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.

Job done

You think you know someone....

then they appear in a suit looking somewhat dapper. 36 hours to the race. On my 2nd pint. Hmmm.

Less than 48 hours to go....

All being well, 48 hours from now i will have finished the british 10k and will be smoking a tab somewhere near the finish line. Last night i dreamt again, and as usual it was a mixture of the mundane and the seemed-perfectly-normal-at-the-time. It was friday night - this evening actually - and i was trying not to drink before the race. I went for a walk around the local countryside. Passing the ladies on the trade union stand at the end of the road, i happened upon a couple of hamsters who were narrowly avoiding being run over by cars by curling into a ball and letting the draft of the car blow them out of harms way. I told them they were lucky not to be injured, and they agreed, because they could talk, you see. I woke up thinking that my subconscious is much like "abroad". Nice to visit occasionally, but you wouldn't want to live there. I really want a hamster now though.

Finally got my Nikeplus thing working!

Think it's safe to say that a consistent pace is not something I'm familiar with.

Hei, Halla, Heisann, Hellu!

Just checked my Google Analytics and I have had a visitor from Norway recently - and not just one of those shitty "accidental" visitors that I get, who stay for a total of "0:00" on the site.

So hello Norway! Or Oslo to be (perhaps) precise. Are you scared now? Don't be, I'm quite friendly once you get to know me. Says a lot about how the blog has become inextricably interwoven with web 2.0 that I get excited over a single visitor.

Perhaps I should learn more Norwegian?

I was actually talking about trying to visit the other day - I've always wanted to go. Norway looks very cool and very beautiful, especially up the coast towards the arctic circle and the Northern Lights. I quite fancy taking one of the ships that take supplies up round to the isolated villages. I think I was a Scandinavian in earlier life. Either that I or I JUST WANT TO GO ANYWHERE! ANYWHERE!! AAARGH!!!!

I am a herbaceous messiah!

Lo, for the rocket doth live again. Good old tesco organic plant food

I think i've broken the rocket

I think it's safe to say i shouldn't be trusted with anything more needy in the near future.

A mere 5 days

Until j, im, craig, scott and i will be labouring round so of the world's most famous landmarks in the british 10k. There's none of the excitement and build up of my first one, it feels more like something unpleasant that has to be done rather than a source of achievement. I partly blame the organisers for this - say what you like about nike but they know how to big up a show. During the north vs south run up, london was a sea of orange and green. This time seems to be no different - the adverts for "london vs mexico city" etc are already appearing on the side of buses. And to be honest, it all adds to the event. What have we heard from the asics british 10k? Not a dicky bird. To the point where it may be we turn up on sunday only to find it's all been a cunning ruse. Now wouldn't that be a shame?