Bonk!

I recovered from that hard and horrendous event in Great Baddow and returned to my finely tuned Olympic training plan this week. Ernie wanted some new pliers so we went in the Transit and whilst he was negotiating a deal at Hire-Us I went for what was for me a very hard 3 mile sprint along the harbour path in Rye.

So that was a decent workout. Then, on Wednesday I popped along to Bexhill for the first of their summer 5K races and decimated the field by finishing the sea front course in 31.33 - impressive mange tout?

True to form though, the weekend was bound to end on a low - and low it was come yesterday evening Ronettes. I popped along to the Tillingham Valley where some of the older people from Hastings were due to run in the Rockabilly 5 Mile Race.

Was it a good idea to go there - question number 1

What do you think - see below:


Was it a good idea to go there - question number 2

No it bally well wasn't. I got out of Ernie's van to start my warm-up, sign a few autographs etc. Turned to get my pumps out of the van and Ernie had only gone and opened the van doors. I then proceeded to stot my head on the door.

What happened next? Well, there was an awful lot of blood. And, my friends, I can tell you it hurt. It hurt then. And it still hurts now. I should have gone to the hospital for a stitch but they had no private facilities and I wasn't queuing with ordinary people. To make matters worse though, the Half Share reckoned I've now got percussion - and I might need to take a couple of days off till it gets better. So that's put paid to what was going to be a surprise trip over to Caravan County for the Dover Half Marathon tomorrow morning.

And before you ask - yes, I to want to know where the Olympic back-up medical team were as well.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Bad, bad Baddow.

A week is a long time in ... well its a long time isn't it?

And I really don't know where to start with my week.

I popped up to Great Baddow last Sunday to appear in their little 10 Mile event. I should have known when I woke up on Sunday and the sun was shining. It was very hot at 8 o'clock - so you have no idea how much hotter it had become by the start time of 11 o'clock!

Ronettes - I was flagging before I'd even started my anal crunch and pelvic squirt warm-up routine and by start time I was sweating more than an outed cabinet minister. As I set off, for the first time since I'd become an international athlete I knew that I was going to struggle. I had no energy. My renowned sprint start that has been known to leave Kenyans gasping in my wake wasn't there. Ronettes - I was barely recognisable as the Olympic idol you know and love. After 2 miles I had to take one of the most important decisions in my life. This, after all, is the chap that has done London, Paris, Amsterdam, Indialand and other places such as Reading. But ... Great Baddow had me beaten.

I dropped out of the race.

Let me just repeat that .... I dropped out of the race.

But as I trooped dejectedly back to the start, I thought to myself. Now what would Bobby Davro do in a situation like this? And you know what Ronettes? I don't know where I summoned the energy from but I made the decision that I wasn't going to be beaten by the course or the weather - I was bally well going to get round to the finish if it was the last thing I did.

At that point the rest of the field was long gone but I set off after them with some gusto - OK I lie - I set off after them with absolutely no gusto whatsoever. I couldn't wait till I crossed the line - which I did in over 2 hours.

Thank you Great Baddow.

Thanks a lot.

Keep on tapering

Ron

Great Scott - it's Great Baddow

More missionary work this morning.

I'm off to Essex to run in something called the Great Baddow 10.

I though Great Baddow was something you said when you dropped the sauce bottle on your foot - but we'll see.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Luxembuggered!!

Well it’s taken me nearly a bally week to recover from my International appearance in Luxembourg last weekend and, frankly Ronettes, I don't know where to start!

I was making an eagerly awaited appearance at the Night Run in Luxembourg - an event that I have graced with honour and achievement each year since the event was launched five years ago. And, you know, it does give make me kind of humble glow - knowing that the people in this little country live for this one weekend a year and an opportunity to see me. And before you get all dewy-eyed with emotion, just think that if it wasn't for my appearance all they'd have to do with their small lives would be to carry on counting their money, putting up more EU buildings and pretending they're not German.

