was in 1940s America. Here's a little sample of what I mean.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QM3IFRJJ6nM

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mfc09yhDnak

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SG15bVweujE

and, probably the best one around:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YroTk6Vobww

These are some of my favourites, though obviously I encourage you to browse for yourself.

The fact that most of these are propaganda of some sort in no way detracts from the art. If anything, it produces a more wholesome, beautiful and honest cartoon than anything the electronic-age can produce.

By the way, if the reader is in any doubt as to whether Nazi Germany had a sense of humour, you should watch this cartoon:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q8MUYCVD-VM

Week in the Midlands

Have recently come back from the Midlands after spending a week visiting friends in the region. I had a great time and enjoyed a good variety of company and activity, though I am now happily bankrupt (financially, not morally) as a consequence. There's no such thing as a free lunch!

On that note, the first thing my grandfather noticed on my return was that my stomach had grown a little. My mother had noticed the same thing. They were both right, of course, but what is a holiday without good food? Believe me, I enjoy being kept hungry about as much as a haemophiliac enjoys a paper cut.

There was no single, outstanding highlight to the trip and each night was good in its own way. I don't say this to be politically correct or too polite to have an opinion; I simply say it because it is true. That is what made my time great - the variation. Had I stayed with the same person in the same house for seven days, I would have gone mad. And so would have they. Nevertheless, I am thankful to all my hosts, even those who had to take an early night due to their essay fatigue.

Actually, if I had to mention one place which stood out in particular it was the Dusk till Dawn card room in Nottingham. Apart from the fact that the blinds structure for the tournaments I played in was a little steep, it was still superior to equivalent buy-in games at other casinos. Moreover, the punters were friendly and good-natured. None of the players' games were particularly intimidating, but that is to be expected, as the buyins for the two nights I played were only £31 and £56, which may sound like a lot to the non-poker player, but to the more knowledgeable gambler, these are essentially the lowest stakes available in the casino environment.

Mind you, I am still holding to my conviction that I should not spend too much of my spare time in card rooms. I have essentially given up online play since the New Year and am rediscovering the simple pleasures of life which, I am ashamed to say, I neglected somewhat between Graduation and Christmas. I mean pretty fundamental things, like keeping in touch with my friends, being honest and open rather than secretive and meta, getting exercise and in touch with my environs rather than decaying and falling into grumpy, bloated, lonely decadence. Thankfully, the return of many of the Group of '03 during the Christmas period has brought me out of the worst excesses of idleness and antipathy, and I have been leading a more serene existence ever since.

O, yea, I look back with some pity on the later parts of last year. It always seems to happen; I flourish in the early months of the year and then gradually lose steam as it goes on. Well, this year will be an exception. Why? Because I say it will, that's why.

By the way, whoever wants to sponsor me for the Brighton Marathon may do so at this site: http://www.runningsponsorme.org/sebastianevans

It's very quick and simple and you can make a nice little vanity comment after you've donated. If you are also participating in a marathon, or some other type of charity event, then email me at sebyevans@hotmail.com and we can discuss the possibility of sponsoring each other on each other's behalf (i.e. both donating money to ourselves).

For all those who are reading this blog for the first time (having discovered it through my facebook link) I say hello, welcome to my blog. It's not much, but at least it's cheap and cheerful!

One for the Poker Players

Here's a short story I published on PokerSoc forums last April, but may as well post it here for posterity.
------------

