Farewell 2008

Ah, that day of the year rolls around once again, a time for reflection, dreams and excessive alcohol consumption. 2008 seems like it's only just started, not drawing to a close. It's been largely uneventful (although am sure a look back at some earlier posts would remind me otherwise), but my first trip to Italy was a definite highpoint, as was moving into the flat (just in case, you know, that fact had escaped you).

I do this every year, but I honestly think 2009 might be the year where things start to come together. I start a new job on 19 January (as far as I know), so hopefully I should be able to ride out the financial storm. One advantage of a global recession is that if you're one of the fortunate ones to hang on to gainful employment, your standard of living should improve - an increase in unemployment suddenly puts me a few rungs better off comparatively to the rest of the population. Quite a self-serving viewpoint to take, but fingers crossed it doesn't come back to bite me on the arse. In the meantime, bring on the closing down sales.

We're heading back to Italy in July - I went a tad overboard in terms of Christmas pressies for J. Stunningly romantic or lacking the imagination to buy anything more meaningful (and cheaper) - I'll leave it up to you to judge. Of course, I couldn't let her go on her own, so I'm getting a "free" holiday out of it to! We only have flights at the mo, so have the next 6 months to plan (and get in shape so that I am not laughed off the beach by junior mafioso).

I've found myself wanting to know more "stuff" recently, so am determined that 09 will be the year I finally get off my arse and do it. Polish, photography, history, psychology - all that jazz. I have a Polish course courtesy of J to get through and once complete I'm gonna look at taught courses - apparently the University of Westminster does one for a reasonable price. My new camera is not just going to sit unused - I am actually going to read the manual and photography book I got for Christmas and learn how to operate the damn thing.

My long alluded to application to run the New York marathon is finally going to get submitted, and I am going to make serious enquiries about the other "Stupid Boy Project" (copyright Danny Wallace) I've always wanted to do - the London-Mongolia rally. Admittedly it may not happen for a while yet, but I can but investigate.

So - lots of stuff to hold me to. Let's make 2009 the year of excitement, memorable experiences and enjoying ourselves. Let's fiddle whilst Rome, London, New York, Tokyo and Frankfurt burn and crumble to dust.

But for tonight.... Let's get blootered!

Festive indulgence

Ah, the joys of the christmas eve drinks tradition. A bit more civilised than previous years...

Happy christmas

Standing, as i am, at the entrance to a building site, waiting for a lift that is currently marooned in a queue to get out of tesco on the other side of town, i thought i'd take the opportunity to wish everyone a very merry christmas. Not that i'm particularly feeling it at the moment, as i can barely feel my hands and am still suffering the effects of a 3am start to my festive trip home and 2 early morning pints at the airport. But i am but a mere 3 miles away from a huge sofa and free booze, and content in the knowledge that all my preparartions for the big day are complete. It didn't feel particularly festive until we watched Elf with a glass of mulled wine last night, but i'm now sufficiently glowing with seasonal love and affection that even the predictable carnage at stansted airport didn't rile me. Too much. Though i think having company and the aforementioned pints helped immensely. Happy christmas to one and all.

Hob nobbing

For the second time in 4 days, I'm off to the Royal Albert Hall again tomorrow night. It's safe to say that the run up to this Christmas has been a tad more civilised than festive seasons past. We can apply for free tickets to certain shows through work, and after 5 years of missing out, I finally won in two different ballots. So tomorrow, it'll just be me, J, my mate from work and his girlfriend, a couple of thousands other audience members, a 500-strong choir and the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra. They're performing Handel's Messiah. I certainly wouldn't claim to know about or even particularly like that sort of music, but am preparing myself to be absolutely blown away by it. Hallelujah!

Christmas meandering

Can it be called "Christmas shopping" if you don't actually buy anything? I tried - a whole week before the big day - to start buying some presents today, to no avail. Oxford Street is pish if you don't know what you're looking for - give me a regional shopping centre any day. At least in a small town you have every type of shop within 5 minutes walk of each other, and you can even find yourself in one that you hadn't even considered. On Oxford Street, you're swept along in a tide of disgruntled Londoners before grounding yourself against a massive group of tourists who have stopped, wheeled suitcases and all, right in front of the entrance to Oxford Circus tube to stare aimlessly in the general direction of Niketown. It sucked and I gave up and came home.

But!!!!

The erection (snigger) of some Christmas lights later and some expert net surfing, and I think I've nailed it - for one person at least. Obviously it would be remiss of me to mention who or what it is, but I think they'll be happy. Bloody hope so anyway. Amazing how one's lack imagination is directly proportional to the amount of money spunked on Christmas presents....

I'm reclining now, beer in hand, American Dad on the telly, Christmas lights sparkling and contented smile on my face.

I rock at this shit.

*PS - sorry for yet another gratuitous picture of my living room. Anyone would think I like it or something...

Spent the afternoon decorating my workmate's desk in his absence

I think he'll like it. I should probably do some work.

Rockin out

Carol singing at the Royal Albert Hall is the new Emo. Trust me.

Inspect da gadgets

I discovered the potentially wonderful world of Blogger Gadgets this evening, hence the fact there is now a mish mash of new things down the left hand side of the screen. I will do my best to find something interesting - potentially not easy given that there are over 50,000 of the blighters to look through. In the meantime, you've got a couple of photo thingymewotsits and an on this day in history feed. Who said I don't have imagination?

Decorations complete

I had nothing whatsoever to do with it, obviously, hence it looks so pretty. I did, however, provide the seasonal choice of rugby on the telly, much to my interior designer's chagrin.

Miracle on Brixton Hill

The festive season landed with a thump in the flat last night, with the appearance of a small yet surprisingly heavy Christmas tree. Well, I say tree - it's more of a shrub really.... But it's perfect for our little flat, even if it's somewhat dwarfed by the telly. We're on a mission to get decorations now, to make the last week and a bit in the run up to Christmas go with a ho ho ho.

I got a bit over excited as we sorted out a box strong enough to support our tree last night, blasting out Dean, Frank and, err, Shaky as J wrapped it in reindeer-related paper. I love Christmas.

I'm off for my annual piss up with a couple of mates today - starting at 4 which seems both sensible and irresponsible at the same time. It all hinges on whether or not we remember to eat dinner and whether or not we call it quits when the pub shuts really....

Then, tomorrow, I'll drag my hungover carcass to Peckham for our now-traditional Christmas dinner with my mates. Thankfully, the girls are cooking once again, leaving me and the rest of the boys to drink beer and listen to more cheese. Magic.

Festive cheer

I bought a new camera on Saturday, after lusting after it for about two months. My last one bit the dust a year and a half ago and since then I've been coping with my shonky mobile phone and borrowing J's whenever there's a special occasion.

Having tried it out in the flat and at my sister's house at the weekend, I thought I'd treat you to the view from our living room window (Look! Sky!! Oooooh!) and a festive cosy picture of J wrapping presents in my sister's house.... Awwww.

Siamese Maltesers

Am about to separate them in an intricate operation... Were maltesers invented by the maltese? Or is it a reference to malt and teasing? The things you ponder whilst still at work after everyone else has gone home....

Sleep deprivation combined with boredom

Such is the search phrase that led someone to the blog. Apt.

You may have noticed, I am finding it much easier to post stuff now the broadband is back. It's bloody quick too - I can stream video without having to pause it for 5 minutes to load. Expect a veritable smörgåsbord of delights over the coming weeks....

I'm ranked on Amazon

Not for having a book to buy or anything.

Nope, I am officially ranked number 304,469 in terms of reviews.

Get in there.

