Preparing for the big stage

Those of you who have been in my company will know that although I am a natural media star in the making, I'm modest with it. Its no coincidence though - it isn't just raw talent that you see when you observe how I can hold a crowd and captivate my fellow athletes and Ronettes. But, you know, I'll let you into a little secret - all is not what it seems. Because I do, in fact, spend many hours working on my image and public persona.

Some weekends I have been known to spend hour upon hour mixing with ordinary people - like women for instance - to cultivate my 'Man of the Common People' image.

And so it was that I was the major attraction on Sunday at the Brighton Marathon. And I have to say the City of Needles made a pretty good fist of it. (Though Ernie does say that Brighton and Fisting do go together quite well but I have no idea what he means).

So, I turned up to offer my support and my advice to the athletes - some 8,000 of whom had gathered to take part in the first event of its kind in the city.

In fact, I turned up at 7 o'flippin'clock in the morning - and although I knew the start wasn't till 9-ish I did at least reckon I could turn in a spot of full English to set me up for the day. Being Brighton, of course, there wasn't a chippy or a bacon sandwich to be seen. So I had to content myself with a Falafel and Watercress pie and a cup of some Johnny Foreigner tea.

And then I sat down at the Finish Line to wait for the runners to meet me.

Well, the first runners home were a bit sharpish and so I reckoned I could have been away and home in Ernie's van in time for a snifter at the Slug and Pellet.

Now I don't want you to be thinking that I'm a fair weather athlete with no time for my fellow runners - after all I've even been to Essex once for a race - but for goodness sake the last runner didn't bowl over the line for nine and a half hours!! That's right - for nine and a half hours I stood there on that line clapping and cheering. And I got roped into handing out Goody Bags - I was there for almost 12 hours!

Well let me tell you - this Sunday at the London Marathon I ain't waiting for nobody! I don't care whether the Kenyan in the Fred Flintstone suit or the Bakewell Tart or those strange blokes who run with a house have finished or not. I'm crossing that line and heading straight for the nearest boozer.

After all I'm a proper athlete - not a spectator.

I wasn't happy - I got flippin' sunstroke; my legs feel as though they'd run the bally race. And for what? A few brownie points on the old media checklist.

Anyway the London thing is only a couple of days away now. I've been busy carbo loading and sitting waiting for a telephone call from the media people at the London Marathon. Well waiting for them is like British Gas nookey - you stay in all day and nobody comes. So, I guess I'll just have to hold my own press conference on Saturday. I've heard that some of the overseas blokes have bottled out claiming something to do with volcanic ash stopping them from flying. Well that's just pumpkins - I've been to Hastings today and I had no problems getting there or back.

Keep on tapering.

Ron