They say that out of sight is out of mind
And child believe it
Your mama was in search of love
But all she got was used

And I’m telling it to your face
So you don’t have to hear it in another place
(Break it to me gently now
Don’t forget, I’m just a child)
Oh Annie, I’m not your daddy
(Mama’s baby’s papa’s baby)
Oh Annie, I’m not your daddy
(Mama’s baby’s papa’s baby)

See if I was in your blood
Then you wouldn’t be so ugly

Kid Creole and the Coconuts

Sleepless in Peckham has always been my most uncomfortable watch as Only Fools and Horses is concerned. The series is comedy genius with Del Boy and Rodney, the Trotter Brothers, ducking and diving and staying a Rizla paper one side of the Law. Their escapades with Granddad, Trigger, Denzil, Uncle Albert and Boycie bring so much love and joy to the millions of us watching on television that we all feel part of the family and has made the programme the last of the family all sitting together watching T.V. Only Fools and Horses was first broadcast in September 1981 until February 1991, excluding specials.

Sleepless in Peckham was first broadcast on 25th December 2003, a feature length episode and the last ever episode. The programme never waivered from sensitive subjects like money struggles, miscarriage, death in the family, drugs and alcoholism, and relationships. This particular episode saw the brothers in need of monitory support from losing the flat and Cassandra being pregnant. Fortunately both are resolved but Rodney acquires a photograph from a 1960 Jolly Boys outing to Margate where Rodney, and others, realise he has a likeness to Freddie “The Frog” Robdal, a former Naval frogman and local low life criminal. Due to his mother’s friendship with Robdal and the uncanny likeness, it was almost impossible not to imagine Robdal was Rodney’s biological father.

Now to the facts picked from fiction. My Dad was a hero. He lied about his age to join the Royal Navy at the start of World War II and had an Uncle Albert life like. He operated on tank landing craft in the Mediterranean and most notably saw action when the Allied Forces landed at Anzio to take Monte Cassino in Italy. A similar situation to the D-Day landings. Like watching Saving Private Ryan, I can only imagine the carnage of those landings and the meaningless loss of life that ensured. My Dad would have carried those images for the whole of his lifetime

After the war my Mum and Dad married and lived in Forthampton, near Tewkesbury but my Dad couldn’t adapt to life on land and joined the Merchant Navy. He was away at sea for many months at a time which must have caused many problems. I was the youngest of five with four elder sisters. My Mum miscarried twins after sister three. Sisters one and two had married, divorced and moved back so the homestead was pretty full of demanding mouths for attention. I remember my Mum being particularly attached to my eldest sister. She had married a soldier who was stationed in Hong Kong. When my Mum died I found a diary and some lovely memories were revealed, just ordinary things like taking my sister, four, Valerie and me to school.

Apparently, before my sisters 1 and 2 returned home and while my Dad was at sea, my Mum took in a lodger and he is my and my sister Valerie’s biological father according to my elder sisters. This maybe total bullshit but I can’t say for sure. All I know is the Father I know brought us, Valerie and me, as his own and we our of him. He bollocked me when I fucked up and praised me when I did well. I always tried to please him and I know he would be so proud of my running and in particular my London Marathons which I know he loved to watch on the television. Where’s the alleged sperm then, or now? A fi*cking chancer, sh*t for brains coward. There’s no place for you in my life.

My Dad was from Portsmouth and Britain sent men to war from there.

Don’t you walk thru my words
You got to show some respect
Don’t you walk thru my words
‘Cause you ain’t heard me out yet

Words by 10CC’s Gouldman and Stewart

Funny to mention this in a running blog but cricket is and has always been important to me. Running was my escape from cricket back in 1995. Cricket wasn’t the source of my depression and mental health problems but it sure didn’t help.

I started playing proper cricket with a club in 1976 with Tewkesbury Cricket Club. The club had a player crisis and couldn’t recruit anybody to play. 1976 was a summer of a massive heatwave and hosepipe bans which of course affected the standard of playing surfaces. Huge cracks in the straw coloured outfield and inconsistent bounce on the playing surface. I, and my school mates, were just 13 years old.

