Thirteen Five
26 August 2008
Proof (if it were ever required) that drinking Five Pints of Strongbow and participating in a historically unathletic sport (maybe you should try Snooker at the Top Cue Club Monty!) the night before a weigh-in is nigh on the perfect preparation.
How the hell I managed to forego the KFC bucket(s) that Smooth and Beesy decided on wolfing down as we trudged home is anybody’s guess although the fear of being mowed down by the Mercedez 4×4 queuing behind 2 beered up blokes patiently waiting in the drive-thru lane might have had something to do with it.
In other (even more mundane than the previous paragraphs) news I finally received my Marin Northside Trail that I was forced to order online as my local bicycle shops had run out of stock due to the imminent release of the ’09 model. Still, ordering it via the net gave me the perfect opportunity to purchase from the lowest bidder as I fired emails off to every UK Marin Stockist that Google could come up with resulting in a 25% discount off the £499 asking price.
Like all things that I touch I have managed to bugger up the assembly and now have a front disc brake that barely works due to the fact that I turned, twisted and tweeked a couple of bolts, the funtions of which were (and still are) a mystery to me. The possibility of a ‘Can you fix this for me ‘cos I’m a bungling tosser’ trip to an expert looms large – Luckily I’ve long since become oblivious to the embarrassment that one should feel visiting mechanical experts in their chosen fields following a www.steveqpr.co.uk balls up as my experience of these enforced visits have been pretty much habitual ever since I could pick up a screwdriver by the wrong end and use the handle to bang a nail into the wall.
Dear Monty
24 August 2008
As a ‘veteran’ of one Test Match, an imminent one dayer and far too much TV time to quantify it’s time I firmly nailed my colours to the mast.
Dear Monty,
Written on behalf of the English Cricket Selectors
Yeah, OK, you might be able to dexterously run your fingers over a seam but hey, any decent tailor can do that son. When you’ve got a bit of athleticism about your person give the ECB a call and then they’ll consider putting you in an England Squad.
Anyone who looks as gangly as you do when they’re sprinting should be pissed up on San Miguel and Sangria and running from Bulls in Pamplona.
Regards
PS Can you autograph this 6×4 print please, it’s a free listing day on eBay soon and I could do with a few quid - Ta.
Monty celebrates joining the sub 24 second club for the 100 yard dash
Thirteen Eleven
20 August 2008
‘Pardon me sir, did you see what happened?
Yeah, I did. I’s just in here gettin’ my car checked, he just appeared out of the traffic.
Come streakin’ around the grease rack there, didn’t have nothin’ on but a smile.
I looked in there, and Ethel was gettin’ her a cold drink. I hollered, “Don’t look, Ethel!”
But it was too late, She’d already been mooned.
Flashed her right there in front of the shock absorbers’ – Ray Stevens, ‘The Streak’, 1974
So, what DID happen?
Weigh in time for me is 8.00pm on a Monday evening. The theory is that as Len’s isn’t home from her Slimming World class ’til then it’d be unfair for me to measure my weight loss (or god forbid gain) any earlier.
Bollocks? Yeah, I thought so too. Especially as on Monday morning I registered at 13st 8lbs and by the evening the same scales showed me 3lbs heavier. Bear in mind that as we know it’s a Monday both of us are like boxers attempting to make the weight (Len’s a Flyweight, I’m more Cruiser unfortunately), food is kept to a bare minimum, hydration is restrained to the extent that we start seeing mirages (Len’s are invariably Dairy Milk related, I’m more of a Twiglet and Cheese kinda guy) and if we had a steam room we’d spend more time in it than Lester Piggot before the National.
I’d kept my Morning weight a secret hoping to shock, astound and beat my fellow competitor to a fruity pulp in the top weight loss stakes. So, as she came home and revealed that she’s a ¼ of a pound off the half a stone loss mark I smugly congratulated her and was ready to dive on the scales and astonish her with the news that I was a pound off a stone loss. Confidently I stepped on the scales only for them to reveal that I was 13st 11lbs, I gazed at the figures disbelievingly as they stared back mocking my incredulity (and quite possibly my nakedness from their angle!). Len gave me the ol’ ‘One whole pound, well done Darling’ words of encouragement but I knew there was a hint of patronisation in her tones – she’ll deny it but it’s all good, I’d have done the same if I were in her shoes.
Pics
13 August 2008
Quite literally hundreds of pictures have been taken of Alice (and in turn Rosie ‘cos we’ve gotta treat them equally!) since her birth. With 6 months approaching here are a few favorites…
Thirteen Twelve
12 August 2008
Tell me how I’m supposed to breathe with no air?
Can’t live, Can’t breathe with no air.
It’s how I feel whenever you ain’t there,
There’s no air, no air- Jordin Sparks, ‘No Air’, 2008
Like an unsuccessful National Lottery fanatic I’ve lost 9 pounds in two weeks, quite surprising when you consider that last Friday saw me at the Oval partaking in Scrumpy Jack and the third Test (DEFINITELY in that order) courtesy of our very own (working class) Ticket Santa - Chip…
One is sponsored by Adidas the others’ Gilette contract is pending
In this Diary many Moons ago I alluded to the fact that I was and always had been a victim of the Puncture Devil, well, it’s happened again in a matter of days. First my Scott Mountain Bike (which really, REALLY needs to be upgraded) blew an inner tube and subsequently a tyre and then my Fausto Coppi Racing Bike developed a slow puncture which saw me sliding home on the rim after I took it into work last week. Both bikes need to be sorted but I’m loathed to spend any cash on the Scott MTB as after 18 years of ownership I think it’s just about ready for the Big Bike Shed in the Sky or alternatively if anyone’s so inclined I’ll put it out to stud (here’s where you can insert your puncture related ‘going down’ innuendo’s).
Any Bike Pervs can contact me at the usual address.
Fourteen Seven
01 August 2008
Peace to Ron G, Brucey B, Kid Capri,
Funkmaster Flex, Lovebug Starsky.
I’m blowin’ up like you thought I would,
Call the crib, same number same hood,
It’s all good – Notorious B.I.G., ‘Juicy’ 1994
‘Blowin’ Up’ is just about spot on, unfortunately ‘It’s all good’ couldn’t be further from the truth. Len started Slimming World on Monday ( Ron G, Brucey B, Kid Capri, Funkmaster Flex, Lovebug Starsky are her weight loss Buddys) and in an effort to loosen the 34” waistband which at present is tighter fitting than the skin on a plastic surgeons drum kit I’ve joined her although I’m not attending meetings – Len’s my Love Handle Hitler.
Biggie gives his bestest ‘Love Handle Hitler’ Scowl
‘Jump on the scales.’ she innocently requested on Sunday evening before we started. The title says it all; and we’re talking stone and pounds not cumulative kilograms unfortunately.
Suffice to say this week has been a culture shock, 28 grammes of All Bran for breakfast with a dash of milk that wouldn’t satisfy a Sahara dumped flip flop, Tuna Salad for lunch and an evening meal that leaves those partaking in it about as satisfied as a 70’s porn film addict at a waxing clinic. The detox headache has been a constant companion this week and the craving for some French and Italian Cuisine (Stella Artois and Pizza) has been incessant.
In 2002 I ran the London Marathon and was 11st 7lb (basically I’ve put on ½ a stone every year since then), to cycle up Alpe d’ Huez I’ll need to be in a similar physical state, the assault on that arduous climb started last Monday, thankfully I’ve got 20 months to prepare.
London Bridge, London Marathon 2002