Waiting to Exhale
28 August 2006
‘I’m goin’ down, I’m goin’ down
Cause you ain’t around baby
My whole world’s upside down’ - Mary J. Blige, 1995
Scott Tampico Mountain Bike
Fausto Coppi Lugano Racing Bike
Nike Air Jordan Trail shoes
Triumph TT600
What do the aforementioned have in common apart from the fact that I own them? Well, EVERY soddin’ one of the bloody things have a puncture.
The Mountain Bike…
Wheel – Rear
Cause – Tree Trunk in Cranham Woods
Result – Lengthened journey home by hour and a half
Any other Comments – Apres puncture I removed the inner tube and found a small slit in it by using a bucket and some water. I hoovered out the inner part of the tyre to remove any further foreign matter and then replaced the inner tube with a new one. Following a test ride of approximately 200 yards I returned the bicycle to the garage only to find inner tube # 2 rapidly deflating. Foreign matter was replaced by Foreign Language and I chucked the bike to the rear of the garage – that was 4 months ago.
The Racing Bike…
Wheel – Rear
Cause – Turbo Trainer
Result – Exasperation
Any other Comments – This puncture comes to you straight from the Knackered Bouncy Castle School of deflation. I borrowed a friends’ Turbo Trainer to enable me to do some cycling in the coming Winter months. For the uninitiated a Turbo Trainer is a piece of machinery that lifts the rear wheel of a bicycle off the ground and then uses drag to reduce the movement of the rear tyre – by loosening or tightening the drag on the rear wheel the user is able to modify the effort required to turn the pedals. So, I spent ¾ of an hour a couple of weeks ago in the garage happily cycling along whilst listening to Koffee Brown and really enjoyed the workout – The very next day enthused by the new found fitness gizmo I clothed myself in lycra and opened the Garage door ready for workout # 2. My bike laid perched on the Turbo trainer in exactly the way that I’d left it… apart that is from the flat soddin’ rear tyre. Out came Joe Blow (that’s a pump not Mr. Bazooka’s nickname), however despite more inflations than a nymphomaniac’s blow up doll, the tyre (unlike the nymphomaniac one would imagine) remained limp and lifeless. It now stands next to the aforementioned Mountain Bike.
Nike Air Jordan Trail Shoes…
Foot – Left
Cause – Crickley Hill’s Rocky Gorge (which, contrary to popular belief is not an Ice Cream Flavour)
Result – Wheely Bin Memorial Service
Any Other Comments – Just like a Bottle from a well know tonic commercial they went ‘Schhhh’, losing their bounce, stability and Jordan Air capabilities after a ball finding exercise with Rosie. The heel came down and they just gave up, squelching and complaining for the duration of our walk. They couldn’t be saved, the little clear air compartment in the heel that had once supported my ailing ankles was full of moss, water and rabbit turd’s and I simply binned them.
Triumph TT600…
Wheel – Rear
Cause – Nail
Result – Furious Anger (© Samuel L. Jackson)
Any other Comments – A rear tyre for my Motorbike costs approximately 100 quid. I’ve had 2 punctures in 3 months – you do the maths! Unfortunately this particular puncture happened during the Bank Holiday weekend whilst in Devon and in hindsight I handled it all wrong. What I should’ve done was to ride it gingerly 3 miles to the nearest motorbike shop, bitten the proverbial bullet and got it done. However the pragmatist in me took over.
Prior to my recent Bike Trip I had diligently typed and laminated a small credit card sized piece of paper containing my Insurance, Registration Number and Recovery Hotline Phone Number details – now was the perfect time to utilise those details and prove to myself that the word ‘laminate’ doesn’t infer that those that utilise said phrase (or machinery) are Tossers. So, instead of getting the wheel replaced in Devon I smugly opened my wallet, removed the 3 by 1 inch piece of plastic, called the number and requested to be ‘recovered’ giving a haughty wink to whomever might be watching – that would be my Brother in Law Paul who advised me to get it done there and then (I’ll never ignore his advice again – unless he suggests that he should be first to use the bathroom).