Soko

Possibly the cutest singer I have ever seen. She supported I'm From Barcelona the other night at Scala and the first song - I think I'm pregnant - caught everyone off guard, both with the funny lyrics and her persona. But then, she is from France, so I suppose the level of kookiness is to be expected. Her relocation to (and apparent love for) the US is somewhat less enchanting. Plus, she seems to have laughed and coughed at exactly the same points in this video as she did in London. Surely not part of the act?!

Whatever - for once I'm not going to be cynical and just believe she's really this lovely.





The second video is a song called "I wanna look like a Tiger". A sentiment very close to my warm potatoey heart.... She plays guitar! She plays the drums! She has a stuffed tiger on her head! Honestly - what more can you ask for?!



(ps sound quality is a bit pish - check out the myspace site for a better version)

Broadbanded up again

Thank God - back into the 21st century. Dial up really is pish. Took my ages to sort it out - I honestly believe I'm quite techie, and then I can't even get the bloody internet to work.

J got a bit of a shock this morning, sitting in her dressing gown in our living room, when the letter box flap flew up and two eyes peered through. It's the second time it's happened since we moved in (we don't have a door between the living room and the front door) and it's freaked us out a bit. I've complained to our landlord so hopefully something will happen - in the meantime J has stuck some stiff paper behind the letterbox with a very amusing pair of eyes peering out, should anyone else attempt to look through. Bloody freaks.

I am officially "the Thick One" in my relationship....

Yep, J got her confirmation yesterday that she has passed her Masters. Not just passed, but come blimmin close to a Merit. I have already told her that I think she was just pretending to be stressed for the past two years to get sympathy, when all along she knew she was a genius.

Am very chuffed for her - not to mentioned impressed. I've waxed lyrical enough in the past about how amazing I think it is to study for a masters at all, never mind in another language, so I won't go on about it again here.

Am looking forward to July and graduation - it's gonna be some party if I have anything to do with it....! Especially since her attempted celebration on Saturday was cut short at 8.30 thanks to some mistimed food poisoning (I wasn't cooking, honest). The Master of Science in Geohazard Assessment was unfortunately in bed by the time Match of the Day came on. Still, there'll be plenty of time for toasting her success in the next few months. In the meantime I'm considering dying my hair blonde, in keeping with my role in the relationship.

Mmmm..... Roast pork...

....and it's not even Sunday.

Off to see I'm from Barcelona again tomorrow

Purveyors of that particularly odd brand of Swedish feel-good indie pop that sees a multitude of kazoo-wielding band members invade the stage and good-natured carnage ensue. We tried it in this country and could only come up with Goldie Lookin Chain. Admittedly, I also saw them in concert - like, before they were famous, yah?

So - a night of loveliness awaits tomorrow at Scala in Kings Cross. I've even got a nice new haircut for the occasion. I'm currently sitting in the new, "just gets more great" flat, splitting my time between typing internet related things into my computer and watching South Park whilst waiting for them to load - I'm still on dial up as I wait for Sky to connect up the broadband. I've fallen straight into that "thousands of channels but nothing 0n" mentality with the telly - there's easily about 50 things I would watch if it were one of 5 options on terrestrial tv, but because it's satellite I demand perfection, goddamit!!

We got a new number for the front door today, along with a blind for the kitchen window and a key for a storage cupboard upstairs, which is almost like having a spare boxroom in the flat (except it's one floor up and has no light, ventilation or way of opening/closing it from inside. Not exactly like we can sleep there when mum visits). Things are starting to settle down now - we're about to hoof our unrequired yet sentimentally attached junk into storage and all the bills are pretty much under control.

Rock. And. Roll.

Or Pop. And. Smiling. As is perhaps more appropriate.

I got a little creative today...

....whilst setting up a new spreadsheet at work.

I was trying to come up with an appropriate error message when people try to enter information free-format into one of the columns. I eventually decided that an irate Rangers fan might foot the bill. Some of you might find it amusing - others may wonder what the hell I'm on about...

Looking out over South West London

I'm sitting in my new flat, watching the planes on their final descent, flying away from me towards Heathrow. Having been out of contact and in the middle of the best kind of house-related stress for the past few weeks, I figured it was best to drop a short line, in case anyone is still sporadically checking the blog.

We've been in the new place for a fortnight now - in some ways it seems like we've been here for much longer (Dulwich seems like an absolute lifetime ago), but in most it has flown by. Half our stuff is still unpacked - in part due to the severely limited storage we have, and partly just because.....well, it's a bit of an arse, really.

I've managed to achieve a long-held dream in the past week - nothing so worthy as raising money for charity or scaling Everest, but every bit as impressive were you to ask my 14 year old self back in 1992. I have Sky TV, my friends. Oh yes. 100 channels of top quality entertainment at my fingertips. Ignoring the fact that I have just scanned through them and could find absolutely nothing to watch. Such amazing options as "Horse & Country", "Nigeria Movies" and about 15 Evangelical channels are right there, just waiting for me to come home drunk enough to watch them. When I was young, I imagined that by the age of 24 I would have a riverside apartment, be a loaded City hotshot and have every channel available on Sky. I now am 31, have a lovely flat in Brixton, a respectable but at least reasonably secure job in Tower Hamlets and the variety and knowledge packs on Sky. I'd like to look at it as a glass half full kind of situation.

The flat is everything we hoped it would be and we're very happy so far. The past two weeks have been somewhat uncharacteristically kind to us: J found out she has passed her Masters after two years of stress and hardship, whilst I was nominated for an award at work and have secured a new "grown up" job which starts in January. Not discounting the fact that the credit crunch has done away with both my Christmas party at work and the prospect of any sort of foreign jolly should I win said award, it's been a pretty shit hot time for us at the moment.

We can only hope that it continues for a little while longer - Christmas is just around the corner and plans are already afoot for Christmas trees and all that palaver. Magic.

The boy's done alright for himself...

After spending a month coming up with reasons why it wouldn't happen, we got the keys to our brand spanking new flat tonight. Not too shabby, i think you'll agree. Of course, this photo is taken from the far corner of the "living room", giving an idea of the size, but it's all ours and it's all ready. Missing bog seat excepted.

The inner sanctum

Having never worked in a pub, i felt like a kid in a sweet shop tonight as i was shown the room "where the magic happens" in my local. It's even more beautiful than i imagined.....

Teenage Mutant Ninja Tattie

For tonight, I am Shredder. The flat is all signed for and, barring any last minute catastrophes, this time next week we'll be sitting in our "compact and bijou" (i.e. tiny) flat in "vibrant and edgy" (i.e. dodgy) Brixton. The week is going to drag, especially given we've been waiting for almost a month to move now and we've decided to have a week off the pop after a heavy birthday-related 7 days. So, we're busying ourselves with getting prepared, which tonight means finally shredding and binning 3 years worth of bank statements and paperwork. We got as far as sorting it before Spooks got in the way. Baby steps and all that. Cowabunga, indeed.

Must be fate...

That a lonesome little falklands islands pound coin has found its way into my wallet. "Return me to Stanley!", it brassily urges from my pocket... One day, young friend, one day,

Police in "doing their job" shocker

Makes a change from sitting on their fat arses eating doughnuts i suppose

Silence returns...

Given my recent efforts, it perhaps shouldn't be too much of a surprise, but the blog is about to go quiet again for a little while.... I'm packing my computer off to the countryside for a rest this evening until I move flat, plus I'm off to Poland on Sunday for a week. I'll try to keep you updated on proceedings in my little corner of the world between now and the end of the month, but safe to say that if I don't, you won't be missing out on much. I'm totally stressed about everything at the moment, and spent half of today on the phone to our letting agent trying to ensure things were going smoothly without trying to sound too panicked or desperate about the whole thing. My stomach is knotted into a ball and my hands are shaking, and work is suddenly somewhere I escape to for a bit of relaxation.