It was then I realised the significance as a batsman/batter to post a good first innings total or to bat out time for a draw. In those days I was a bowling all rounder but my club captains never trusted my bowling. I remember one particular match against Winget in Gloucester. I was bowling late in the second innings, their innings, and bowling decent deliveries I was constantly slogged up in the air to fielders who constantly dropping catches. I shouted to the captain to take me off and he found it funny that I had ‘lost my bottle’. Lost my bottle! I was p*ssed off playing with others who didn’t seem to care. I know players don’t mean to drop catches but this is an example of how it changes the confidence and dignity of young people .

Without match play my bowling quickly fell away so I needed to concentrate on my batting. I developed a good technique and therefore became an opening batsman/batter. The pressure of getting off to good starts and constantly scoring runs messed up so much with my head. The Saturday league games were really what I thought you were judged on. We would play 20 over mid week cup matches but this was just beer and skittles and I didn’t think they had much to offer. If I failed to make an impact on Saturday it was to be a long week.

When I started running I instantly loved it. I was in charge of my destiny. My training was down to me without anybody else. Success and failure was mine alone. Running released my from the anxiety of playing cricket. I have many friends from playing but they probably never realised how much I suffered with my mental health playing the game. I was constantly being told to return to cricket, the team are struggling, the captain needs you, but it was never realised how I had struggled. Every weekend I hoped for rain to cancel the match. There was no help and I should’ve just walked away and in the end I did.

I ran with Tewkesbury Athletics Club for over 10 years but the draw of playing cricket again was too big. I enjoyed those last few years but all the politics and bullshit was too much to bear. I passed my coaching badge but had to coach a bunch of 12 year olds all by myself and all fuelled by Haribo. This was hard work without support and after 4 years I had had enough and it was time to move on.

2013 I broke my elbow and couldn’t play cricket and a year later bowel cancer prevented me from playing cricket. Do I miss playing? No. Do I want to play again? No. I should have stopped the first time. With running I rely on no one. I succeed or fail by my own efforts. I blame no one and no one blames me.

Welcome to your life
There’s no turning back
Even while we sleep
We will find you
Acting on your best behaviour
Turn your back on mother nature
Everybody wants to run the world

Tears For Fears

In the mail today I received my August edition of Runner’s World celebrating 30 years of running and their publication. My years of running are within these 30 years so maybe I should share some thoughts of running that have covered those years.

I first ran as running for fitness on Tuesday, 26th December 1995. At the time I thought I needed to sharpen up my fitness for the upcoming cricket season and lose some weight. I was concerned as my dear Mum was overweight and had a stroke when I was 15 and as a husband and father I wanted my health not to be a concern. I ran at night and when it was dark. It was slow and I didn’t want to be seen or seen trying. It was hard work and I was enjoying the challenge.

April came and the lighter evenings and I wasn’t so shy. I entered the Tewkesbury Half Marathon to test myself and I did okay. I measured myself against all the running club vests and I did good. The cricket season had started. After the race I developed an horrendous chest infection which laid me low for a couple of weeks. When I returned to cricket action at the end of May I scored a century and then had to bowl 10 overs. I sat slumped in the bar afterwards and knew this couldn’t continue. I was exhausted. I loved to run. Relying on me, myself was easier than relying on 10 others. As a runner I was in control of what I was doing, my training, my nutrition and my lifestyle. It was a no brainer to quit cricket and turn to running then.

That was 28 years ago but how have things changed?

Parkrun is brilliant and possibly has been the greatest innovation in running over those last 30 years. It has brought thousands to running which has great health benefits. to the individual and lifts a potential strain on the overworked NHS. Couch to 5k has been the rage of the age. I’m not really a park runner as I’ve only ran about 60. Apart from races, I don’t like a set course at a set time. I guess I’m like a jazz musician who likes to improvise. I run when I want to and how I want to. I’ll set out to run 5km and add a loop or two and end up running 5 miles or 10 km. Good luck and bon voyage to all park runners but remember to volunteer occasionally.

Strava and Garmin. This is the major and most positive running advancement for me. I love the data and feedback from these apps and to see mapped out where I’ve ran is a big thrill. The information gained from my activities are very personal to me and how I can adjust my running. I might be peaking at the wrong time or in need of some rest and recuperation. I remember the GPS trackers from my early running days. They were massive pieces of technology strapped to your wrist and forearm like the first mobile phones. I favoured a Polar heart rate monitor which wasn’t a GPS tracker at that time but was, and still is, the best heart rate tracker. It was more accurate as it uses a chest strap instead of a pulse sensor. These were the days before days before uploading information after a run on computer therefore after a run I would study the feedback on the tiny watch screen and jot down in a notebook.