Through the window you can see the faint glimmer of moonlight, but as you desperately reach out to grasp it in your palms, you find you can not reach it, and your fingers tremble eeriely as the shadows encase them once more. Like an autumn leave, your hand withers down to the ground. for this is your autumn. This is the winter of your life. But, wait, what's this?
A sudden surge of ambition and excitement emerges from the pitiful, stale atmosphere of your room as you remember that the tournament you qualified for is starting in fifteen minutes. Like a volcano reawakened, your parts slowly begin to shift and before you know it you are up. Laden in dust, perhaps, dizzy, no doubt, but you are up! As if born again you run downstairs to the nearest bowl of cocopops and eat, eat, eat, feeling something of the excitement of a new day ahead. It is dark outside, for the sun has already fallen upon this day, but for you, the day has only just begun. There you see it, before your very eyes. $750,000 Guaranteed. Tonight, you play with the pros. Tonight, you are the pro. Your housemates are fast asleep, dreaming about whatever it is they dream about. The truth is, this, what you are doing, is the stuff of dreams. It’s not often you get to gamble $216. No longer are you going to be reduced to penny-stakes, no longer will you have to break even at sit and goes. This is your glory, this is your moment, this is your chance.
AND IT STARTS.
First hand dealt, Jack Jack, both black, under the gun. A tricky hand, but you can afford to splash around a bit with one-fifty big blinds. You raise… not too big, not too small... 70 total. Hi-jack, Cut-off and Button all call. The blinds fold.
Pot: 310
Flop: J ♦ 2 ♥ 7 ♠
Great! First to act, you check with the intention of check raising. “Poker is easy!” you laugh to yourself, but to your horror no one bets out.
Pot: 310
Turn: Q ♥
"200", you announce, though no one can hear you. Hi-jack and Cut-off instafold, Button thinks for a while, then calls.
Pot: 710
River: T ♦

"My set is good." you tell yourself, no one can have this beat. I’d better value bet and hope he had hit the queen, then I will get paid off. So you bet, 370. A tricky bet. Could be a value bet, could be a bluff. You know, of course, that you're sittin' here with a set, but he doesn't.
To your great surprise, button raises to 1100. Shocked, but in no mood to hesitate, you insta-call.
He turns over: A ♥K ♥
He had the flush draw on the turn and rivered the nut straight. He drags in the pot leaving you the table shortstack, at half your starting stack.
"WHAT? FUCKING BACKDOOR FISH! HOW COULD HE HAVE ACE KING THERE HE DIDN'T EVEN 3-BET PRE WITH ALL THAT DEAD MONEY IN THE POT!"

You slam your fist against the table, but avoid slamming it a second time, fearing that you might awaken your housemates. Suddenly you feel very envious of them, "smug bitches, sleepin'. I'm a true grinder not like those dicks."
It being just after two am in the morning, you realise there is nobody to listen to your complaints. Pacing up and down the room for the next ten minutes, thinking through that hand again and again, you console yourself, occasionally returning to the computer to fold a marginal hand. Having vented out a little, you now feel calm, proud and good, promising to "pro it" from now on.
For the next few hours you grind, grind, grind... playing the perfect tight-aggressive tournament poker strategy you normally play. It works at the $5 MTTs you normally play in; surely it will work in this big one too?

You are vindicated. It is now 7:23am in the morning, and the sky is turning lighter. You feel faint, exhausted and guilty, glumly wondering why you ever tried to qualify for this tournament in the first place. The blinds are now 200-800-1600 and you're sitting on 14,000... not in desperate shape, but you realise you won't be able to fold to the money. It's 360 paid, and your current position is 378th out of 411 remaining.
It is folded round to you on the button, you have King Ten offsuit. You snap up some 'M' calculations in your brain. "My M is 3.5. My M is 3.5." You keep repeating this in your brain until it has lost all meaning. "But I have a bad feeling about this hand!"