When I was a teenager, I thought I'd have a riverside apartment by 25 and be comfortably off with no money worries. Besides a couple of years messing about after uni, I haven't done that much wrong - so how has it come to this?

I'll see you on the other side. Hopefully. Roll on Polska and only having to worry about not speaking a bloody word of the language.

You wait 2 months....

....And finally reclaim your computer, and can't think of what it was you used to waste 3 hours a night doing on it. Honestly, am I just rubbish? Apart from Facebook surfing for 2 hours, I can't think of a single thing to do. I'm actually watching Eastenders on BBC3 such is my lack of inspiration. Any suggestions? Keep 'em clean.

What's new? Well, I've somehow apparently evaded the credit crunch - insomuch as my bank has deemed me suitably lacking in ill-repute to lend me some money, hence getting round the potentially inconvenient "want to move but don't have any money " issue. Have to admit I was sweating, they've raped me for an interest rate I wouldn't have considered on a credit card a few years ago, and my dreams of being debt free in a year are dashed until I'm at least 33, but I have ready cash - or at least will once the paperwork is signed and returned. It eases a tiny bit of the stress that goes with trying to move, although I'm still sweating on the credit check. Whilst I believe I'm reasonably dependable, my co-residents through the past 12 years of rented accommodation may be less so and I'm probably somehow linked to any dodgy dealings on any of my addresses since 1997.

When I took the loan out I willingly bought Payment Protection Insurance - the biggest rip off in Christendom. I say willingly, what I mean is they told me I couldn't get the loan without it. In any event, it suddenly doesn't seem like such an awful idea - an extra grand on the loan versus a 40% plummet in my company's share price today, taking it to a whopping 90p a share. This from a bank that was worth 8 times that a year and a half ago. From looking on at the credit crunch from a position of mundane boredom, I suddenly feel very much a part of it.

Scratch my earlier post

For verily I hath stumbled across this, which makes my eyes water just reading it. Is this legal? Or do they still have surly blokes with baseball bats forming their "collections" department. Surely there must be rules in place to prevent companies like this offering such terms...? Gordon! Alistair! Sort it out!!

Who would be hard up enough to go for something like this? In what circumstances? How can you possibly need 2 grand that desperately that you would apply - the repayments alone are £200 a month. It beggars belief. I just hope it's a typo.

Provident financial loan - 2,000 over 3 years

Jeez

I've just been looking at loans on Moneysupermarket.com. There are some companies offering credit at 64.1% - meaning to borrow 2 grand over 3 years would result in you repaying almost 4. Dark times.

Hmmm

Am watching trans world sport, reminiscing about getting ready for mini-rugby in the late 80s and apologising to myself for smoking in my own room. Perhaps time for bed.

Moyles away from entertaining

I think the single most irritating thing in the UK must be Chris Moyles' intro "thing" at 6.30am. It's bad enough having to be awake at that hour. It's an inestimable amount worse to have to listen to this bird-song, strings and pretension heavy 15 minute long extravaganza. You can just imagine the thought shower at the buzz session. Let's put the dog on the table "boys". You're mid-30s men trying to appeal to 12 year olds. I'm surprised the Daily Mail hasn't tried to expose you yet. So. Explain. Why can't i stop listening to you?

It's feckin freezin

I know this as i've just been hanging out a kitchen window trying to wake up in order to escort j to the airport bus in an hours time... There are even stars visible in the sky, no great shakes in some of our more rural environs, but sufficiently odd in central Brixton to prompt a brief "ooh" from me as i hung precariously over someone's garden. I'm now back enveloped in polish conversation of which i understand not a jot. It's remarkably soothing though, to the point i'm in danger of a wholly inappropriate falling asleep episode...

Super Seth

You've potentially heard about these already - short animations made by Seth McFarlane of Family Guy fame. For Burger King for some reason.

Very amusing though.

I managed to drag out my journalism career the other day

In that I mentioned smugly that I had two columns published in the Londonpaper. Increasingly, however, it's seeming pathetic when I tell people, "oh, yah, I wrote a couple of times for that rag..."

"really?" they'll ask, "when and what about?".

"err, once two years ago and once about a year ago. The first time about an inability to grow a beard and the second about rescuing a fly from my pint". Cue a kind of stunned silence, metaphorical tumbleweed landing in our drinks and a quick change of subject.

It's not that I don't want to write anything, it's just so bloody difficult to come up with something worth writing about. It's kind of like when you graduate from university - you spend four years thinking you're the dogs bollocks, of equal stature to your peers, and then suddenly, without any real warning, you're thrust blinking and unsteady in the big bright world at large. You can do whatever you want. You just have to have a goal and you can achieve it.

As I feel is apparent with the blog, I was much better at writing when I had specific subject matter - namely the first 10K and the people who were sponsoring me on my way to running it. Now I have to generate my own chat, and I'm honestly at a bit of a loss. Likewise with the columns, the first time I wrote one I was able to do it without pressure or fear of failure, because I was just doing something new. Once I'd done it, and got 100% "more" from the readers, I found myself under all kinds of self-initiated pressure to maintain the standard and found I couldn't, a feeling only compounded by not hitting the mark the second time around.

As another columnist from the paper proved, it's only the talented few who can be given free-wheeling remit to write about whatever the hell takes their fancy and still make it witty and entertaining. There used to be a very entertaining column called "City Boy", where a faceless banker laid bare the dark(er) side of investment banking. However, it only worked when he was doing the job and when he was unknown. As soon as he quit his job and was unmasked, the quality of his column has plummeted. All he can think to write about these days are idle musings and boasts on his new found "celebrity". It hasn't helped that he turned out to be nothing like the mental image I had built up in my head, instead resembling a nerdy IT bloke. Trying to reconcile this image with the tales of romancing and financial derring do just doesn't work.

Even my favourite columnists from the Guardian - Jon Ronson and Charlie Brooker - have parameters in which to work. One writes (or wrote) about his life as a 30-40-something middle class father, whilst the other is given free reign to destroy whatever TV detritus wanders into his sights. I suppose the difference is, those "spontaneous" writers have the ability to form ideas in their head and mold something meaningful around them.

The column is, of course, just an example of the bigger picture. The only problem with a lifetime of encouragement and confidence building from my parents and friends is that I believe I could actually do anything if I put my mind to it - I just don't know what. And rather than try a load of different things or devote any real time to investigating my motivations, I instead plod along in a McJob and lament never getting to where I don't realise I want to go.

Bah. Just think - if I'd had more imagination, you wouldn't have had to just sit through all that. Am off to watch Family Guy. That'll help.

Relief at last

As we speak, J is on the South Coast putting the finishing touches to her thesis, thus (hopefully) bringing to an end months of stress.... It looked very impressive to my untrained eye, and all we can do now is wait and see what more educated people make of it...

It means I can reclaim the PC for a bit as well, thus enabling me to update the blog a wee bit ore regularly. Not much has been happening at Tattie Towers of late - in fact not much has been happening at all. I've somehow managed to both do nothing and be rubbish at keeping in touch with people, all at the same time. Quite impressive I'm sure you'll agree.....!

My main focus has been on trying to find somewhere to live, as we move out of the current house in a month's time. We think we might have found somewhere, but I'll wait until we've definitely decided and managed to get a holding deposit down before expanding further, what with fate having a nasty habit of eavesdropping on such conversations. Suffice to say it is most things my first step away from communal living should be, in that it's tiny, expensive and in the centre of an urban (and vaguely poverty stricken) sprawl. What wasn't in the script is that it's all newly refurbished (to the point where it's a building site at the moment) so the "grotty and freezing" boxes on the list may remain unticked.... My main focus for the rest of the evening is working out how two people can survive in a bedroom that's only 70cm wider than our bed..... But if it works out, I'll be the happiest camper imaginable, at least until my usual grumpiness kicks back in.