Kit and shoes have been revolutionised since the late 90s. When I started moisture wicking tee shirts were rare running mementoes so the the average club runner wore cotton tee shirts. Of course these became wet with sweat, and or rain, very quickly and became quite heavy as the water wasn’t dissipated very well. The technical kit was no better as they were a bit ‘boil in the bag’ and left the runner hot and sweaty. Now things are different. Finisher’s tee shirts are technical and good quality now or there’s an option to plant trees instead. Shoes, or more the cushioning, have advanced especially over the last year or two. Years ago Adidas had two different forms of cushioning, one to push off and another to land. I found them to be terrific and suited me just fine and dandy. Now Nike have revolutionised the market with their Alphafly range. These shoes seem to give great results but the price of nearly £300 is a heavy cross to bear. Years ago I wore Nike Mayfly to race. These shoes were made from recycled carrier bags and were guaranteed for 100 kilometres.

Nutrition has been a major advancement especially with the recreational runner/racer. Brendan Foster always said he ate the same as his wife only more and that’s it in a nutshell. Runners, Swimmers and cyclists burn 1000s of calories and they need to be replaced. Dear old Brendan would replenish those calories with steak and kidney pudding, chips and Newcastle Brown Ale in the 1970s and 80s but now it’s scorned upon. Protein shakes and electrolyte drinks have taken over. 50% carbs, 30% protein 20% fats was always the nutrition formula. I knew a triathlete who would weigh his food to make sure his intake was correct. Surely that’s a step too far for the average plodder. Now there is a supplement and vitamin pill for everything that everyday eating doesn’t provide. Thanks, Google.

During this period of 30 years I started running. I ran with Tewkesbury Athletics Club in 1997. Every club night was a race, a real time trial. If you couldn’t run 6 minute miles you were wasted. It was hard and not inclusive to new runners but built a great base of training. Now things are very different with new runners joining clubs because of Parkrun and clubs needing to adapt for runners progressing at all stages of the runner’s individual development. Tough and takes patience. Now, I run alone. Iam a rock, I am an island. I love to run but I run for me.

This is for those whose minds are as healthy as their bodies
It’s called “I Go Swimming”

Ooh, I go swimming, swimming in the water
Swimming in the river, swimming in the sea
I go swimming
I go swimming, swimming in the water
Swimming in the pool, swimming is cool
I go swimming

Peter Gabriel

A little known Peter Gabriel song released on Plays Live in 1983.

I was about to hit 60 so I thought is was about time to cross off some bucket list things. I have spent and wasted too much time playing cricket. As a fifteen year old leaving school I had hoped that this might be my career but sadly I wasn’t good enough. I didn’t go to the right school or play for the right club but I still wasn’t good enough. I then spent, on and off, trying to recapture that innocent love of playing the game for nearly 40 years. During my initial running years of the late 90s and early 2000s I realised I missed a great deal of my development. I’m not a gambling person but I know now I was backing the wrong horse.

What if? Sliding doors? Hindsight is something that will really cripple you if you let it. So back to the things I wished I had done. Swimming is top of my list. I watch people swim in the Olympics and Championships and they make it look so easy and comfortable and I always wish I could do that. I first learnt to swim at Tewkesbury Swimming Pool whilst a pupil at Queen Margaret’s County Primary School when I was 9 or 10 back in 1973-74. I got on quite well and felt confident but was unsure about all my arm splashing.

Rewind to 1969 and a holiday in Weymouth. My Mum, Sister and me travelled to Weymouth for a stay with and mum’s aunt. We spent our days walking along Chisel Beach and paddling in the sea but one morning I saw a dog galloping out towards the surf and I decided to copy him. Obviously I was soon out of my depth. I was 5 years old and in trouble. I was panicking and desperate to get my breath when the dog’s owner swam out to drag me back and to dry land. My Mum and Sister were scared to death as I was nearly there.

This was quite a cathartic holiday as England had beaten the West Indies at cricket for the first time in many years and had awakened my desire to play the game. My Mum bought me a plastic cricket set and would under arm deliveries for me to whack in her aunt’s garden.

Fast forward to 1972 and a family wedding in Portsmouth. My Dad took my Sister and me swimming the day before travelling. My Dad was a good swimmer. He, as a youngster, would help out on a milk round and then swim in the sea before school. In 1940 he lied about his age and joined the Royal Navy as a 17 year old. Anyway, I was trying to jump into my rubber ring in the deep end of the Tewkesbury swimming pool and, of course, this was fraught with danger and my Dad had to pull me up to safety.

