The title eludes to Radio One dj John Peel who more than anyone apart from Michael Eavis, epitomises the spirit of the World famous Glastonbury Festival. Peelie would champion music from all over the world and from all genres. The gentle pre T.Rex Perfumed Garden poetry of Marc Bolan and lyrics from early David Bowie, through the prog rock of Yes, Genesis and Jethro Tull, early punk Clash, Ramones and Television, new wave Undertones, Joy Division, Gang of Four, The Smiths, Echo and the Bunnymen and Cocteau Twins, and through to world music like Misty in Roots, Four Brothers, German industrialist band X Mal Deutschland and his favourites The Fall and finally White Stripes before his untimely death. John Peel represents a Who’s Who of the coolest music covering over forty years of his residency of the 10-midnight slot. I remember the story of my brother-in-law cycling from Blackwood, Gwent (home town of the Manic Street Preachers) to Shepton Mallet for the first Bath and Wells Folk and Blues Festival, the precursor of the Glastonbury Festival in 1970.

When entries were announced for the Glastonbury Festival 10km I was as keen as a vegan in a lettuce field to bag a place. Running and British/World musical history beckoned as I would never have a chance of going to the festival for real. This wasn’t just merely a race but a chance to be in an arena where most of the giants of music of 50 years held court. Places went quickly but not in 34 minutes like the music festival. Maybe your stereotypical rock/indie/world music fan isn’t that hot about running a 10km on a Sunday morning in October.

During the week leading up to the race I was struck down by some stomach bug or my bowel condition thing. I was off work and bed bound, well mostly. My only companion being Radio 5 Live’s excellent Brexit coverage, although that was getting tedious nearly three and a half years tedious. By Thursday evening I was climbing up walls. As I hadn’t eaten all day and spent most of it on the kharzi, I thought I’d go for a run. Only 5km, what’s the worst that can happen. Luckily, nothing.

Race day came and Madame Pompomadour and myself travelled to Worthy Farm with Jonathan Williams. Jon had been suffering badly with a heavy cold so it was great to see him turn out in his new birthday trail shoes. I hate to get new shoes dirty so quickly and unfortunately on muddy trails there’s no choice.

Registration was chaotic. The organisers seemed to have a good system but was implemented very poorly and added with the usual lack of ladies powder rooms, anxiety levels were naturally high. Jonathan’s week was to get worse as the tee shirt he ordered had not been allocated resulting in a jog of shame on Tee Shirt Tuesday, our club run after a race. Added to that the 2km race was delayed 30 minutes to allow race starter, Michael Eavis, to finish his boiled egg and soldiers. Incidentally, Harriet Hobbs finished as first female.

The race briefing was detailed, too detailed. Even the most inexperienced runner must have realised it was going to be a) muddy, b) hilly, and c) slippery under foot but it didn’t stop the Race Director from informing us of every step. Eventually, Michael Eavis gave the old ‘ave yer got yer festival tickets’ and ‘ready, steady, go’. Inside the first kilometre, and as we entered the field of the iconic Pyramid Stage, runners had already started to lose their shoes in the mud before sweeping around and into the first climb up into the woods.

The course follows a sort of figure 8 with lots of climbs, descents, mud, rocks, and twists and turns. I didn’t run at my best. I was still feeling the effects of my upset stomach and found the race a struggle. The final kilometre has a fierce uphill, left turn and down to the finish and I couldn’t quite catch Mark Benton, who was just in front. The scenery around was relaxing but with roads criss crossing on the course I always had the feeling of running on an enclosed environment such as a country park or working farm, which it is, but not the overall pleasure of a National Trust estate.

Phil Hobbs was first Harrier back followed by Stuart Anderson, and revitalised Tracy Thomas. I was the thorn between the great runs of Mark Kiwi Benton and Big Dave Darling. Lisa Pringle, Andrea Tarczali, Helen James and Jeannine Darling continued to run well after their recent half marathons. But it’s always special when the Benton quartet turn up. A lovelier family I’ve yet to meet.