Besides that, I am facing a further period of non-internet access as I debate whether to foist my computer on someone for a few weeks to avoid bailiffs who are now visiting our house in the middle of the night to hand deliver god knows what through the door. It all seems to relate to a former resident, hence up to this point I have been returning said summons' to sender, and have not had the balls to open this one to see what it says. I feel slightly aggrieved that I need to get involved at all to be honest, given that I've not been here for nearly as long as some of the other residents. Hmm, we'll see.

Beyond that, in two weeks I will have waved my mum off at Gdansk airport, as she completes her first visit to meet J's parents in Poland. It's all very peculiar, not to mention unintentionally significant. She doesn't speak a word of Polish, they don't speak a word of English, and she was only invited because I was going on the last time I was there about how similar they were and she fancied seeing a new country. It will be interesting to say the least. Kurwa.

Jimi must be smiling down from heaven

At such heartfelt toilet-graffiti based appreciation

Bought two cookbooks today

I now have 6. Still can't cook for shit, but they look nice on my bookshelf.

Coming to the (Credit) Crunch

Where will it all end? I've been watching the news with the slack-jawed expression of an inbred redneck over the past few days, as one venerable financial institution after another bites the dust in spectacular style.

The whole thing is mental - these gleaming dons of capitalism succumbing to the ordinary rank and file of working class America, as countless defaulted mortgage payments suddenly sees the have-nots calling the shots, albeit unintentionally....

Seeing people leaving Lehman Brothers on TV was bizarre - during my early years I went for a hell of a lot of job interviews with Investment Banks; not to be a big cheese obviously, but for entry level positions that would still have represented a 70% pay rise in some cases. I remember being on the 49th floor of One Canada Square for an interview with Bank of New York, and coming out afterwards looking up at Lehman's gleaming tower block in the centre of Canary Wharf.

Goldman Sachs was my big "what if" during this period - a story I have recounted whilst under the influence many many times, lamenting, "I coulda been a contender, if only things had turned out differently...." like so many other also rans down the pub. The basic premise was this: started work at my current employer on Monday, got a call from an agency on Wednesday saying that they had an interview for Goldmans on Thursday - the job was pretty much guaranteed as long as I:
a) didn't mind shafting the company that had just given me a job by leaving with no notice whatsoever, and
b) just didn't say anything wrong to stuff up the interview.

I did actually debate for quite some time over ditching the people I was working for - at heart I am a moral-ish type, which perhaps explains the fact I am watching events unfold from the relative safety of a retail bank (which isn't called HBOS), rather than trying to work out how to maintain a cocaine habit and penthouse apartment now that my £100K a year job has disappeared down the dumper at a moment's notice.

Needless to say, the first question I was asked at the interview was "why do you want to leave your current job when you've only been there for a few days?". Now, what I should have said was, "because you are Goldman Sachs, and I would sell my own granny just for the opportunity to come and clean your arse". What I actually said was, "because the job's pretty mundane". At this, their faces collectively fell, and they explained that the job they had was also 'quite mundane'. No shit Sherlock - you're looking for someone at 24 hours notice and offering £10 an hour - I kind of guessed I wasn't going to be head of Derivatives Trading or anything.

Alas, my goose was cooked, and I now have the perhaps unusual distinction of being refused a job at Goldman Sachs because they didn't believe I would have the commitment to still be there in 6 months.

Where all this crazy economics is going to end is anyone's guess. I'm going to stick my toe in the big lake of speculative, unfounded opinion and say that perhaps it was inevitable and fitting that a country such as the US, which has flexed its financial muscles repeatedly to dominate the entire world, should potentially be brought to its knees by the collapse of the financial markets.

It will certainly be interesting to see what the incumbent President, whoever it may be, will decide to focus his attention on. Being parachuted in to be leader of a country who's actual government is being threatened with a dodgy credit rating might cause a hasty reassessment of priorities, and perhaps there will be a decision to get their own house in order before attempting to dictate how other countries should be governed.

Finally nailed it

It may not be very quick, and I may be several weeks too late, but I finally managed to go for a run tonight and maintain a consistent pace. I wasn't even too knackered at the end of it. My grand plan, such as I have one, is to maintain a decent level of fitness in the future, rather than failing to exercise for two years like last time. If, as I still plan, I end up running a marathon next year, it can only help. Amazon's weekly recommendations email delivered an abundance of goodies into my inbox this morning, one of which was "run a 4 hour marathon in 4 months". Without having any idea what it recommends, that kind of training plan sounds like it's up my street. Plan for NYC '09, get a place, and not have to start training until July. And, with a wee sprint at the end, come home in 3:59.59. Marvellous.

What's on the menu today?

At least they're honest at the staff canteen....

All's quiet on the South Eastern front

Not blogged much recently... To be honest, it's cos life is so dull that I have absolutely nothing to tell you about. Well, that's not strictly true, although my days seem to involve working and playing on the Playstation of late. Work is actually going alright for once - although I have the uneasy feeling that things are going too well.... It's surely only a matter of time before some reasonably important thing I've forgotten to do comes back to bite me on the arse. But for the time being, I'm strutting about the office in a reasonably cocky fashion.

The real reason for my relative silence is that I have kindly donated my computer to J to write her thesis, after the laptop she bought of Ebay failed miserably to appear. The seller seems genuine, if a little rubbish at giving a shit, but mechanisms are in place for her to get her money back. Doesn't change the fact she's a couple of hundred quid down with no way of writing her project. Thankfully, she has the benefit of my slightly creaky PC to fall back on, hence the fact I have been devoting myself to establishing Hereford as a force in Fifa 08-English football of late.

She only has a few weeks left, so is a tightly wound ball of stress and anxiety at the moment - I'm sure any of you who have been through a similar process will understand. I get the impression that, were I to touch her without warning, she would ping off into the stratosphere like a massive bouncy ball.

She'll be fine though - she's a Geological genius, even though she doesn't realise it. Somehow already having a masters wasn't enough and she's putting herself through all this just to get another one, but this time in a foreign language. Makes me feel suitably ashamed about my sham of a tertiary education. Still, look where I am today! Using that hard won Psychology degree to earn a barely deserved 'Manager of the Month' nomination at the bank. Enquiries as to whether it earns me the first gold star for my name badge are as yet unconfirmed.

Who needs doctors?

When squeezing one's thumb like a spot has the same effect?

21st century cosmopolitan London

I'm currently on the night bus wending my way through central london. Looking out at the shops and people, with the excitement in their eyes that shows they've not been long here, i felt gutted that i don't venture up here more often, and adamant that i was going to do it more regularly. Then some blonde chick two seats behind me chucked up all over the bus, and i just wanted to be at home. Only 40 minutes to go.

Kids today.

I'm sharing a late night bus ride with some entertaining underage drunk kids. You know the kind, obviously from a horribly rich family, look a bit trendy yet a bit dopey, feel the need to share their pre-pubescent half-formed opinions with everyone present. Oh joy! They've got off to be instantly replaced by a gaggle of whiny californian girls. God i love shoreditch at 1 in the morning.....

Thumbs up

I've somehow got my thumb infected and it's swollen to around twice its normal size. In a vague attempt to sort it out, I looked up NHS Direct's website a few moments ago for a bit of advice. "Sore swollen thumb" returned no results, so I just looked for "Thumb".

And the "relevant" pages it found?