Sunday Morning saw me pushing my bike 300 yards up the road to meet a bloke from Lambhill Garage, Cullompton whose expertise at operating his Lorry with a trailer was called into question during our initial conversation when he stated that he couldn’t drive his vehicle down a road that it was generally accepted and in fact proved the night before that you could get a carnival procession down. His first word’s to me when we met were ‘I hate bikes’, and to be perfectly honest that was probably the high point of our relationship. He moaned and grumbled his way up the M5 stopping only for fuel at Bridgewater Services where he whinged about the queue for the Diesel Pump and then the delivery time for 50 litres. Other topics of conversation included…
4×4’s – ‘Shite’ and ‘…driven by vermin’.
Caravans – ‘A drain on current Highway resources’ and ‘…towed by vermin’.
Motorbikes – ‘Dangerous’ (and probably ‘ridden by vermin’ but as I was in the cab he politely declined to mention that).
Police (specifically traffic police) – ‘Clipboard Coppers’ and ‘…simply vermin’.
The Collumpton sewer system – ‘…populated by vermin’ etc,etc.
After 3 hours in his cab I’d lost the will to live and greeted my cul-de-sac with the comparible elation to that of a bloke who’d just spent a month in the Sahara greeting a bottle of Evian. I emerged from the Cab on hands and knees and kissed the ground. The bike is now situated in my Puncture Hall of Fame.
Trixie
21 August 2006
Smooth (Better known as ‘Tourette Al’ in certain QPR circles) emailed a word document to me a few weeks ago entitled ‘The Football System’ which was it proclaimed ‘A sure fire way of beating the Bookies’. Now, as last Seasons form has already confirmed, the only way that I could beat the Bookies would be with a rolled up copy of the Sporting Life so I skimmed through the pages and pages of descriptive formulae arriving at the end with one conclusion – It was probably a complete load of Bollocks.
I resigned the Document to the virtual waste paper basket and carried on with my usual routine of form revision, statistic studying and blind luck.
Hoping that my luck might change after the Seasons break (OK – I did make a few quid on the World Cup!) last years form returned with a vengeance and I lost the first accumulator of the Season quicker than an albino zebra loses its’ stripes.
The weekend before last I decided to search my deleted documents bin and reopened ‘The Football System’ optimistically thinking that utilising it might bring a change in fortune.
It did, Last weekend I won 75 quid and the weekend before bought with it a 63 quid profit.
The system is relatively simple – Choose 3 away wins at even money and then do 3 doubles…
Team A and Team B to win
Team A and Team C to win
Team B and Team C to win
And a treble…
Team A, Team B and Team C to win
This in gambling circles is known as a ‘Trixie’.
The anonymous Author of ‘The Football System’ advises doing even money away wins as statistically there is more chance of them coming in however I’ve managed to win doing even priced home wins too.
If for example you outlay a tenner for the bet (which is what I’ve been doing) then it basically breaks down like this…
Team A and Team B to win - £2.50
Team A and Team C to win - £2.50
Team B and Team C to win - £2.50
Team A, Team B and Team C to win - £2.50
Even if you only get two of the results correct you’ll invariably get your money back for the double (or maybe a bit more depending on the odds).
Give it a try - you may be suprised by the outcome.
The Top Ten
14 August 2006
When the Crucible Theatre was more commonly known for its’ Annual performance of Cinderella featuring Margie Clarke and Sheffield’s knife and fork output dwarfed the exportation of chopsticks from China, Snooker’s only TV appearance was on BBC2 in the form of ‘Pot Black’ – Ted Lowe whispered his commentary and Len Ganley was 15 stone lighter - we were captivated.
The Top Ten Pot Black Competitors…
10. Joe Davis…
Grandpa Joe wasn’t just a character in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory – he ruled the Pot Black corridors with a ferocity that is gone but not forgotten. Joe’s quiet demeanour belied the animosity that he felt towards his fellow professionals. Once kicked the perm out of Tony Knowles’ hair after he caught the young whippersnapper at his Brylcreem he was the best snooker player in a bar brawl and bullied Alex Higgins into wear spats and that stupid hat.