Final conclusions. I had been looking forward to this race for so long that it couldn’t possibly live up to my expectations but it was a delight. I felt privileged to run where the giants of music had played for decades and it perfectly married my two favourite obsessions, running and music. In a spiritual way, I wondered how the countryside would have reacted to 49 years of all that festival commotion and how popular culture had changed since the first Pop, Folk and Blues Festival 1970. The Festival 10km is a quaint, local race that raises funds for local concerns and I like that and fits well with the Glastonbury ethos.

It has been massive week for me since the Burnham Half and must amend a couple of things. Firstly, a huge thanks to everybody who gave up their weekend hours to organise, set up the course and marshal. Without you all the event couldn’t have possibly take place. And secondly, many congratulations to Kev Clements who was the first local veteran in a superb time of 1.40.

Tuesday I deputised for the lovely Tracey Benton as Run Leader for Group 2. I had to plan a route and be organised and adult like and everything I’m clearly not and was suitably gratified when I returned all my charges to the Bay Centre intact and unharmed and I’m unashamed to say I had a maturity tingle. This leads to an serious message. The days are getting shorter now and opportunities to run in daylight are restricted to weekends so remember to be safe whilst out running. Headtorches and hi vis will soon become the haute couture for the fashionable Harrier.

Friday I logged my 1000th running mile for the year. Last year it wasn’t until Christmas that I crept over the line. Ten or twelve years ago I would run at least 40 miles a week so would easily run over 2000 miles a year. It does take a lot of dedication especially with a wife/husband and child(ren).

Saturday morning is sometimes Park Run. It’s not such a big deal with me as I just like the company and a bit of a jog on a weekend morning. This is shown as I’ve ran just 40 odd in 4 years whereas others are well into the hundreds but I’m quite keen to complete 50 before Christmas and Gobby was volunteering so 10 minutes after waking I was wearily wondering why I was doing this to myself especially as I had a race that very evening.That very evening I hear you cry, yes, an early Halloween road trip to the Quantocks and an evening headtorch race in the dark.

Our genial driving host was Dr. Stuart Anderson and we were accompanied by Master Harry Petheram. Apart from driving across a stop sign and getting lost, we arrived at race hq and in reasonably good time to collect race bib numbers and timing devices. By the time we had pinned on our numbers darkness had fallen and we had some idea of what was to confront us. The three distances started off in waves separated by around 10 minutes, first the 6km race, followed by the 8.5 miler and finally the 6 miler. I followed Harry and found myself on the frontline and standing next to Tony McKee. Sounds like a nightmare! Tony said he was charging his Garmin and had forgot it. This things rarely come singularly. The hooter sounded and that was the last I saw of Harry.

The first 400 metres were downhill but then we started climbing and climbing for over a mile. I’ve ran many times with a headtorch this was way so different. You really get a sense of sensory depravation as, with my headtorch, I can only see where I’m facing and no 20/20 vision at all. Then followed over a mile of uphill running then 1.5 miles of fierce downhill. Of course in the darkness It’s difficult to judge the terrain even at the slow progress I was making. Mud, tree roots and rubble and I was hoping that I wouldn’t lose my brand new, pristine, beautifully blue trail shoes and they wouldn’t end up separated from my feet in a bog and my ankles might be at least okay. A flat 3 miles and I’m done I thought but NO over a mile of the steepest climbing I’ve ever experienced then a short, steep downhill and half a mile to the summit, plateau and a drop to the finish.

Harry was already there with his second prize. Well done, mate. Helen James, who had completed the 6km course, was there also. We were quickly joined by Billie Jo Hopley, Stuart who had ran the 8.5 mile course, Paula Hopley and Tony McKee. Remember Tony and his watch well, he lost both of his shoes in the mud and the rain somehow soaked his bag, and therefore his dry clothes, in the baggage gazebo. Evidence that sh*t happens in 3s.

I did learn some valuable lessons; triple knot your shoes, charge your Garmin the day before, make sure your baggage drop is nowhere near the sides of the gazebo and get a decent headtorch.

Sunday and another race day. Harriers were widely spread like Katie Price. To Loch Ness, Brussels, Cardiff, and Burnham-on-Sea. All marathons or half marathons, some a debut at the distance and others seasoned old pros. I did try to quantify how many halfs I had ran once and it was well over 50 and that was years ago so I must be over 70 by now. Kelly Sherriff asked me which I would recommend but that changed the more I thought about it. Some runners prefer city races with lots of supporters, others rural, flat, hilly and challenging. I may be biased but Tewkesbury is a good half. Well supported around the course, a bit of urban and a bit of rural and fairly flat and a tee shirt and medal, just like chips and rice with a curry. Others I liked include Slough, but that was many years ago, and Stroud which I’ve ran many times and including last year and is well organised and rewards it’s finishers with chips and rice.