Anyway, I'm pencilled in on the Nice Work trip once again. Little did I know though that Ernie had done a deal with them. In exchange for their sponsorship of my international appearances, he'd agreed that I'd do a bit of work for them over the weekend. (OK I'll fess up - there was a small to medium sized bar tab that was hanging around like a French smell).

Well I thought they'd want me to sink a few tubes in the hospitality tent so imagine my bemusement when I bowled up on Saturday morning to find that I was only driving the bally Transit!! We set off from Ashford at some unearthly hour with the motley-est of motley crew - the stench of stale alcohol and last night's kebabs very much filling the van. Upon arriving at the tunnel entrance ... guess what? They had only shut the flippin' thing down because ... oh I don't know there was a mouse in the tunnel or something.

Of course there being French stuff involved in the process it took three hours to get the tunnel opened and when our train did finally creak away from the platform it refused to go above half speed. The bottom line was that we arrived in France four hours late, with a four and a half journey ahead of us - and a race start time five hours ahead of us. That meant a hairy journey with no stops, a quick change into our Dunlop Green Flashes whilst driving and, dear Ronnettes, without a word of a lie we arrived on the start line with just THREE minutes to spare.

Of course we would have had a full five minutes to spare but for a minor flaw in my pre-race preparations. I'd only gone and left my bally pumps at home!! Now, as you can appreciate, us international athletes spend a great deal of time preparing ourselves for these kind of events - and we can't just go out and get another pair just like that. As luck would have it though we had a bloke from Sheffield on board - a carpet fitter he was. Well as they lined up to start, this chap was told he was being disqualified - apparently he'd been seen with anabolic stair rods. So that left a bloke with no race - and needing no shoes.

So, I forced him to let me use them ... and that makes my stunning 2 hrs 33.34 time (a full 4 minutes quicker than last year) all the more remarkable! There is, though, something of a confession I need to make.


The shoes were from Yorkshire.

Now just because I'm from Lancashire doesn’t mean I have nothing against stuff from Yorkshire, though I do admit that I prefer to have my chip in a sandwich than on my shoulder. But wearing Yorkshire shoes did make feel slightly uncomfortable. Apart from anything else, being from Yorkshire they were very tight, seemed desperate for it to rain and whinged and moaned the whole way round the course.

Anyway after my stunning run I then set about sticking a few tubes and a sausage down my neck before hitting this very small country. After getting back to the place that masqueraded as the group's hotel - when will these people realise that international athletes deserve a little comfort? - and hitting the sack for a few hours I was rudely awakened by the greasy foreign breakfast chef in his vest and clogs that a copper was sniffing round the Transit. Sure enough I scuttled downstairs to find some bloke who was the spit of the U Boat Commander in The Cruel Sea sniffing round the truck.

Apparently it wasn’t quite parked correctly and he was threatening to slap a 150 euro ticket on my windscreen. Well this is where my infamy really came to the fore. I explained who I was and in calm measured tones told him that I was an Olympic Athlete in town for their little marathon race and that I was on some kind of mission to spread love and happiness around the little country of Luxembourg. It was all going quite well until I asked him did Luxembourg have any athletes and he started barking some malarkey in a very strong (and I'm afraid it was back to The Cruel Sea again) and strangely reminiscent accent.

Obviously I then reacted in the correct way - talking very loud in pigeon Queen's English, demanded to know what his lot did in the war, reminded him of the result in 1966 etc etc And to be honest it seemed to do the trick and he strutted off muttering into his jackboots.

So, you see, if you just show these foreigners a little respect and resist the temptation to fall into the trap of stereotyping them, you'll usually come up smelling of dandelions.

Well I was up now wasn't I? So I decided to pop into town and sniff out a full English and that's when my day headed south ... because the next thing I know, its midnight and I'm staggering out of a bar at just a snifter before midnight with a few Luxembugger Best Mates that I'd found. They put me in a taxi for the ten minute cab ride back to the digs (a snip I thought at 80 quid) - and that was Luxembourg over for another year. I'm not sure exactly what happened during the day but I do recall seeing sausages and some sheep shearing - no I don't know either.