How do I use a condom? - Health Questions - NHS Direct

...tip of the condom between your forefinger and thumb in order to ensure that it is put...the soft inner ring between your forefinger and thumb. Using two fingers...

http://www.nhsdirect.nhs.uk/articles/article.aspx?articleId=841

What should testicles look and feel like? - Health Questions - NHS Direct

...sac containing your testicles) in the palm of your hand and use your fingers and thumb to feel the size and weight of each one. Roll each of your testicles...

http://www.nhsdirect.nhs.uk/articles/article.aspx?articleId=878

Is it normal to masturbate? - Health Questions - NHS Direct

...Men generally masturbate by rubbing their penis in their hand, or gripping it between their thumb and one or two fingers. Masturbation comes naturally to many men, because they are...

http://www.nhsdirect.nhs.uk/articles/article.aspx?articleId=1684

Not sure any of that is going to help. 

I wouldn't start from here

I wasn't quite sure why I felt prompted to spunk £9 on an impulse buy at Belfast airport the other week, but now I think it may have been fate. After a shaky start (in my uninformed, only-read-10-books-in-the-last-5-years view) which seemed a bit over-written - you know, sentences that are too long, with lots of punctuation and similie, plus a bit of comedy metaphor thrown in for good measure - like a (something something something something...... I am not a writer or humorous and therefore can't think of a comedy metaphor to drive home the point), it evened out into one of the most thought-provoking, entertaining and interesting things I've read in ages.

I actually find myself caring about the guy, which is odd for a journalist-written travelogue around the world's warzones and trouble spots. I even felt for him as he described his break up with his girlfriend. I want to take him out for a beer. This may or may not be because I find myself absent-mindedly thinking that it is my mate Gav who is narrating the stories.

Andrew Mueller is a genuinely interesting, no-bullshit guy, who never over-dramatises, never forgets who he is and where he is, and never makes the mistake of not questing the rationale of everyone he meets. It's made me realise what a lipstick leftie I am. Every single "opinion" I have comes from reading the Guardian, and whilst I have no doubt that a healthy bit of self-loathing is appropriate for the Western World, given the state of the rest of it, it never occurred to me to say: "Hold on. Maybe if you people would stop being such irrational twats you might have a chance of talking your way out of the mess you're in? You can't blame everyone else for everything all of the time!". You'd think, coming from Northern Ireland, that my sense of the preposterous when it comes to sovereignty and politics would be suitably developed.

Anyway - read it - it's chunky to the point that it's taken me a plane ride and two weeks of commutes and I am only just over halfway through. However, being a pint-half-empty man, I am already trying to make myself read it more slowly, whilst wistfully looking at the size of the remaining chunk of pages as they dwindle away. I have an awful gnawing feeling that the next book I pick up won't be a patch on it.... although, to be fair, I think that every time. I am either blessed with lucky book choices, or else am a slut for the written word after 30 years of abstinence.

Islands in the sun

If you follow the comments under my post about St Helena a few weeks ago, you'll notice that a lovely and unexpected thing happened. Obviously the locals are avid readers of all things Saint-related and were on my post in a flash - first of all someone asked about the archeological dig my friend was on, then a chap got in touch to give me some more background on the situation.

We got into a bit of a chat which ended with me flippantly asking that - should he ever meet a smiley lass from Ayr who was working on the dig - to tell her that I and the rest of the London gang say hi. Blow me if that's not what happened - in a nightclub called Bayside of all places (which I must admitted destroyed the mid-Atlantic paradise fantasy somewhat). Apparently he just wandered up, introduced himself and said something along the lines of "you must be Helen". According to both him (Rob - moderator of the online St Helena portal sthelenanet) and her, the reaction was one of general gob-smackedness, which I must admit made me happy. Had Helen turned round and simply said "oh, yeah, guess you guys were talking on the internet or something" it would have been a bit of an anticlimax.

But as it was, I feel all warm and fuzzy at the thought of using the internet for something other than updating Facebook or looking at saucy pictures - it's created a mutual friend between two people thousands of miles apart, and allowed me to send a little bit of cheer to a friend far away.

It also helps me justify the fact that I have been utterly rubbish in keeping in touch with her since she left.

Training. Thunder Storms. Shoddy organisation. Pain. Done.

Yup, the 10K is over and jolly well done by all concerned too....

Sunday dawned bright and sunny, humidity reaching uncomfortable levels as I wended my way northwards to the home of football. Arriving at 4pm, we ensured we were in plenty of time to dump our bags in the "limited" bagging area at Wembley Arena - admittedly, in hindsight, it should have been obvious that there would be more than enough room for anyone who wanted to deposit their stuff.

So, for 3 and a half tedious hours, we waited. And waited. And - yep, you guessed it - waited. There were momentary periods of fun as we ripped the utter piss out of drum n bass nobodies Pendulum as they tried in vain to whip the crowd into a passionate frenzy, with the opposite effect: "Come on! Where's the f***in' atmosphere?!", shouted the soon-to-be obsolete frontman. "Somewhere indoors, not having to listen to you", came the unanimous reply. But by and large, this was - as Euan repeated over and over - 3 hours of our life that Nike had stolen from us and we were never going to get back.

Needless to say, when the thunder storms arrived just as we were finally starting to get underway, it was less of a catastrophe, more of a grim acceptance that someone had obviously uttered the phrase "well, at least it's not raining" at some point when trying to put a brave face on things. We bore the downpour with remarkable British stiff upper lipped-ness.

The one bonus was that it made us all the more pumped up to go out and power our way to the finish line, along a course comprising 17 180 degree turns round the car park of Wembley stadium, a straight line down a closed off access road to a neighbouring industrial estate (where there was room for no more than 5 people abreast, cuing manic sidestepping, stopping, banging into and general carnage as people tried to maintain their pace whilst avoiding everyone else trying to do the same whilst the ubiquitous fat, slow walkers did their best to break the Guinness World record for "curses received" in the space of 1000m. Powering through one of the many massive floods (they were beyond puddles) that put half of the meagre tarmac underwater in places, we rounded a corner to..... a Tesco car park. Marvellous. It soon became clear why the race was run in the dark, as Wembley and surrounding area seems to be one huge failure of ambition and creativity. A massively sweeping generalisation, but hey - forgive me for thinking that if this were untrue, surely Nike wouldn't haven't chosen it to showcase London's beautiful architecture? The remainder of the coure pretty much involved doing the entire course again but in the opposite direction, thereby proving itself good for breaking personal bests, if only because people were so desperate to just get back, get dry and get the hell out of Dodge.

All of this, of course, didn't matter jack once that finishing line was crossed, and all the usual feelings of elation washed over me. The handshakes and smiles and hugs amongst us made us almost forget what we'd been through to get there - although perhaps that was possibly Nike's grand plan all along - the personal victories felt all the sweeter given what we'd endured to get there.....

I came a creditable 39,584th in the race overall - that's across all the races across the world by the way! I don't normally even do so well in the Metro Fantasy Football league. I came home in 52 mins 14 seconds, which is just over a minute off my 'personal best' from 2006. I know it would have been better had it not been for the sheep run at the start of the course, so I am more than satisfied!

All the others - Jen, Euan, Murray, Gav, Im and Simon did excellently as well, and you can check out all the times and things here: Human Race

T minus 5

The countdown is almost at an end.... In just over an hour I will be leaving to head towards Wembley Stadium to hook up with everyone else. TFL have conspired along with Mother Nature and the incompetence of Nike to make the situation as big a mission as possible...

The tube from Brixton is off today, meaning an epic bus ride towards Baker Street followed by a tube up to Wembley - what you don't see on FA Cup Final coverage is that Wembley is actually in the arse-end of nowhere somewhere north-west of London. I'm not entirely sure it's still in London - it may possibly be jumping on the same bandwagon as London Stansted airport (45 minutes out into the Essex countryside) in claiming to be in the city when in fact stuck out somewhere near Watford. It doesn't help, of course, that I currently live in the depths of the South East London suburbs where "Sunday public transport" is an alien concept.