Marathons can be a much different beast. Most runners need that that security blanket of spectators shouting their names and offering encouragement around the course and that is great. That is to say any boost has to be a benefit. When I trained for my marathons I always ran alone and therefore always at my pace, in my conditions that I could replicate during the hard miles during the race. I guess I trained to expect hurt and run through it. Expect the worst and the rest is easier. I suppose I always knew I had it in me to complete the marathon I trained for and it was about anticipated time. I admire Matt Powell, Phil Strange, Lauren Summers and Adrian Smith as Loch Ness seems a tough one to choose, especially as a first, and might be quite secluded and bereft of spectators.

The previous day, Saturday, I had been suffering from massive anxiety attacks which literally shook me like a washing machine and decided I would be safer if I took to my bed and hope they subside. Fortunately when I awoke on race day I felt a little better but would rather not run a half marathon. I thought about Lauren and her knee injury and she was bravely going to attempt the Loch Ness Marathon and I headed off to help set up at the BASC.

Race time and I decided to start conservatively and run with Kelly Sherriff and Big Dave Darling and measure how I felt. They were steadily pushing away from me. My stomach started to churn but this time due to my inadequate bowel and I needed a ‘comfort break’ at the public loos by Brent Knoll Village Hall. By this time my left knee, hip and back were giving me some gip and I considered turning left and heading back to the BASC via Crooked Lane. Again with Lauren in my mind like Princess Leia begging Odi Wan Kanobi for help I was inspired to continue. Even at five miles facing a flock of sheep blocking the road didn’t dissuade me from my mission nor a prostrate Quantock Harrier at just over 9.5 miles, haven’t heard anything but I hope he’s okay. Please remember to fill in the information on the back of your bib number. Something like this makes it so essential to race organisers,and family and friends in the unlikely event that something goes not quite so right.

In the twelfth mile I passed Big Dave and Ganesh. Dave was struggling and I felt for him as he had trained regularly with the Sunday Morning Social group on……Sunday mornings. Turning into Stoddens Road and in striking distance was Kelly and Tracey Thomas. I hadn’t seen Tracey since the start and to see her now was breaking my heart. She is a terrific runner, trains hard and in conditions she dislikes but no encouragement that Kelly and myself could offer could help. Trace, find an event that you like and run it for fun. Get that excitement back and with no care of your result or your competitors. I think you’re running the Sodbury Slog, perfect. Kelly was now turning into the BASC and I could sense her starting to run in treacle and quite apt as we were about run around the cricket outfield which was wet and muddy. I said some stuff and Kelly seemed to respond and finished just outside her pb but happy or relieved.

The Harriers produced some splendid performances. Harry ‘Harold’ Petheram was 25th in an astonishing time of 1.32.29 an immense improvement on his first attempt 2 years earlier and finished third local runner to finish.

Kelly ‘I shot the’ Sherriff was first local lady.

Following home after Harold was Kev Clements, Jason Roberts back from injuries and with every pint his pleasure increased, Lewis Perry a keen improver, Ganesh, Tracey T, Dave, Tanya Boobyer who had also trained hard with Jeannine Darling and her Cardiff/Burnham Half training collective, Richard Hale, Jonny Jacobs and Lindsay Ripley carrying a painful calf injury.

Me, I was glad to finish after this week’s malarkey and run the last couple of miles quite quickly whilst dragging my left leg and suspect mentality . I see myself as a Obi Wan Kanobi to Ian Booth’s Yoda. I love to see improvement and encourage it in others but don’t go to the Dark Side.

To get all my holidays in before Christmas, I booked the week off after the Cheltenham Half and thus get some relaxation before the Burnham Half the following Sunday. This was proving to be a busy day as Harriers were racing near and far, at Burnham, Cardiff Half and the Loch Ness Marathon.