Fast more forward to 2023 and approaching and hitting 60. I now think the time is right to overcome any swimming demons I have and to learn to swim properly and enjoy the exercise just as I am as a runner. So as a depressed, anxious, and socially awkward person this is a massive thing to overcome and without my earlier fails. I received two pieces of advice from a friend. Don’t drown and get some good goggles. Well, I bought the goggles she recommended and I haven’t drowned, yet.

The verdict, I love it. My instructor is great and doesn’t push me too hard but allows me to progress at my own rate.

Down, down, you bring me down
I hear you knocking down my door and I can’t sleep at night
Your face it has no place
No room for you inside my house I need to be alone

Don’t waste your words I don’t need anything from you
I don’t care where you’ve been or what you plan to do

Wednesday, 19th July was my birthday and a significant one. I was to become 60. Fucking hell, 60. I can’t be 60. I dress like an eight year old and act like a fourteen year old. Where did those misspent years go? The only advantage is I can buy pints of lager in a pub without producing ID thanks to my distinguished grey hair. 50 I could understand but 60, shit, that’s something different. Most of my family don’t get out of their 60’s. Medical advances have helped but only if you can see a fucking GP. Still I feel privileged. I love sport and music and both has morphed beyond recognition in my lifetime. Sports and sports science and nutrition has been a positive change. Even amateur athletes think more about their training and what their bodies need to transfer their intake into performances. Music, well the late 70s and early 80s was really the best era for music and radical change.

Sixty also means that I’ve gone up a veteran age group running wise. When I went up to forty Sue said I should cash in on prizes but all my oppos also were getting older. I don’t really care too much these days. I run for fun. I run for myself. I run for my mental wellbeing. So to answer the question, Am I nervous/anxious/scared about hitting 60? The answer is fucking hell YEAH.

I took some leave from work to celebrate in the only way I know, to run. On the 18th, and the day before my birthday, I ran which is probably my favourite route here in Burnham-on-Sea. I wish I could run some of my favourite routes around Tewkesbury again. I loved my runs to Deerhurst and Apperley along the River Severn and the run to Twyning via the River Avon.

A race on my birthday. The Pawlett Plod 10k a mostly trail race along the coastal path and my first opportunity to run in my new age group. The run follows the River Pawlett for about 4 miles and then back away from the coastal path back to the race HQ. Unfortunately there was quite a forceful breeze against the runners along the coastal path which meant I needed to concentrate on my form and technique and not let my mind wander on the scenery. The first mile was a gradual down hill to the coastal path and four miles against the wind with a more than gradual up hill in the last mile which was not really required. A really great route and race with a challenge of a hill at the finish. I really like this race. The course was like the runs I used to love running back in Tewkesbury in my halcyon days if there was such a thing along then Avon and Severn.

Well the title, I am the resurrection. This refers to me reaching 60 and a new running age category and new goals. A phoenix from the ashes of the 50s if you will. The lyrics refer to Burnham on Sea Harriers and the few who have rejected me for whatever reason. Thanks Harriers. I thought I had friends there but clearly not. I’ll never return.

My heart was broken
My heart was broken
You saw it, you claimed it
You touched it, you saved it

While I’m worth
My room on this Earth
I will be with you
While the Chief
Puts sunshine on Neath

The Proclaimers 1988

Travelling to Plymouth for the Ocean City Half Marathon was fraught with difficulties due to the rail strike so the journey to Swansea for the half should be a doddle, or so I thought 🤔

Race place and hotel booked. I booked early to avoid last year’s chaos. I had booked a cheap place to stay little knowing it was a bare room intended as student accommodation and therefore spent hours trying to get in somewhere else. The Dragon was one hotel we tried and failed to get in. It looked good and central with easy access to the start so I booked there. Just the train tickets to get. I booked these quite late and even with our rail card it was still over £70 for Sue and myself. A few days before our departure l noticed that due to a vehicle shortage the Bristol to Cardiff section of the journey there would be a bus replacement service. Gawd, not again. Panic again as on the morning of our trip I received a message saying that our train from Taunton to Cardiff had been cancelled 😡 . Quick get on the Trainline app. and I found an alternative. Phew!