9. Tony Knowles…
‘Mr. Pin Up’, once embarrassingly emptied his waistcoat pockets over the green baize whilst using the spider the contents of which included 3 combs with varying teeth spacing, a brush, Harmony Hairspray, tweezers, Anne French, Just For Men, a Johnny and some SuperPro Chalk – Unfortunately Tone never quite recovered from the ridicule he received from his fellow professionals and can now be found selling tassle’s for slip on shoes and tie pin attachments every Sunday at Basingstoke Car Boot Sale. He also moonlights as a Tony Hadley lookalike in Spandau Ballet tribute band ‘I know this much is Blue (Ball centre pocket)’
8. Terry Griffiths…
Welsh mentalist Tel spent his career talking to himself whilst propelling his tiny frame around the table. When trying to ascertain if the black would go past the red into the middle he hung onto the corner pockets like a denim clad fairground neanderthal hanging onto the back of a Bumper Car. Only became a success after Pot Black when he reduced the size of his bow tie, which had prior to the change in wardrobe impaired his vision to the extent that he employed a bloke to ring a bell over the baulk cushion when he was playing a safety shot.
7. Cliff Thorburn…
Mr 147, also known as ‘The Grinder’ NOT ‘cos he bored his opponents to death with continual safety shots but ‘cos he made cue extension’s on the side in his workshop in the Canadian Rockies. His Porn Star moustache and puppy dog eyes made him a hit with the blue rinse snooker enthusiasts and he now spends his time making knitting needles under the trading name of ‘Pearl Pot’ which has earned him a lot of unwanted attention from Communist Extremists.
6. Eddie Charlton…
If playing were a chore then Steady Eddie would’ve worked the night shift. Australian Charlton always looked like he had just got off a flight from Sydney and bore the weary eyes of a jetlagged Koala Bear. Fell asleep regularly whilst playing a shot and when once told by referee John Street that he ‘could use a rest’ whilst struggling with his bridging hand Charlton agreed and buggered off to his Hotel for an early night.
5. John Virgo…
Wacky, Zany, Crazy, Madcap – all words used to describe Virgo after he was admitted into Bacup & Rawtenstall Mental Asylum following a performance of his ‘This is how So ‘n So would play a shot’ routine. Virgo was imitating Alex ‘Hurricane’ Higgins when he ran over to Special Guest Sidney Poitier and twatted him with the half butt announcing ‘And that Ladies and Gentleman is how Alex Higgins would pot the black’
4. Kirk Stevens…
Modelled his hair on Patrick Swayze’s character in ‘Dirty Dancing’ and once uttered the lines of his hero when fellow countrymen Bill Werbeniuk was getting paddled by Steve Davis ‘No one put’s Billy in the corner’ he shouted as he fire lifted the 24 stone Canuck out of the Building. Did more lines than a naughty schoolboy and petitioned for the show’s title to be changed to ‘Got Crack’ when he was on. Rumour has it that when his septum fell out due to his Cocaine habit builders used it as scaffolding to span the River Severn during bridge construction.
3. Bill Werbenuik…
‘He’s Fat, He’s Round, His knob weighs 60 pounds Big Billy, Big Billy’. The cruel jibes that followed Werbeniuk around were enough to drive a man to drink. It did, Billy sank 10 pints during a single frame and said that it was ‘to calm his nerves’. Big Bill was never comfortable with the fame and fortune that Snooker gave him and finally threw in the towel after he sat on the triangle and poo’d Toblerone shapes for 3 weeks until complicated surgery was required to remove it.
2. Ray Reardon…
Modelled himself on Count von Count from Sesame Street and tried to break into the refereeing ranks after he retired. Unfortunately he was banned from refereeing any games after Ronnie O’ Sullivan fouled on the Pink and on retrieving the white ball Reardon shouted ‘one, two, three, four, five, SIX! Six Points AWAY HaHaHaHaHa!’. O’ Sullivan put him in Hospital for 3 weeks with a cue to the goolies and proceeded to piss on the baulk line in protest.
1. John Spencer…
Another old skooler, it was generally accepted on the circuit that Spencer’s Bow Tie’s were the biggest. Didn’t have a problem with Griffiths’ bow tie blindness in view of the fact that he had his neckwear custom made (by the same people who in years to come would do Dennis Taylor’s glasses) and had two peep holes put in them. His success during the 70’s was made even greater by the fact that he had an allergy to snooker balls and this was the cause of his continual sniffing. If a green was worth 3 points then the contents of Spencer’s hanky would’ve eclipsed any high break on record.