During this week of ‘inactivity’ and rest I had found out that I had got through the ballot for The Grizzly, bought a new pair of trail shoes with cor blimey soles for the worst The Grizzly can put under my feet, Thursday would be the first race in the BoS Swim and Sports Academy’s Winter Prom 5k Series and all this before the Burnham-on-Sea Half Marathon. Last year I signed up for the Weston 5 mile Prom Series and ended up running only one so I thought if I signed up the 5k series I’d be more likely to run them all as it is near and I’d get a chance to unwind before making it to the start line. I thought 5k would be a better distance to test any improvement from our speedster sessions. A 5k race is a distance you can go out fast and hang on. Five miles is just too far to be blowing out of your arse and drag yourself home.

Racing over 5k has never been my favourite distance although my pb is 16.34 and I still didn’t make the top ten. I had never ran any of this series as I thought it would be for the ‘proper’ racing snakes but it would be a great test of improvement over the winter months.

Thursday night is core and stability night for the Harriers so I expected to be on my lonesome again but I was joined by James Gaddy Lad, Stuart Anderson and Lewis Perry but due to work commitments no Madame Pompomadour so at least we were in for a quiet evening especially with 3 laps. The esplanade was drizzly and breezy as the South West was feeling the remnants of Hurricane Lorenzo, which does sound like a spicy Spanish dish. I broke the habit of a lifetime and warmed up thoroughly and stretched.

Gaddy flew off from the start with Stuart, Lewis and myself chasing his shadow, literally. I was expecting the race to be dull as it was laps but far from it as I tried not to be lapped, keep up a good pace and try to breathe. On the final lap a little upstart of a girl aged early teens overtook me. I could feel my pride muscle tightening up so I dug in on the back straight and breezed past her and another lady. Sure enough I could feel her Haribo breath on my shoulder and weighed up my options. I could veer to the right and push her wider especially as a sharp left turn back onto the esplanade was coming up or I could use an technique used by a Severn AC runner in my previous life and casually evacuate my nostrils to the right but I thought that too cruel even for me. I could hear Ian Booth in my mind ‘Use the Force’, and suddenly my pace picked up and I smashed her by 2 seconds. Experience over the petulance of youth.

I was chuffed with my finishing time of 22.14, my fastest for over 11 years. I’m not sure about whether Stuart or Lewis ran pbs but they seemed satisfied with their performances and ran very well in the conditions. Gaddy Lad was beaming as he broke his.

Cheltenham Spa is a regency town that is the home of Daily Mail reading gentry, a League Two footy team, Eddie ‘The Eagle’ Edwards, ‘Big Brother is listening to you’ GCHQ and National Hunt horse racing. It was the go to place for teenagers in Tewkesbury on Saturday much as Bristol might be Burnham’s youth today but they’re just as likely to score some illegal highs in Highbridge. I would catch the bus or cycle to Cheltenham and buy some of the records John Peel had played that week from a little independent shop in Albion Street which, alas, is no longer there. Later I would take my son, Elliot to the cinema to watch the latest Disney or superhero film and have a slap up Maccy D but these days I only go for the half marathon.

The road trip was also a rail trip as the Burnham to Bristol Temple Meads section was to be covered by a bus replacement service and then train to Cheltenham. The first bus leg amused me as a group of 7 passengers, who were travelling together and supplementing their hydration by drinking copious amounts of Thatcher’s Haze and Kopperberg, took it in turns to visit the solitary toilet. At all the time during the journey, one of them were ‘powdering their nose’ and therefore giving nobody else a go. Late arrival meant a mad dash to the little boy’s room before actually boarding a train.

On arrival at Cheltenham, we were met by our hosts, Simon, Sue’s brother, Heather his wife and their son Luca. We then went to an Italian restaurant to carb loading and a beer or two before going to their home and playing spot the crowd at the World Athletics Championship in Doha.

Race day is always fraught with problems and these seem to be intensified when away from home. Constantly being urged to eat something when all I really wanted was Imodium to ease any bowel problems. It was funny watching Simon trying to eat porridge which he doesn’t like. Try and find something you do like which gives you energy and satisfies your hunger. Pre cancer I always ate scrambled eggs on toast but nowadays I’d be stopping every 5 minutes.