You eventually shove, only for the small blind to snap call and roll over KQ suited.
You're done for.
"For fuck's sake.. he shouldn't have made that call" you say, standing up from your computer, just waiting for your elimination; permission for you to collapse back into the miserable heap of clothes on the floor from where you awoke five and a half hours earlier.
Flop comes three irrelevant low cards, turn is an ace. River is A TEN! WOWOOWWW! OMG I'M SO PRO WOW!!!
And so from one moment to another, on a 27% shot, your life suddenly becomes worth living again. Your stack, now comfortably nesting over 30K, is no longer a dwindling barricade, but, as the Full Tilt advertisment boasts, a fortress, to bully the weak and shame the greedy. You feel so 'cool' that you almost sense as through you were the living personification of that advert. "I'm basically the next Chris Ferguson" you say to yourself, out loud.
Time passes, you finally reach the bubble. Like some famous landmark on the horizon you have lead your army of chips towards, the cash is in sight. The only thing that stands between you and the money is 360 other players. Not even 360 players in fact, just ONE. ONE person is going to go home with nothing. It won't be you, it can't be you! It's your destiny to make it deep in this tournament.
You already 'felt' as though something big were to happen, and sure enough, with the shortstack pot commited on the big blind, you look down at Ace-King in clubs, (A ♣K ♣) your third favourite suit. You minraise, just enough to put the shortstack all in. Hoping to adminster a knockout, the bigstack smallblind calls. Sure enough, the shortstack bigblind puts the rest of his chips in. Already the word "FREEEROLLLLL!" is swimming in your mind.
Flop: A ♠ K ♦ 3 ♣
Wait, what's this... top two? Surely this is the NUTS! The smallblind insta shoves all in, but you aren't worried - you figure you've probably got him dominated; there's no way he has AA KK or 33 here. Plus you have a backdoor flush draw.
You call.
Sure enough he rolls over 7 ♥7 ♣. He was bluffing with two sevens in the hole. You laugh to yourself, anticipating the victory. The bloated pot, now just under 100k, will soon be yours. You pat yourself on the back. For a moment you forget how miserable your year has been. All the alienation, all the mediocrity, all the boredom... it has all been for this moment, the moment that shall define your life! The moment you make poker history!
The big blind shows 8 ♦ 5 ♦. Well, he's drawing pretty thin.

The turn brings a 4 ♦
The big blind now has a flush draw. Not that it makes much difference; if he hits you still win a massive side pot.
You realise another seven would give the small blind a set and send you packing. Sure, you would make the money, but it would be annoying to lose your tournament life in such a way, so early into the money levels. Afterall, you didn't have eyes for the $376 minumum payout... you want the six-figure top pirze!
The river is 7 ♦
The big blind wins the main pot with a flush, king high.
The small blind wins the side pot with three of a kind, sevens.
You are eliminated in 361st place.

Some Rhymes

Horseradish and roasted beef
make a succulent main course.
Yet I've never had, much to my grief,
beefradish and roasted horse.

---

Mango chutney and cranberry sauce
go well with almost anything.
Yet mixed together the taste is coarse;
the tongue reduced to suffering.

---

"Early to bed and early to rise"
The morning alarm came as no great suprirse;
Its regular beeps allaying my fears,
its unchanging tones, music to my ears.

For many a month I'd awoke at this hour;
leaping from bed, standing tall as a tower.
It invoked neither dread nor forlorn
starting my scheduele way before dawn.

The shackles of bed had been lain to the side.
The time on the clockface filled me with pride.
From the streets not a whisper, not even a creep,
as the rest of the world was still fast asleep.

"Poor fools" thought I, for free of haste
they do not realise the time they waste!
These twilight hours so crisp and pure,
they are a pleasure to endure.

But one night I had trouble dozing off
for I had in my chest the most challenging cough.
The more I held in the worse it became,
but I managed to get to sleep all the same.

But I awoke again halfway through night;
my throat was weezy, my lungs were tight.
I lay there in impotent despair:
I was neither here nor there.

For the next few hours, I am unsure,
whether I managed to dream or snore.
All that I know is that I was in bed,
with a dizzy fatigue running through my head.

"BEEP BEEP BEEP" went the manic alarm!
I raised my finger and lifted my arm.
"Off!" I gasped. It would not stop.
My weary eyes began to drop.

For a moment the noises stopped.
I sighed, then smiled, and off I dropped
back to sleep, that dull sensation,
the alarm having halted its vibration.

"BEEP BEEP BEEP" there it goes once more!
The numbers now read five past four.
"No, let me rest!", I screamed inside.
I turned away, as if to hide.

In desperation I closed by eyes
to find some sort of compromise.
Yet all I could hear were fanatical cries:
"Early to bed and early to rise!"

Written by Royal Fish (me)

Heey

Heeeeeeeey.

As I had a little spare time tonight, finally cleaned up the blog a little. As I'm here, I may as well update y'all as to a few things.

