Its make your mind up time

Well what a Bank Holiday extravaganza that was! I enjoyed my Easter days and my Royal Wedding days (always been a fan of Kate Bush and great to see that she's now officially a Royal). Watching the wedding I was struck by the futility of wealth, pageantry and aristocracy. There he is, the young man has all the money and opportunity he could ever want. He has castles and servants and enjoys five star treatment wherever he goes. But when that young man wakes up each morning and looks into the mirror, what does he see?

Yup. He's still a ginger.

Anyway I used the time away from the coalmine to do some serious running stuff. I didn't actually do a lot of running but I did other running stuff instead.

I did pop over to Folkestone for the Good Friday Folkestone 10 - always a pleasure to venture into Caravan County on a sunny day I was aiming to get round the bally thing in anything less than 1 hour 47 minutes - my time when I did the race last year; so I was chuffed to zip round in an hour 44 - not only quicker than last year but by my calculations quicker than all but one or two other people. Think I came about 6th.

Since then though I haven't raced. Not because I didn't want to but more because the opportunity didn't present itself. I was due to be a celebrity at the Royal Wedding 5K in Bexhill but didn't get there in time and this Monday just gone was going to be another 10 miler but again the opportunity passed me by. I did manage a 12 mile training run along the coast from Kingsdown to Sandwich last week but apart from that I've been focusing on planning my big event for 2012.

I've decided to apply for this change of nationality lark and have been looking at what countries I might select. I'm still keen on Burkina Faso but I'm also looking at one or two of the fringe countries that have no decent athletes, so I've narrowed my short list to:

Canada I've always held the horse chestnut leaf close to my heart and I fancy visiting Auckland for a holiday - so Canada has to be on the list.

France France you say! And so you might. I wouldn't lower myself to wear the French trickler but I quite fancy asking them because they're useless at sport; then accepting me; then I'll tell them to take a run. Is it juvenile? yes. Is it pathetic? yes. Do I give a monkeys? No. Its France. Get over it.

Australia Another outsider I guess, but their desperation for a decent athlete might give me a real chance here. Loved Skippy.

South Africa Always had a soft spot for them down under and really respect that Manuel bloke who was their King or something. The one who escaped from Alcatraz.

Cornwall I'll be honest and say that I'm not sure if Cornwall has any kind of team in the Olympics - but seeing as its quite close I thought I'd have a bash. I'll write to Simon Cowell because I think he runs the Olympics and see if he can twist a few hands.

So, its very much make-your-mind-up time for these countries. And as Huw Edwards would say "I wonder which one will choose Ron?".

Whilst all this is going in the back door I'm looking to my next race which, ironically enough it's the Ramparts 10K in Northern France which I confidently expect to win with ease and make those Frenchies eat my dust.

Hold on to your hats Ronnettes - it could be a bumby ride.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Never run with children or animals

To Barkland yesterday. Eldest Cash Drainer Haille Minogue has decided that the Olympic Running miracle that simmers within my highly toned athletic frame is, somehow, a genetic phenonemon. So, not content with basking in my glory she decides that she's going to take up the sport although, obviously, being a) a kid and b) a female one, she's never going to scale the dizzy heights experienced by your man here.

However, I don't like to let the thing down, so the Half Share and I, with The Sod in tow made the long journey to a place called Reading in Barkland for a spot of missionary work.

Reading is the kind of place the newspapers write about when they want to talk about the Credit Crunch. Riding on the crest of an economic slump it is famous for having a suicide pact with Baghdad. Its poor residents shuffle aimlessly along streets lined with Chicken Shops, Kebab Take-Aways, Pubs and Curry Shops. In short, being a person from the north, its the kind of place I could quite happily settle in.

And if you'd like to know what Reading was like in the 1960's - why not pop along and visit it?

So, to the race and the locals in Barkland had their first opportunity to see at close hand the phenomenon that is me. My, how they enjoyed my famous warm-up prugramme of anal crunches and pelvic aquirts - although the Half Share did comment again that I ought to mend the rip in my orange lycra all-in-one.

Haille and her Student friend spent the pre-race period putting on make-up and generally behaving like a couple of 18 year olds - sticking their tongues out at old men, giggling at my lycra and stealing sweets from the kids etc etc. Though they did see some things they havent seen for some time - soap, morning and a smoke free environment spring to mind. But getting them to prepare themselves properly became a bit of a nightmare and after taking the fourth bottle of WKD off them I decided to lay the law down and slapped round the head with a current issue of the NME.

The race began in typical fashion for your man here. A crowded start with dozens of Ronettes all trying to get a glimpse of me made for something of a sluggish start and although I soon picked up the pace it took some scything through the field to make my mark on the leaderboard.

I eventually finished the race in just over the hour - a time considerably quicker than that Kenyan managed in the London Marathon last week or so - and hung around waiting for Half Share and Haille. Imagine my disappointment when I discovered them hanging around at the water table waiting, so they claimed, for me! Both reckoned to have finished before me!! Imagine that!