The start line was only about 10-15 minutes walk away at the iconic racecourse but we wore bin bags to keep some warmth and the drizzle off. I hate waiting at the start so the 10 minute delay wasn’t helping but we eventually got away. Simon’s training was somewhat erratic so he didn’t really want me to run with him so I ran away on my own. We started in the 1.45-2.00 pen so we were surrounded by club athletes, gym bunnies and outright fibbers so were fighting our way forward against slower runners meandering. Most runners drive so when they change lanes they use their mirrors and look behind, so why do they just criss cross around at whim without caring about other, more serious runners!

I knew I’d have the Burnham-on-Sea Half next week so if I ‘Borissed’ this one up it wasn’t a huge loss so I thought I’d have a bit of a go. By about half way, I had had enough and if someone came over and gave me a cuddle and said ‘you don’t have to do this anymore, I would have tearfully stepped off the road but Burnham-on-Sea Harriers are built from stronger stuff. Onwards and upwards although my left knee was starting to hurt and my back was aching but my back always aches. I’ve never been au fait with the geography of Cheltenham, especially whilst running but as the course wound it’s way past Cheltenham College and the festival cricket ground, past the Pump Rooms, past the Prince of Wales Stadium and I grew more into the race and stronger. Then Swindon Lane the last 2.5 miles and racecourse and grandstand finish. For the first time in 4 attempts, I was the one offering encouragement and not receiving it.

After the two mile circuit of the racecourse, an heroic finish, a medal, a tee shirt, a bottle of water but NO SNACK. No banana, no energy bar, no dried out, out of date Ryvita, nothing. £30 and no snack! So we trundled back to Simon and Heather’s home for a barbecue and beer, much better.

The journey home was no less entertaining either. On the bus ride from Bristol Temple Meads to Highbridge, the driver hadn’t drove this route before and had no idea where the train stations were. This meant missing turnings and having to turn back and on two occasions nearly getting wedged under bridges. Also there was a young girl, maybe late teens or early twenties speaking loudly on her phone. Apparently she doesn’t know whether Yorkshire is north or south but has heard of Manchester and Liverpool. It reminds me of the phrase ‘It’s better to be thought of as stupid rather than open your mouth and remove all doubt’. Eventually home, takeaway, beer and zzz!

My first post cancer race was in 2016 when I ran this half and this was my fifteenth half marathon since #NothingIsImpossible

The Somerset Series hauls it’s weary ass out of Summer and into Autumn with the 19th race, Mells Scenic 7. Harriers were travelling around the South West to participate in races as the Club Championship was nearing ‘squeaky bum’ time. I figured if I race over 10 kilometres off road every week until Christmas, I could be in with a shout of the ‘maillot jaune’ and glory and this was to be a further attempt to keep my neck above the waterline and in the mix. I’m currently 2nd way behind Stu Anderson and only 1 point above Adrian Smith. Honestly, I don’t deserve or should win. I’m no way near the best runner in the club and I believe the accolade of Club Champion should go to someone more worthy. In my defence, I’ve raced a lot but that’s only because I’m keen to get out there, run some fantastic routes and make up for lost time.

The prologue: Road trip. Canvas Love’s Skip Hire provided our luxurious charabanc to which we were all grateful and relieved to arrive at Mells without having to push it up Cheddar Gorge! Matt ‘Canvas’ Powell was our genial host and the of our party included Matthew ‘Jack Leach’ Freeman. Tracey ‘Miss T’ Thomas, Senorita Gobby Pompomadour and my ‘good’ self. This was to be Matthew’s first outing as a Harrier, and if he was sh*tting himself it didn’t show.

Conversation was, of course, entertaining. Memories of our teams fantastic relay performances two weeks previous, Tracey remembering running Mells before and that’s all and Matt trying to explain the Somerset Series and our Championship’s points structure and I’m still none the wiser! Within the last mile to Mells and after all the twisting and turning, upping and downing your correspondent felt the need to ask for a ‘comfort stop’ for one to end his nausea. I was travel sick, ok.

Less than two minutes later we were at Mells Cricket Club and race headquarters and collecting our numbers with our teammates. The briefing suggested the race was fraught with danger. Talk of hills, cows, tree roots, rocks and if you follow the wrong signs you could end up on some flower trail!