So, I have been preparing this morning, trying to get everything sorted. I've spent most of my time in a nicotine-deprived fug, imagining I'm in one of those montages that the BBC does as an intro to sports programmes these days. You know the sort: Eddie Butler waxing poetically over slow motion shots of rugby playes battering seven shades of shit out of each other; Andy Murray twirling his racquet on his hand as he tries to focus; horses being exercised in the chilly crisp morning near Newmarket....

So this morning, to the tune of that awful M People song "Reach for the hero inside yourself" (how did Heather Small manage to corner the market in rubbish inspirational sporting anthems?), life has been one long atmospheric clip fest. After waking up this morning, I rolled over as the 'camera' panned and the time on my alarm clock came into focus. There was a close up of a splash of milk on Ricicles and quiche going into the oven. I was captured in silhouette in my bedroom window as I spoke to Euan trying to arrange meeting up. The camera arced as a chunk of toe nail flew from my clippers and landed amongst a pile of clothes on the floor. Finally, a look of quiet contemplation as I worked through my race tactics whilst attaching my little electronic chip thing to my shoe laces.

Soon, the final scene will see me - gorged on Spaghetti Bolognese - kissing my girlfriend goodbye in my full race kit and locking the front door behind me. All that will remain is for the tv pictures to cut to live coverage with John Inverdale and a shaky helicopter image of my team coach arriving at the stadium.

The waiting is over. The preparations are complete. The weather forecast is for severe thunder storms and near total darkness.

Let's do it.

An apology

Having reviewed my last post in the cold and slightly groggy light of day, i perhaps missed the inappropriate nature of getting all misty-eyed over gun-crime-inspired hip hop whilst stood at the epicentre of this city's gang warfare. Sorry.

Hits from the pod

Thanks to the power of the internet, i recently downloaded the mp3 version of my long-loved but never listened to cassette of Black Sunday by Cypress Hill. I'm stood, slightly drunk, at the bus stop in Brixton, awash with glock-inspired warm fuzzy teenage nostalgia.....

Management material

I'm currently looking for a new assistant at work, having proved somewhat incapable of hanging on to one for more than a few months at a time. During a meeting yesterday i was describing my ideal candidate, trying to be diplomatic before getting to the crux of the matter and passionately declaring, "i just want someone exactly like me, can that be so hard?!". In that one moment, i instantly became the sort of person i've had the misfortune to work under on several occasions throughout my long and nondescript career to date. The look on my colleague's face more than confirmed it. If i can master the art of avoiding a straight answer and churning management buzz phrases out in response to every simple request, the boy could go far. In the meantime, i'm considering getting the word "cock" tattooed backwards across my forehead to remind myself each time i look in the mirror. Just in case it's not too late.

The Human Race just got more interesting

Yes, a mere 5 days prior to the big day, I now have my first international competitor to run against; uber-hack Gav has signed up for the New York leg of the run. He's apparently been pounding the cinders in Central Park for a few months now, working towards an eventual tilt at the New York marathon, so I imagine it will be a walk in the park for him. I extend the laurel wreath of friendship across the miles to you...

Meanwhile, I cunningly avoided (well - make that "was prevented from") training again tonight, leaving work at the most un-tattieish time of 8pm, by which time it was dark and I felt more like blubbering than pushing my body round the streets. Following a lengthy phone rant to my long suffering girlfriend when leaving, severe delays on the district line, and a return home to find my dinner cooked and a beer chilling in the fridge, I feel much better now. Thanks J....

I now have 1 transatlantic opponent, 5 workmates and 5 friends in the same Wave in London to run against on Sunday. Am facing not even making the top ten.

5 days and counting

and my ankles still hurt when climbing stairs, despite not having run at all since last monday. Hardly ideal preparation. I'll give an 8k a stab today, followed by a 5k tomorrow and a cheeky 3k on friday, and we'll see how it goes. Not exactly brimming with confidence though, as may be apparent.

Picked up my race kit yesterday

The t-shirt is a very attractive fire engine red, with my number (933,000-something - the aim is to have 1 million competitors across all the participating cities) on the front, and the list of cities taking part on the back, a la a band tour t-shirt. Also got my ticket for wembley stadium, so i can sit and listen to a techno concert between 5.45 and 7 before setting off at around 7.45 in wave 3. It's all very odd in terms of set up, but it's wembley so i won't grumble. I almost said "shan't grumble" there. Is that a word? It sounds like it should be.

I think i have a stress fracture of my ankle

Ok, so it's blatantly not, but it hurts when i put any pressure on it. A combination of running too much recently (10k, 8k and 7k in the last 5 days), inappropriate footwear for my running style and a general weediness has given me a bit of an injury. The idea of the fracture came about based on the fact it's a weird sort of pain and that paula radcliffe had something similar before the olympics. But then, she was on crutches. I think part of me wouldn't mind a proper injury - i'm 30 years old and have never broken a bone, although admittedly that's probably not a bad thing at this stage. I can't help feeling it makes me less of a man though, like not being able to talk about football down the pub, take the lids off jars or understand why indiana jones and james bond are so good.

Finally got a hair cut this evening

Which was just as well, as my girlfriend had started calling me Andy Murray....

Can't see it myself

The social event of the season

I'm off to the motherland again on Wednesday for the wedding of the year at Castle Leslie, previously only famous for being the site of the McCartney-Mills nuptials. An inauspicious start, but I have every faith that the events on Thursday will do more than enough to dispel that unpleasant heritage.

My friend Julie Anne is celebrating finally breaking in her Aussie boyfriend John by making an honest man of him. You may remember him from his scene stealing dancing at my friends' wedding in December. I've known John for about 6 years now, when I arrived back from New Zealand to discover a real life antipodean living in my home town. It was the first sign that the 20th Century had finally breached the Presbyterian Force field surrounding the town and persuaded me that, if an Aussie could make his home there, then I could too.

Julie-Anne I have known since we were 4, as we were in primary school together. She used to drive me to work in Belfast whilst putting on her make up with one hand, and turned up at our school formal wearing a pair of green Puma States, thus ensuring legendary cool status in my heart. What can I say, I was impressionable at that age.

I'm taking my trainers home with me on the off chance I get an opportunity to live out my fantasy of running along a windswept beach, like in the movies. I'm trying to find a suitably epic soundtrack to accompany me, but have only managed the National Velvet theme tune so far. A childhood spent in the country having my pop culture references influenced by my sister comes back to haunt me again.

We return from Ireland late on Saturday night, and head off straight to Get Loaded in the Park on Sunday. Awesome line up this year, with Iggy & the Stooges, Supergrass and Gogol Bordello on the main stage. I can think of no better way of avoiding thinking about the end of the summer (already) than by getting drunk in a field and moshing my little bits off.

Gotta love the night bus

We have the ubiquitous guy playing his tunes through his phone on the way home this evening.... Only he's in his 30s and is playing gospel music. It's actually rather pleasant.

Rooney or Dallaglio?

A question not a million miles away from: "liver or marmite"

These two paragons of arrogant English ugliness have been selected by Nike, in their infinite wisdom, as the "team captains" for the Nike 10k - the idea being that you designate yourself as Northern or Southern English and get a bit of friendly rivalry in the London leg of the race.

This obviously presents me with a considerable problem - in that I can't stand either of them, and I certainly don't feel the slightest connection or allegiance to either the North or South of the country that happens to contain London.