Christmas was good. A friend reminded me that what you give is more important than what you receive. Ironically, the sermon of the Christmas Day service I attended at All Saints, Hove told us that to receive was more important than giving, as there is no way with competing with the gift God has given us in his son. Well, I prefer to listen to my friend than a priest. The best thing I gave was a 12-pack of 300ml Inca Kola glass bottles, which I bought from a store in London. There was no way any of my family could have expected a present like this, and I'm pleased to say they voted with their mouths and all twelve bottles have been drunk. Two of them by me.

New year's eve was spent with friends. The drinking started at 2pm, a nice early modern time, although admittedly the first drink was only a half-pint of bitter shandy. Over the course of the evening I drunk the equivalent of six pints of beer, although I was never really drunk at any stage as the drinking was interspersed with meals and often with soft drinks, as we crawled from Kemptown to the centre of Brighton. Midnight was spent at a two-storied (yet cosy) little pub in the South Lanes. My finishing drink was a bottle of Crabbie's alcoholic ginger beer, perhaps the best drink I have discovered during the year 2009. There was a little countdown downstairs, and I felt at peace with the world, and more grown up, certainly compared to this time last year. I already look back at the eleven-hours or so that group meeting encompassed as a very fond memory of a truly classic group meeting. I hope for a repeat performance next year.

New year's day was spent at home. Had meal with grandfather, Joan (grandfather's girlfriend) and the rest of the family, six of us in all. It was really like having Christmas a second time; the mixture of good food and formality. There was also good film. In the evening, watched Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (the Gene Wilder version, far superior to the Tim Burton one which was dark without being sinister) and the Italian Job, for which I have not seen the remake.

Peru Report nearing completion, and it will be complete before I go North on the fifteenth. Still set for around 70,000 words, which makes it by far the longest thing I'll have ever produced.

Haven't really been playing poker except for a Heads Up series versus a bit emo, who is 6-4 up after 10 games and the final is tomorrow. So basically, he's already won. He's a good player, by the way.

Nor have I been learning Italian as there have been no fresh plans for going to Rome, though I am sure it will happen sometime this year.

Marathon training has been going very well, especially since I splashed out on some new trainers. When they saw my old ones at the JogShop, they were astounded that someone could punish themselves by attempting to exercise on such a worn platform, although they didn't say it in those words. Alas, due to a fresh bout of snow have had to take to running indoors, although that's gone pretty well too, although it's only been jogging on the spot. Still, tomorrow I will be doing that for forty-five minutes in one stretch. I do feel slightly fitter, but it's quite annoying being so constrained by the weather. Today I took a bus into town. It had difficulty getting down the steep station road, which was far too icy. When I tried to get home not long afterwards, it turned out the uphill service had been cancelled, so I had to walk.

I don't think I'll be making a repeat venture tomorrow. As long as I can walk as far as the shops in Seven Dials, I might just be able to stay sane.

Hope the new year finds you all well, whoever you are. Feel free to comment, by the way. The few people who read this occasionally comment over MSN or, in the case of my brother, in person. But it will get a nice dynamic going if you use the comment feature.

Cheers

I often said, and still I say
'Drink up!' Like me, you'll soon be clay.

Update Soon

This is not the update itself. This is just to update my fans (all one of them) that I will be writing an update soon. I haven't forgotten about the blog, I've just been busy. Honest!

Yes yes good new year and all that. Did not make any resolutions, decided I'm perfect already. Been a good year so far so may it continue.

One thing which wasn't so perfect was my last post. Did not proof-read it and haven't read it since publishing, but my (one) fan has informed me that there were many unfinished sentences. I can't have that, so I will be engaging in a blog clean-up before I post anything new (apart from this, but by the time you read it it will be not new). Also, when making reviews in the future I will set out with more of a purpose. That last review degenerated into a self-indulgent philosophical game. I'm not saying such things are unwelcome on this blog, merely that they should be written in a different context. In fact, I have since trimmed the Burke review of some of the less relevant material, but have saved it in case I wish to use it at some point in the future to which it might be more suited.


Wow. Just checked spell check and no misspellings found! It's a mirclae!