We assembled at the narrow start and was delayed to allow a golf buggy like Smart car to pass through. Incidentally both incumbents looked suitably embarrassed. Off we set and my stomach was feeling like a washing machine on that noisy cycle before the end. I was easily keeping up with Tracey and I knew she wasn’t feeling it. Billie Jo Hopley was beside me probably entered by Paula Hopley as a 27 year old Vegas stripper! We ran through a wooded area for a couple of miles which was canopied and seemed to contain all the warmth from the previous day and sheltered us from the rain. We ran along a stream and I thought if anyone was to slip and fall in it would be me. Rocks and tree roots prodded through the ground and made progress hazardous but with the grip of good trail shoes forward, and not sideward, progress was maintained. Tracey gasped ‘Go on. I’ll see you at the finish’ and I sped on thinking/hoping she’d follow me and push herself and Billie Jo to the finish.

Once out of the woods we seemed to be constantly climbing. Along roads, across fields and muddied trails. Runners stepping aside puddles and mud to avoid dirtying their shoes! We turn right back into the cricket ground to complete our race and I commit the schoolboy error of stopping my Garmin on 6.99 miles. Matt Powell was first Harrier home beating Matthew Freeman and Phil Hobbs. Myself, Tracey, Billie Jo, Christy and Paula brought up the rear. I feel a bit for Tracey T as she would benefit from other ladies pushing themselves and challenging what Tracey has achieved. Billie Jo has great potential and would be much better with encouragement. Lisa Bowen Howe is naturally fast and terrific and could be up there with gentle confidence building coaxing.

Overall the course is tough and challenging and scenic and I would challenge myself again to run it and maybe break the hour.

Spanish Stroll is a 1977 single by Mink DeVille, off their debut album Cabretta. It features a spoken word section by bassist Ruben Siguenza during the break (“¡Hey Rosita! ¿Dónde vas con mi carro, Rosita? Tú sabes que te quiero, pero usted me quita todo”), adding a Latin flavour to it.

“Spanish Stroll” reached #20 on the UK Singles Chart; it was to be DeVille’s only record ever to chart in the UK

Running on holiday is fraught with danger. Could I get lost? Sunscreen? Have I got enough sunscreen should I get lost? Should I have drank all that beer last night and have no bottled water in the hotel?

Clearly the best course of action is to get that bronzed Adonis body stripped to the waist and strut one’s stuff at the beach where it is usually/hopefully flat and thus be able to look speedy, have a cool measured stride, not puff and pant like a wheezy boy, or walk.

Wake up early with the best of intentions but, after the last evening’s carousing, it’s mid-day. The warm up starts with an elevator ride down the five floors to reception and that first difficult step. The doors open and the bright Mediterranean sunlight pierces my eyes like pin pricks, a sudden nausea overwhelms and a speedy retreat back to bed looks favourite. But, you mustn’t let your audience down and then there’s the Strava kudos of a Spanish run in 30 degrees.

I start off dodging pink Irish couples considering lunch menus. Pink British couples are also doing the same but the servers know that they will plum for that ‘All Day English Breakfast’ with chips and a beer or Diet Coke. Turning left down a narrow, busy, pedestrianised shopping street trying to keep some pace by moving like a Heisman Trophy running back on steroids effortlessly gliding past Germans, Dutch and important looking Spanish business people. Then, steep, almost vertical steps down to the coast where running is akin to downhill slalom skiing avoiding more ‘lobsters’ wearing dodgy trilby hats.

Half a mile in and you’re finally hitting the esplanade. Take off your shirt, flex the ‘guns’ and perform for your spectators but they’re only interested in staring at the sea or ordering another beer. The claustrophobia has lifted and I can run. I head out for a mile but need to dodge more continental ‘grockles’. I then turn back only to discover a cycle/skate path and a clearer run. Coming back I feel like I’m flying. I find it quite still and the hear waves crashing on the beach. An image appears in my head of Harrier Little Timmy Byrne surfing while Sean Bean narrates ‘Ride those white horses, you bastard’ like a Guinness commercial.

A mile and a half back along the path to the tourist information booth, cross the road and turn left and confront a little climb I discovered a day or two previous. This takes me back to the level where the steps descended. Not as steep but much longer. Like Hill Lane from East Brent but not as long. I amaze myself and the pinky tourists by cruising to the top without panting, walking or defaecating. At the top was a fruit and vegetable shop. Wow, what would I give now to sink my teeth into a plump, juicy peachy peach! Left, across the road and back to the shopping area One hundred and fifty metres and face the mural of Brigette Bardot in the plaza where the hotel was. I didn’t get lost!