Given that the independent city state in which I reside is in the South and I have (save for a two day visit to Leeds in 1998) never been to the North, logic would suggest I should pin my colours to Dallaglio. But, as painful and appealing as that sounds, I couldn't possibly bring myself to do it.

I assume David Healy's little legs are too short to get him round the course, worse luck.

I've finally run 10K

despite the fact I have already done one 10K this summer, my stupid waste-of-money Nikeplus gadget did not recognise the fact, as I ran the first 400m of the race with it turned off (unknown to me). So, following my crap efforts last Thursday and now that my groin no longer feels like it's Casanova's hand me down, I was determined to finally get through the magic 10K barrier this evening. And get through it I did, albeit at crawling pace. I made it from my house to the park, did one lap, ran back, swore a lot near my house again as the stupid American voice advised I'd only done 7.6k, then did another "S" up and down some roads nearby to get to 10.21k. It took me an hour and 1 minute and I'm sore again, but I took on the fear and beat it into a bloody pulp so I'm happy. I figure I have maybe four or five more opportunities to run prior to the race in two and a half weeks time - but my commitment is such that I am taking my trainers back to Norn Irn next week and plan on fitting in a jog at some point whilst not quaffing vast amounts of plonk at my mate's posh wedding. "Plan on".

In other news, we all got an email today telling us our race t-shirts and electronic chips are ready for collection from Nike Town! No backing out now. I still can't help but feel disappointed that after all the hype and build up of 2006, there's been virtually no advertising this time around. It really does make a difference, if only that you feel more like you're part of something. Bah.

The countdown begins again

less than three weeks to go to the Nike 10k, my friends, and things aren't going particularly well... I've been trying to increase my speed in the interim between the British 10K and the upcoming corporate megathon. Unfortunately, it would appear that my body is incapable of pushing itself even a tiny bit to achieve the desired result. I've managed to run at a pace which would see me coming in at under 50 minutes for a 10K - only problem is that I only made it round for 2.5k and just about managed to crawl home.

Last Tuesday I felt pretty good, so ran 5k in 26 mins - not that bad and it felt quite quick; the only problem was that, with around 2k still to go, I felt a sharp pain in my groin. Knowing that I was on a reasonably good pace, and being a generally stubborn and idiotic soul, I kept going and as a result have had a sore thigh for the last week. I tried to go for a longer run on Thursday but a combination of the thigh and general lack of fitness saw me have to stop after 6k - around 2k from home. The walk back was bloody demoralising - as I've previously stated I tend to have a stubbornness when running that always sees me home no matter how wrecked I feel. Not this time; the walk seemed to take around half an hour, and by the time I got back to the house i was cold and pathetic. I tried to cheer myself up by reminding myself that I had run further than at any point since the last race - somewhat unsurprisingly it didn't help.

19 days to go. 4km to find. Two nights training this week sacked off at a second's notice to enable alcohol consumption. Plans made to see old mates for the first time since Christmas on the 28th of August, followed by a good friend's leaving do on the 29th before he moves to the Czech Republic - leaving me a day's recovery prior to the race.

To borrow my girlfriend's surname, I am Fokt.

My sleepy rural train station

With south london's eiffel tower rising lazily from the tree tops... Sometimes it's worth being up early on a saturday.

The Care Bear Papparazzi

The whole of the south of London was lit up this evening as an odd thunder storm did it's thing.... It was weird, it didn't rain at all (and as a result is still humid and sticky and making me all aggro) and there was virtually no thunder, but flashes of bright light filled the whole sky south of Crystal Palace when I was on my way home from the shops. Initially I thought it might be lightning hitting the TV transmitter but on closer inspection it was further away, and instead looked like a massive flashbulb in the clouds. Guess it must have been Tenderheart's birthday or something.

Spooked

Check out the new star of BBC3's spy spin off, Spooks Code 9. Admittedly, I found the website thanks to my mate Murray, who works in "media" and therefore gets wind of these things way ahead of most. The odd thing is, having seen his video on Facebook, we apparently look identical. Either that or the face mapping widget isn't that great. Still, I think I look more handsome in the clip than I do in real life, so I'm happy!

Report

Beware the urge to take training to the next level

For verily, it doth burn muchly.

Have broken my groin. and not in a good way.

Life moves pretty fast.....

As a now aging and paunchy Matthew Broderick once said. You ain't kidding, Ferris.

My annual leave whooshed past in two shakes of a lamb's tail and I returned to the office today, full of vim and vigour ready to take on the world. Had you going for a second there, didn't I? What actually happened was that I dragged my sorry depressed arse back out to East London and spent the entire day scowling at the computer screen, trawling through the emails that were clogging up my inbox after a fortnight's absence.

My break was good though - I did very little last week but did manage to exercise quite a lot to ease my angst over the forthcoming Nike 10K. I followed up a run on Tuesday morning with a bike ride in the afternoon - the first time I have been further than the post office on the feckin thing since I bought it in February. I managed a meandering cruise to the park and did a couple of laps - all was going well until I took a wrong turn on my way home and ended up on the main road. Cue pumping of legs and a look of sheer terror on my face as I got spooked by traffic, signaling, lights, junctions - you name it, it scared me. As a result I couldn't walk by the time I got back to the flat. I highly recommend it as a way of giving your legs (and heart) a good workout without even noticing.

On Wednesday I came out of retirement to find myself on a 5-a-side pitch for the first time since May 2001, thus finally giving my sexy 'gun-metal' Diadora footie trainers their first run out (following purchase in mid-March). The £12 proved well spent as I missed hopelessly with my first attempt on goal before slotting home my second into the bottom corner, to the mild complimentary murmuring of my team mates. Alas, things were not to go from strength to strength and this proved to be the high point of my performance, unless you include the 'shot' that cleared the boundary fence and narrowly avoided clocking a young netballer on the noggin on the court next door (see video clip of the incident, below).

Having followed up this punishment with a 6km jog on Friday, I'm not feeling in totally rubbish shape at the moment - despite the alcoholic battering I gave myself over the holiday. Bring on the 10K.

Behold!

It's scary spider/wasp/moth hybrid monster! Waaaahh!!

Malarious visions

Out in the North Atlantic, off the coast of Africa, a teeny tiny grey ship bobs on the rough seas. A tired, lonely mosquito lies back on his bunk, grabbing a few hours of precious rest between shifts. His mind wanders, wistfully, to long hot summers in London Town and the amazing times he and his friends had back in the city, when there was flesh as far as the eye could see. Gazing up, he focuses on the tattered snapshot stuck to the underside of the bunk above, and loses himself in silent contemplation, imagining being back in Dulwich once again.

Swear to God - I am a mosquito porn star. If there was a mosquito version of FHM, I would be voted sexiest legs in the world. I have no idea what causes it, and even less how to avoid it, but I need to spend approximately 2 minutes anywhere (indoors or out) wearing any type of clothing and I will end up with bites agogo all over my body.

A couple of weeks ago, a Helen's leaving party (prior to the St Helena trip mentioned below), I turned up at midnight and stayed (in the living room) until about 2.30am. In that time, the little bitey bastards not only located my legs beneath my jeans, they also found my waistband and arms and had an absolute field day. I woke up the following morning to find a fair impression of orion's belt on my leg and what may or may not have been the Southern Cross on my arse.

The bites take weeks to heal, meaning the old ones overlap with the new ones and my legs look like I have some kind of vitamin deficiency or contagious disease. Not only that, but upon returning to Ireland last week I discovered that - thanks to Global Warming no doubt - even a line of latitude closer to the North Pole than the equator is no longer a guarantee of safety. Popping out for a fag at 11.30 at night on my first evening, I was confronted with the unmistakable sight of a skinny wee body with stupid wings battering its face off the window trying to get into the house. The bloody thing probably followed me from London. Either that or the Web 2.0 revolution meant that news of my arrival spread quicker than the airline transporting me north, and in the manner of a 16 year old's Bebo house party advert, before we knew it Ballymena was overrun with uncouth, disaffected mosquito teenagers intent on munching up a once serene, well mannered community.