As if.

So I clocked Haille round the lug once more for telling lies and made my way to one of three pubs adjacent to the finish line - which made me muse what a way that would be to liven up the Olympic Marathon! Cross the line - me leading a couple of Kenyans and Tangerenians - and there you have it! A couple of bars, a barbecue and a kebab wagon - hey, how cool is that? Much better than having to wait for some bloke with a blazer, a stretched-faced blonde bimbo and a couple of orphans to give you your medal. And as for that effeminate bunch of flowers - no thank you!

Anyway the Olympics remain my goal - kebab wagon or not - and my training is going well. I just did a kind of homecoming 2 mile cool down along the sea front this evening. Next up on the competetion front is a little trip to one of my favourite places - Montreuil-sur-Mer in Northern France for an international race against a bunch of foreigners.

Cant wait!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Parasites!!

Back to my globetrotting again last weekend and a visit to France. I was due to take part in the Paris Marathon and grabbed a freebie trip with the gin-soaked bozos that masquerade as Nice Work.

Not taking part in the Marathon was a bit of a disappointment for me but it's just another of those things that us elite athletes have to put up with. And at times like this when the old spirit starts to lag I think about how those other top runners must feel when their races go pear-shaped. Paul Radcliffe has had to put up with some major disappointments but still keeps going - bottling and surrendering in the Grease Marathon, stopping for a poo in the London Marathon - just part and parcel of life as an Olympian.

So, I just decided to crack on with life and go to Paris anyway. Well at least I thought we were going to Paris but we ended up in a place called Paree - but it was still full of French people and so I didn't make a fuss. Popping into the Expo I thought it only right to help contribute towards the intent cordial and nipped into the VIP area to offer my personal apology for the race losing one of its leading celebs.

It was here that the day started to head south down the strasse. No sooner had I got in the room and made my way towards the bar than a French bloke grabbed me, said he was the Mayor - and welcomed me to Gay Paree! And it didnt stop there - he then tried to plant a couple of smackers on my cheeks!! Well, celebrity Olympian or not, there's no way I'm suffering that badly for my art. So I decked the bloke and continued my journey to the bar thinking no more about it.

Unfortunately I didnt make it. I'd not gone 20 feet before I was manhandled back out to the exit and chucked unceremoniously into the throngs of ordinary people queuing for a free energy bar in the Expo Hall. Ernie being the good mate he is did what all good friends would do in the circumstances - continued fighting his way to the buffet and I spied him out of the corner of my eye as I was being hoyed out doing something rather uncivilised into a potted fern.



I decided to wait for Ernie in a local bar but after a couple of hours and a few tubes of the local wallop I'd convinced myself that I could restore civilised relations with the local bigwigs. I thought it would be worth trying to disguise myself as one of the leading athletes so I stripped down to my new all-in-one orange lycra running suit and managed to just get inside the tented VIP area. I'd just started my warm-up routine of anal crunches and pelvic squirts when the same bally goons spotted me. I couldnt even utter a "Buenos Aires Fraulein" before they grabbed me and after a little local difficulty with the revolving door - they were chucking me too hard and I kept ending up back at their feet - I found myself in the Glasgow position (face down in the gutter). One of the goons had managed to damage my new lycra kit and the old jacksie was hanging out the bottom of the bally thing so I had no choice but to wait bum-down in a plant pot until Ernie returned.

By now the old chap had had his fill of the freebie food and drink and he was as oiled as a Yorkshire Chip Shopkeeper by the time he collapsed at my feet. Unfortunately not for the first time I had to have a word with the bloke about his drinking. He alwsys denies he has a problem with drink - "I cant be an alcoholic" he usually claims "Because I don't do meetings" - and to be fair you cant argue with that can you?



We decided to take it easy and sat eating some of the buffet that Ernie had managed to stuff down his trousers and started to muse about the French. We do seem to end up having 'issues' with them whenever our paths cross - but then, we thought, it aint all bad news being French. True, the whole world hates you but consider these good reasons for being French:

1. If their economy is bad, they just blame the Brits. If a war is started anywhere, they just blame the Brits. If their farmers are upset, they just blame the Brits. If they lose their car keys, they just blame the Brits.
2. You dont have to learn French as a foreign language.
3. When speaking fast you can make yourself sound gay.
4. You get to eat insect food like snails and frog's legs.
5. If there's a war you finish really early.
6. You don't have to read the subtitles on those late night black and white films.
7. You can test your own nuclear weapons in other people's countries.
8. You can be ugly and still pull the birds.
9. You don't have to bother with toilets, just wee in the street.
10. Your mates dont laugh at you because your nan has a moustache.