Madame Pompomadour and myself normally like to have a Summer break at the beginning of July but this year it’s September. It proved to be good luck as it was the perfect respite between Summer 10ks and Autumn Halfs and as Sue has just started a Couch to 5k schedule with Burnham Sole Sisters it provided the perfect opportunity to run abroad.

Everyone must now be familiar with our holiday booking but I’ll give you a brief update . Sue saw some flight times and thought they looked good not realising that we were to fly from Birmingham International and not the more convenient Bristol Airport. To change would result in a £500 surcharge and as the holiday costed just over £700 it was a no brainer. Our journey therefore started with 4 hour taxi/train ride. We were met at Malaga Airport by a huge, burly man who drove us to our hotel while playing some sort of Spanish/reggae fusion music. Viva la Loco by Coldplague it wasn’t. We arrived and were beaten to reception by a coach load of geriatric Italians so we went for a cheeky San Miguel first. Our room is small yet comfortable with a large balcony overlooking a busy pedestrianised area featuring cafes, shops and Maccy D.

Sunday morning. Usually a race day or a long run day. Hair of the dog day. I started with good intentions by ordering a coffee and scrambled eggs. It didn’t last long. I’m only flesh and blood.

We wandered back to our hotel where we facebooked and I started writing this rubbish and listening to the Test Match Sue bounced up and demanded we go for a run before the moment wears off. What could I say. So she made her running debut in a Harriers shirt.

We followed week 2 of her Couch to 5k plan which involved 5 minutes brisk walk warm up followed by 6 x 90 seconds run with 2 minutes walk recovery and 5 minute walk cool down.

I left Sue back at base and continued to run another 5 km. Blooming hot and busy. You may able to see where Sue and myself parted. When I returned, Sue was a buoyant mood. She was so chuffed about her run as she thought she would never manage it after her last training run but she did great. Next instalment is on Tuesday.

Coming from Tewkesbury in Gloucestershire I have visited the local pubs in Gretton and Winchcombe many times but I’ve only been to Sudeley Castle once. Sudeley Castle was the venue of Elizabeth Hurley’s marriage to Arun Nayar after her dalliances with Hugh Grant (his dalliances with LA hooker, that didn’t last nor did her’s 4 years) and the got engaged to Shane Warne, of all people (Didn’t last also). It is also the final resting place of Catherine Parr who saw off Henry VIII (That didn’t last). The current incumbent is a Henry Dent-Brocklehurst, a privileged wild child who inherited the place when 30 years of age. He married a hippy model with Grateful Dead connections from Hawaii named Lilli Maltese, since divorced (I knew it wouldn’t last). Clearly not a happy place for relationships but I bet Catherine Parr was glad to escape with her head still attached to her neck!

• Madame Pompomadour was dog sitting in Cheltenham so road trip buddies, Jonny Jacobs and myself, had to travel alone. Not quite the Blues Brothers. We had sunglasses but no cigarettes and Cotswolds instead of Chicago. Conversation subjects included: can Chelsea keep pace with Liverpool and Man. City?, How did Middlesex chase down Somerset’s 227 in the Vitality 20? and Why are we running a trail race over FIVE hills and climbing 2000 feet? The answer is simple, because it’s there. Cotswolds derives from two words cot meaning sheep enclosure and wold meaning rolling hillsides. They weren’t blooding joking either.

We met up with the Shouty One at the Sudeley Castle car park. Where, incidentally, admission to the castle is a massive £16 but still cheaper than the race! She urged me to join the lengthening toilet rumba but, with my complicated bowel condition, timing is the essence and was further thrown out of sync by a delayed start because a local farmer was dilly dallying with his cows on a local road. Bloody Gloucestershire farmers.