We stopped off for a sherb in a small town in France called Belgium and then it was back to the Channel Tunnel for the quick ride home and back to Blighty. Oh - I forgot to say. My passport had run out. In fact I'd forgotten to tell the other people in the Transit as well. You should have heard them whinge!! But, you know what? That's the difference between us Brits and those Johnny Foreigner Do-Gooders. All it took was a quick two minute chat with the chap on the desk and he would have let me through. OK, so I got it wrong by then tipping him with some folded stuff in a somewhat flamboyant manner. But even then it took just one set of rubber gloves and I was able to walk gingerly back to the Transit and I then stood all the way home.

I sometimes wonder why I bother.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Time to settle down now

I apologise for a couple of weeks silence but, for obvious reasons it was only fair that I kept my head down whilst there was an election in progress.

Us celebrities are not just roly models you know, we have a responsibility not to influence unduly the voting intentions of those who, perhaps (and I say this with a heavy heart) probably are not really in a position to know how to vote sensibly. It might be controversial to say it, but there is a school of thought that still casts doubt on our decision to give the vote to people like prisoners, those with mental disorders, women and students. But whatever the rights and wrongs of what my friend Nick Clogg says is a flawed voting system, we have to abide by the rules. So, that's why I decided to keep my head down and that's why you haven’t seen or heard from me for a couple of weeks. And likewise, you'll have noticed neither sight nor sound of the Krankies, Val Doonican, Moira Stewart or that bloke off the news.

As for the results of the election it all seems to have gone pear-shaped for Graham Brown and the fact that we now have a Bung Parliament is probably down to all those silly votes by those people referred to above - well I reckon they deserve what they got. Brown, to be honest, was never my cup of tea. He never once wrote to me with any form of congratulations or encouragement in my quest for Olympic immortality. And the only time I wrote to him to ask if I could buy some kind of gong for my services to the public he couldn’t even be bothered to reply.

So now we have a government that is full of public schoolboys - which should please our local MP Greg Barker who is himself well reared - though what he and his painter and decorator boyfriend get up to in their spare time is no business of ours. But I just hope that the present lot get their act together, grasp the moment, consider the opportunities - and get behind me (except that Barker chap, I don’t want him behind me.) The Half Share in the House did ask me whether the joining together of the Conservatory Party and the Glib Dems means they should now be called the Condem coalition - which I was pleased to hear because that's her first attempt at humour since 1998.

So what have I been doing apart from oiling the wheels of government?

Well the weekend before last Ernie and I and the Half Share met up with the eldest Cash Drainer and did a kind of Exhibition race in Burkeshire. The Shinfield 10K was a pleasant enough experience and I posted an impressive time of 1 hr 5 mins. Just slightly outside my preferred Olympic pace but I had been out on the lash the night before so it wasn’t a bad time on a hangover. On Sunday just gone I made the mistake of doing the Sevenoaks Seven. I had forgotten what an unpleasant place it was. Rough tracks, dog poo and deer poo all over the place, people in various states of undress and an overwhelming stench of sweat. And that was on the bally High Street!! The race is a bit of a dog’s dinner of a race for me - too many hills. But, when faced with adversity I always think to myself "Now, what would Bobby Davro do?"

Well that was an inspired piece of psychology - because I only went and got another BP - my best time over the distance of 1 hr 21 minutes 14 seconds - about a minute and a half better than last year.

This weekend I'm off on my foreign travels when I visit Luxembourg again for the Night Run. Those Luxembuggers certainly know how to put on a show and I was looking forward to running my second marathon in three weeks. However, Ernie reckons that with the time spent in the Nice Work van I'll not be in a fit state to do the full 26.2 - so I'll be looking to win the Half Marathon instead.

I'll let you know how I get on. In the meantime I've got a sad duty to do today. I'm at the funeral of an old mate who died recently. He died of dyslexia - choked on his own Vimto.

Keep on tapering.

Ron