I’ve been suffering from Ilio Tibial Band Syndrome on and off throughout my running days. IT band is a thickening length of tissue on the outside of the leg running from the hip to the knee. This stabilises the knee. The band can become inflamed and be a source of pain at the knee. Over the last week of training this had happened but caused pain at my hip as well. I was seriously wonder about not competing but the weekend was costing us a lot of money. I concentrated my running to slow beach runs but of course sand is unstable and I tried to run on the firm sections.

My race nerves are getting worse the older I get. I can never eat beforehand, only take Imodium™️ after my bowel cancer difficulties and with this ITB syndrome I was concerned. Sunday morning, race day, started cloudy but warm. The temperatures over this last week have been really quite high with blazing sunshine after 5.00pm, after work. I prepared as well as I could. I scoffed an energy gel and drank plenty, but not too much, of water and whacked on Vaseline and SPF 30 in those important little places.

We all nervously got into our pens with some doing that ‘not knowing where I should be but want a quick start’ thing. I was in the blue pen, 1.45-2.00, hoping I could wing it. 9.00am and the start off towards Swansea University along the Mumbles road, a loop of part of the city and at around 5 miles back towards the Mumbles along the dual carriageway. At this time my knee was starting to hurt. I wore an open patella knee brace hoping I’d be fine. Having seen visually impaired runners and wheelchair athletes using conventional wheelchairs I thought my ailment to be very slight and as I was was running well at a constant pace, with some discomfort, I should count my blessings and have a go.

The course continues towards the Mumbles and the last 4 miles return back to the start/finish along a cycle path by the coast with terrific views and the tide was out. We, the runners, we’re now in full view of the sun and no shade and at 9-10 miles this could be a telling part of the the run. I saw at least one runner in need of medical attention at this point. Digging in I kept up my pace, overtaking tiring runners and finished in a respectable time of 1.54, last race before becoming a over 60 vet. I met up with Sue and had lunch. But our adventure/nightmare was only beginning.

Whilst at lunch I received a message indicating that our train home had been cancelled. Pooh and, I was knackered from the race and now I had to try and find an alternative. All other options got us back home late so I made a decision to return on Monday, message my Boss to try and explain and find somewhere to stay. Chasing Booking.com and trip advisor was useless. Arctic Monkeys were playing at Swansea City’s football ground and all rooms were booked. Their first album was brilliant but I’m not so sure about the others! I managed to get a room after all the chasing around and internet sh&t. I messaged my boss. ‘Hi, it’s unlikely I’ll be in work tomorrow’. Big man not happy, called work in the morning and still not happy. F&ck, I’m not happy. Now this trip has cost me an arm and a leg and what’s left of my mental health.

Right, I wasn’t going to spend all that time looking and failing to get a train and searching for a hotel room to return to Highbridge and Burnham at stupid o’clock in the morning to frape my tired ass for 10 hours. I phoned work. Me, ‘It’ll take at least 4 hours to get from Swansea to Highbridge so I’ll take the day off’. Reply, ‘ I went to Cardiff in 1 and a half hours’. Good for you. That wasn’t Swansea and when Great Western Railways was being ‘difficult’. Severn Tunnel was down for maintenance and the the alternatives weren’t passenger friendly.

Our train was Swansea to London Paddington via Reading. The train was of 5 coaches not the normal 9 and many passengers looked like they were heading to Reading and the connection to Gatwick. The train was over subscribed with passengers standing everywhere. We were due to hit Gloucester and then change for Bristol Parkway. Now, in a moment of calm thought I considered if we got off at Newport and travelled on a Bus Replacement Service to Bristol Parkway it would be quicker. Wrong. We got off at Newport and raced to an already full bus and had to wait for another. Now I was losing any patience I had left. It’s just impossible. Even with mobile apps and the internet you’re always at least two steps behind. We eventually reached Bristol Temple Meads after changing at Bristol Parkway but I forgot to take our case off the train. By now I was at the end of my rope. I’d gladly throw myself under a train to end my miserable day. My head was a mess. I was thinking for two and I couldn’t get a chance to sit silently and collect my thoughts. We got our suitcase back and continued our journey home in just under 6 hours.

Cardiff in 1.5 hours, phish, you’re lucky to see me again.

I love Swansea, I love the people and their hospitality, I love the race and I love the Arctic Monkeys first LP but I have an uneasy feeling about GWR and their customers services.