PV #2
06 August 2006
Another day and yet another early Morning, this time Rosie decided that it would be fantastic fun to get us all up at 5 in the Morning by diving on the bed and informing us in no uncertain terms that she needed to go out by tugging on my ear until I wrenched myself off the mattress and opened the door for her.
She then decided that she wanted to go back to sleep but as I was now wide awake I decided to put her lead on and take her down to the beach for an early morning stroll - there’s nothing like the sea air to wake you up in the Morning however Rosie moaned and grumbled her way down to the bay and wasn’t even awoken from her canine stupour when I chucked her tennis ball into the deepest rock pool I could find.
Unfortunately her unusual lack of willingness to chase inanimate objects meant that it was up to me to retrieve the sodding Slazenger Tennis Ball and my limpetlike sure footedness let me down and sent me stumbling into the water way before I could utter the words ‘Drenched Nikes’. With Rosie wearing a smug look I squelched my way back to the caravan to be met by the smell of Bacon ‘n Egg wafting from the air vents - a sweet tonic if ever there was one.
After breakfast we once again packed the dog into the back of the car and drove off to Lynmouth where in 1952 90 million tonnes of water swept through the valley sending water and rocks crashing down through the darkness killing 34 residents and decimating the small harbour village - not realising the poignancy of our journey into this small hamlet Rosie decided to do projectile vomit Number 2 in the car and brought up a limpet, a few litres of seawater and three dog treats that she’d obviously been saving for our trip up Porlock Hill.
We retraced the steps of the water up through the Valley alongside the stream, it’s idyllic flow not giving a clue to the fearful torrent that it possessed on that sorrowful evening 54 years ago.
Following the river upstream up to Watersmeet we crossed the Bridge that had been rebuilt after the floodwaters came crashing down the valley…
After a lovely Cream tea (well, Lunch) we climbed out of the Valley to Countisbury and then descended back into Lynmouth from the East…
Good Morning
05 August 2006
For my Birthday this year Len treated me to a long weekend in Madrid. Five months down the line and it was my turn to return the favour.
Which place of culture did I choose to take her to? Rome? Paris? Barcelona? Or secret option ‘D’ - A weekend in a mobile home in North Devon?
This Morning we packed our bags and filled the car to the brim with our kit which isn’t difficult really in view of the fact that a 206 GTi has about as much luggage capacity as Tom Thumbs jockstrap. Rosie was comfortable and asleep in the back of the car and we joined the steady flow of traffic at Junction 11a of the M5 at 7.30am and subsequently joined the back of a queue of traffic at Junction 12.
From here on in we experienced more stops than a train on the Circle Line. Cars decked out with roofracks, surfboards and trailer tents slowly crawling towards the faux oasis’ that is Cornwall and Devon. The last time I spent any time travelling to the South West (or anywhere in England for that matter) for a holiday, Texans were Chocolate Bars not guests of JR at the Oil Barons Ball and a Game Boy was the kiddy in your class who had no ball skills whatsoever but still volunteered to go in goal at Dinner Time. After 25 minutes we’d just past the Stroud junction and were seriously contemplating turning back.
Things got slightly better when we crossed the Avonmouth Bridge where we enjoyed a period of speed in excess of 40mph. At the time the tripmeter (that I’d zero’d at the start of the journey) on my car read ‘average speed – 36mph’ – I should’ve taken a moped down the A38.
We arrived at Warren Bay after 2 ½ hours for a journey that should’ve taken 1 ½ hours at the most. We were fraught, tense and stressed and in desperate need of tea and/or coffee. I took Rosie for a quick walk where she playfully jumped about on the beach and waded into some small pools and then I returned to the mobile home where Len was unpacking.
My first task was turning on the gas, a simple task for seasoned caravanners I suspect. I’m proud to say that Caravanning expertise doesn’t top my list of talents and I spent 15 minutes frantically switching switches and turning knobs outside while Len hovered over the hobs in the kitchen with a lit match waiting for a spark, flame or backdraft. Once that was done we searched for a pan to enable us to boil the water – I opened a cupboard door and staring back at me was a beautifully white electric kettle.