Life's rich tapestry

Played out on my (rather dirty) window sill

I haven't managed to go anywhere on holiday this year

So I'm opting for the next best thing - surfing Google Earth. My friend Helen recently left for a two month archaeological dig on St Helena in the South Atlantic, and it's given me really itchy feet. I'm also reading a book at the moment about a guy who travels to the remaining territories in the British Empire - pretty much entirely tiny, remote, inaccessible rocks such as Tristan da Cuhna, Pitcairn Island, Diego Garcia and of, course, the Falklands.

It makes me want to go more and more. You can keep yer Ibiza and yer Thailand - give me an archipelago 1000 miles from the nearest inhabitants anyday.

The pic is of Jamestown, the capital of St Helena. I've misappropriated it from Google earth; it's taken by a guy called Peter Balwin - a photographer who has had the very great fortune to visit St Helena, Tristan, Ascension Island, Gower Island and all the other most remote parts of the Atlantic. One day, one day.....

Ugly behaviour

The perils of living in the posh suburbs are currently being made all too apparent as i wait outside tesco for j. Two girls are hanging out of a nearby flat window, screaming their heads off. And their song of choice to shatter the muggy calm of this corner of south london? "you're beautiful" by james blunt. There. Really. Is. No. Need.

Oh yeah, it was the start of the summer

Yep, it may be almost August but today, for me, summer began. Baking hot sunshine, sunglasses, stupid straw hat, Ash and the Lemonheads, it was all perfectly marvellous... I'm currently wending my way home, having been struck by the fact that Brixton smells of fried chicken. Now, i'm a card carrying afficionado of the fine art of spiced poultry, but it's undeniable that as you pass from clapham into brixton, the air takes on that unmistakable aroma. Finger lickin good, the lot of it.

Summer sundae fun

Am off to Clapham Common in a few minutes for Ben & Jerry's Summer Sunday festival - it's 30 degrees C outside, free ice cream all day and the soothing sounds of Lemonheads and Ash to keep us entertained. Somehow I've made it this far in life without ever having seen the once-mighty boys from Bangor, despite the fact I was once a "huge" fan. If only I had my "3 boy hardcore action" band t-shirt to wear...

Hello again

Been quite a while since I posted - am now almost halfway through my hols and have just returned from Norn Irn, hence the relative silence on my part... Unfortunately it was not a happy homecoming as I was over to attend my aunt's funeral; all very sad and emotional but it was a beautiful sunny day and loads of people turned out to celebrate her life. I stayed on for a couple of extra days afterwards, as I was off work anyway, and was able to go to the beach at Cushendun on Wednesday which helped clear me head.

Prior to that it was J's birthday on Sunday, and we celebrated by chilling in the park at Lambeth Country Show - basically an old school country fair bringing donkeys, sheep and falconry to the inner city yoot of Lambeth with added reggae soundtrack. We followed up our park based exploits on Saturday with a house party, at which I had the exciting-sounding but actually humiliating experience of being taken to bed by two women. They tucked my semi-conscious ass in and returned to join the party, leaving me to wake up somewhat the worse for wear on Sunday morning, confused as to where I was. Thankfully J was there and feeling ten times worse due to a 5am finish.

We returned to the Show on Sunday and were able to relax and have a few hairs of the dog in the knowledge that Monday wasn't going to bring the usual 6am start - Sundays are actually bloody good if you don;t have to worry about work the next day. Of course, knowing that everyone else does just adds to the pleasure.

I've managed not to make it outside yet today, despite the fact that it's pushing 26C outside and baking hot sunshine. I'm saving myself for leaving soon to go and collect J from work, finally seeing where she works after 7 months.

Catch up soon!

Only 49 hours til a fortnight off

And boy do i need it. I don't know if it's a break from work or from london i need, but i'm wound up at the moment. I'm trying to remain calm and relaxed, but it's not easy when i'm getting teeth-grindingly annoyed by things such as the girl next to me typing in an irritating fashion, people chewing food too loudly or pedestrians not telepathically understanding my chosen route along the pavement. Time for a couple of weeks of quiet reflection in a darkened room methinks.

Is this shit?

I can't work it out. Given the quality of other music videos I've posted, it could be. But for some reason even though I only downloaded accidentally and have only heard it a couple of times, I still perk up when I hear the intro. Might be just another sign that I am old and out of touch.... Next week: Status Quo Remixes.

J is back in da house

As it were. The cohabitation has recommenced after she gave up her beach side pad in Hampshire for the leafy environs and vaguely irritating humour of Dulwich and yours truly. We've only bickered a little bit so far. Each hour. I feel like a proper grown up in a proper grown up relationship.

Got two weeks off work coming up and I can't wait... I have no plans whatsoever, which I'm viewing as a good thing. It's a shame I'm not looking forward to an exotic flight somewhere, but there are mentions of Swindon and Norfolk day trips swirling about. Spontaneous life on the edge of adventure, tattie style....

Are these the coolest wellies in the world?

The commitment. The passion. The hilarious facial expressions

A company called Marathon Photos.com was taking the "official" snaps of the competitors around the course of the 10K. When I checked yesterday, only J was on there out of the whole gang of us; however they're obviously trawling through each picture matching up race numbers to individuals, as today we're all on there as well!

So if you fancy chuckling at my skinny legs, Scot's t-shirt or the fact that poor J seemed to be running the entire race alone with only a cyclist(?!) for company at one point, check out the website here. Select the British 10K from the menu on the left hand side and then enter our names or bib numbers to see us. For info, our numbers are: Im - 19889; Scot - 8081; Craig - 22775; J - 24666; and yours truly - 22696.

The grimace on my face in the last picture is a treat - I'm going with the excuse that it was right at the end in the home straight, hence the fact I am clutching my ipod (not my left arm). J is the undoubted star of the show, with a whopping 12 photos to her name. I think the photographers must have had a crush on her.

The best thing is, you can order a photo of any of us for a mere £17.99! A perfect gift for the relative who has everything. Order now to avoid disappointment.

The tale of the tape

It's somewhat fitting that the plot of my race speed looks similar to the River Thames, given that it provided the backdrop for the majority of the route. I got round the course in a respectable 55 mins - not as fast as my first attempt, which I have to admit I was surprised about. I felt I was running at least as quickly on Sunday as I did a couple of years back.

Thanks, then, to my Nikeplus for shedding some light on proceedings. It would appear that, at around the 5 km mark, I decided to start moonwalking for a short while. I do remember that being the point where we went up onto a bridge and down the other side, but I didn't realise that I was crawling on my hands and knees for a short period.

Check out the grandstand finish though! I ran as fast as I possibly could for the last kilometre, looking for all the world like someone with absolutely no understanding of the phrase "consistent pace". You can't see it on the screen capture but apparently my speed at the end was 4.03 mins/km. Which is pretty damn quick. Now if I can just do that for the other 9 km, I might have an outside chance of making it to Beijing....

Oh, and by the way - the reason it says 9.64 km is because the thing didn't turn on until I was about 200m down the track. I think the calibration's out a tiny bit as well. I did finish, honest.

And so it begins again...

back page of the London Paper. Can't beat a bit of xenophobia disguised as friendly rivalry.

Happy finishers, Imogen and Craig.

Craig proving that clubbing til 9am the previous morning need not be a handicap, whilst Im has another 5.6 km run on wednesday. The fool.