We eventually started at around 11.15 and of course our cheerleader made it well known that Burnham-on-Sea Harriers were taking part. Lots of sniggers and laughter but I guess Sue and her pom poms are fairly new up here. Within a kilometre we ground to a halt as we queued to cross a stile. One runner threw himself to the ground and performed 10 burpees. He was to do this after every kilometre after. Idiot! This race was tough enough without adding extras. At the second stile just about as I was to hurdle it, a young woman bent down to tie her shoelace. “Please ignore me” she said and in an outer body experience I must have said ” You can’t ignore a butt like that” I did apologise for being 1970s and the lady did have the thought of mind to laugh.

The race continued and so did the challenges. The terrain could be loose stones and rubble or fields of dried earth and straw stubble or muddy bogs and the climbs, oh the climbs. Five distinct Cotswold hills along the Winchcombe Way, the Cotswold Way, the Gloucestershire way and the Chocks a Way. Apart from a short road section and the odd field, the route seemed to be up and then down and then bloody up again. It was relentless and the miles/kilometres were ticked off so slowly over the 2000 feet of climbing which was virtually impossible to run but it was brilliant and I would run it again at a shot. Even the run for home was testing. A long upward path up the Sudeley Castle drive, a left turn and downwards to the finishing gantry, the cheering of Sue and the hideous Heart FM music they were playing. I think it’s fair to say that our finishing times reflect the difficulty of the course but it beats the Bridgwater Half by loads.

After the run we met up with a couple of Jon Jacob’s friends and their daughter, Anais, insists on calling Jon, Ron. Hence the Da Doo run Ron.

Another half marathon completed. I don’t know but I must be getting on for 70 halfs now. Each race gives me a sense of achievement especially as I probably shouldn’t be… Enough of that I’m loving it and long may it continue.

Last year I ran the Battle of Sedgemoor 10km and it poured with rain so this time I was hoping for personal best conditions. However, the forecast was the warmest August Bank Holiday since records began.

Genial Dave Darling hosted our trip up to Langport for the race accompanied with Tanya Boobyer , Madame Pompomadour and myself. The conversation was feisty and one subject cropped up that has been mentioned a couple of times in the days since. Race entrance fees. Pricey 10kms and halfs versus cheaper ones and where does the money go. At one extreme are the small village races that raise money for the local primary school like Piddle Wood Plod or Buckland Bolt. The mementoes tend to be simple, hand made and very individual. At the other extreme the massive events like London Marathon and Great North Run where road closures, policing and paying for elite athletes sucks a lot of the finance for these events. The middle ground is the running clubs trying to boost funds and make a donation to a local charity and the race organisers who make a business out of running. Of course it’s down to the individual runner which race to choose and this can depend on convenience, distance, terrain and memento where you can pay £30 for a half offering a dodgy tee shirt and medal or £20 for a quality medal/tee shirt for a 10km. Some of these races even offer up to £30 for marshalling. You pays your money and you makes your choice.

At last year’s ‘Battle’ the participants were required to run in the most appalling of conditions as it rained persistently from Friday to Monday during the hottest heatwave in memory and this year the hottest August Bank Holiday on records. The Harriers collected their bib numbers which also included their name printed on so how Tanya became ‘Judith’ is beyond me. Most of us tried our usual warm up of standing in the sun while others dashed around burning valuable calories and losing hydration. Paula Hopley asked us to look out for Billie-Jo in case the heat got to her and succeeded in putting more pressure on me. And where was her father? In Brighton playing bloody Quadrophenia!!!

I figured my best way to attack the race was to enjoy the run and countryside and chill. Harry and Kev set the Harrier pace in pursuit of their personal goals while the rest of us tried to come to terms with the heat and running. There was fantastic support around the villages but on such a hot day one drinks station was insufficient but I appreciate it is hard to predict the English weather especially on Bank Holiday weekends. Special mentions to Kev and Harry who finished in great times and Kelly who gave the quickening Billie-Jo a run for her money. Steve Dorrall, Dave Darling, Tanya Boobyer and Paula Hopley also had terrific runs and the Harriers performed well at The Battle. I even managed to knock the princely sum of 4 seconds off last year’s time.

We had to rush back to Burnham-on-Sea for our luncheon date with The Sherriffs, Barry and Kelly at the Victoria Hotel. I recommend the beef and we had Kelly’s choice of Baileys Cheesecake for dessert and then rushing to the Dunstan for Dilly Dilly beers/ciders and celebrate Jack Leach and his one run off 17 balls faced winning the Test match against Australia.