‘Fill the Kettle and get the soddin’ thing on’ I frenetically ordered.
That was my cue to find the stopcock to our mobile home which would enable irrigation to our dehydrated taps. Ater a crusade of Indiana Jones type proportions I eventually found the valve hidden underneath a lid concealed by a wayward piece of driftwood. I excitedly turned the tap and heard the familiar rush of water through the ducts entering our barren pipes. It was then that I heard Len’s panicking tones screaming at me to ‘Come Quickly’.
I ran to the front of the decking only to find Rosie wedged between the bars in the wooden gate. The stupid mutt had tried to follow me and had somehow managed to get her head and front legs through the gap in the railings, unfortunately her body had betrayed her and she couldn’t get her arse through.
If she’d have been able to talk I could’ve told her that…
‘Yes Rosie, your Bum DOES look big in this!’
Unfortunately she wasn’t really aware of the humour of the situation and she began to panic before I could get any WD40 or butter on her hind legs. We cajoled, coaxed, persuaded and weedled until finally she reversed out of the bars and ran into the van none the worse for her ordeal although she was noticeably irritated when we were watching ‘Prison Break’ reruns later in the day.
Panic over we got the kettle on and both began to relax. Just as the kettle switched itself off Rosie, lurched forward and projectile vomited approximately 5 gallons of seawater, weed and sand from her person all over the floor of the van - the aftermath of her rockpooling excrsions.
It was safe to say that it wasn’t the most enjoyable Morning that I’ve ever experienced.
The Afternoon saw us in somewhat better spirits and we drove out to Dunster and took Rosie for a 4 mile trek in and around around Dunster Woods…
The weather started off pretty cool but by the time we’d finished we were ready for a cool refreshing glass of Somerset’s finest Cider - Rosie however decided on a dip in a ford…
We drove home and stopped for an Ice Cream at Blue Anchor Bay where Rosie once again attempted to empty the English Channel purely by gulping down lashings of sea water - thankfully she kept it down this time and our evening was spent on our decking with a bottle of red and a dog that we could safely say had developed two pairs of sea legs!
Training Gloop
02 August 2006
In my haste to lose weight and get fit (again) I’ve rediscovered my Smoothie maker - 2 Banana’s, an Apple, some ice and a splash of milk makes the perfect concentrated fruit gloop. Today I encompassed the drink with three cream crackers and was reminded of the TV programme Blind Date, One Smoothie and Three Crackers (yeah I know that’s stretching the imagination a bit). I dunno where Cilla was in my culinary imagination – maybe she was the marmite.
Yesterday evening I once again trained with Tuffley Rovers FC and for the first time used the Polar Heart Rate Monitor that I purchased last week which incidentally came by post the very next day so a big thumbs up to Gaiam.
The Polar F6 is relatively simple to use. After inputting all my details, Age, weight, D.O.B., Resting Heart rate, Height, Weight into the watch it automatically calculates your degree of fitness and allocates you 3 heart rate training zones – Easy, Moderate and Hard – with which you can work inside.
I thought I’d find the chest strap intrusive but I didn’t even notice its’ presence (which was a bit of a pain as I forgot to start the bloody thing when I started training!). It’s a professional set up at Rovers’ and the pre-season training is exactly that with about 30 minutes of ball work and an hour and a half of cardio (somewhat similar to a marathon sex session) I kept a check of my Heart Rate during my exercise with it topping out at 184bpm at one point.
Once the session was over the figures were automatically saved on the wristwatch and with the time exercised broken down into each of the 3 individual training zones it gave an excellent idea of how I was training and where I was exercising predominantly in relation to my heart rate. That combined with the average heart rate over the time period (1hr 36mins – 142 bpm) and it made (relatively!) interesting reading. There’s also a calorie counter which worked out that I burned over 1000 calories during the time that I was exercising.
So to précis, Heart Rate Monitors, thoroughly recommended by this website - Now all I need to do is work out how to upload the information onto the computer!