Anyway after wrapping his pac-a-mac around my backside to hide the rips we wendled our way back to the hotel to catch up with our fellow athletes. Not finding anybody around we knocked on a couple of doors - why are people so grumpy at 2 o'clock in the morning? I went to bed convinced that their only problem was simply that they were a few drinks behind us.

Sunday morning and we made our way to what the Fench call the Marathon Start area - and what any sane person with half a brain would call a chaotic shambles masquerading as an international sporting event. I made my way down to the Elite Start to pass on my best wishes to the Kenyans but they couldnt speak much English and didnt really understand what I was saying - and I'm afraid there was another unpleasant altercation between Ernie and I, a couple of Kenyans, a Belgian with a big nose and a few of those goons we'd encountered the prevous evening.

In the end we'd had our fill of French and French authority and decided to keep a low profile for the rest of the day. We found ourselves tucked away in a small bar on the marathon route. From there we watched the 40,000 or so runners making their way towards somewhere called the Chompseleesay. Bizarrely most of the runners were Indian or Pakistani - the locals greeting them all by shouting "Ali". Such fun - an afternoon sampling the local plonk, a couple of omelettes and we were settled.

So, all in all a pleasant enough weekend and we arrived back in Blighty with a few bruises to show but convinced that we had once again very firmly put your man here back in the public domain.

On my return to Blighty I've been working hard at thinking about how to get my Olympic training schedule back into gear. My short term targets have been modified and I'm putting my London Marathon place on the back burner whilst I get myself back into some kind of fighting state.

Instead of doing the London Marathon, I'm hoping to take up an offer of a celebrity place at the Night Run in Luxembourg next month - with the possibility of a marathon run in Iceland in August. Before then I do have a return to the land of snails and garlic with my annual pilgrimage to Montreuil for the Ramparts 10K - will there by fireworks again?

Well lets see what the next couple of weeks bring first!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Bit of catch up news

You know - I've got so much to tell you about your man here's exploits over the last month.

But first I have to confide in you, I've just had a shock. The numpties who run our country have determined that we must now recycle everything we use - and one consequence of this is a whole load of different dustbins for our rubbish. Presumably because of who I am - an Olympic athlete-in-waiting - I've been given my very own bins. One of them I presume is for pie wrappers and one is for my Leffe empties. Well, strewth - I've now filled the damned things up with old wrappers and empties that had collected in the car, by my bed etc. And there's still a week and a half before the bin men come to collect them. Fortunately I've been on the straight and narrow for a couple of weeks now so the only contemporary rubbish I've collected is a few old lettuce leaves, some empty cup-a-soup wrappers and screwed-up Snack-a-Jack bags - so whilst the future may look rosie (or green), I was concerned - how would I get rid of my old rubbish?

Then I had an idea.

I'll go to Essex.

So tomorrow night I'm spreading my wings and popping up to Stiletto City - to take part in a small 5 miler in Chelmsford.

And whilst I'm there I'll litter the A12 with my rubbish.



Now I know that this is environmentally unsound, not to mention very un-neighbourly. But in my defence can I just mention .... Brentwood? Have you been there? Let's just agree that a few pounds of rubbish might actually make that place a bit more interesting shall we?

So, my immediate public appearances have been settled – and then on Sunday I'm off to Caravan County to watch the Half Share in the House take part in the 30K North Downs run. You have to be a nutter to do that one - so I'll let her do it. It'll give me an opportunity to mingle with my supporters and sign a few autographs - and to be there in my civvies will make a nice change because sometimes, I have to say, I do get a tad weary of people ogling my lycra.

I'm also busy trying to secure some new lucrative sponsorship deals - and I'll have some news for you soon on this front.

Now then, I thought I'd also bring you up to speed with a boozy little weekend spent in France in the middle of last month. I'd been invited along to take part in the Montreuil Ramparts 10K by those nice people at Nice Work who organise running trips to Europe - I think I'm kind of like a talisman for them. Certainly I'm the nearest they’ll ever get to a celebrity - so I always enjoy my weekends away with them.



I have to admit I was a little shocked though when I first clapped eyes on the motley crew I was due to spend a weekend with - if I hadn't been invited specially I think it would have been one of those weekends where I "had the flu" and "will have to stay in my room" all weekend. Not to put too fine a point on it - they were a gin-fuelled lot. From the first beer at breakfast on the boat, to the final squeeze of the barmaid's apron on the boat back - they didn't stop throwing booze down their necks.



That said, they were a nice bunch and it was good to see that I inspired a couple of them to run their first ever race. I also appreciated the relaxed way they treated me. Most of the time they gave me a pretty wide berth and let me get on with my media and promotional duties. And they weren't forever asking me for training tips or whether I'd got a celebrity girlfriend. In fact, because they treated me just like a normal person, then that’s the way I acted. Most of the time. I have to admit, a few Leffes were dropped over the 48 hours we were there - but, hey, life is for living eh?



I was sorry to miss the running bit of the weekend though - this kiddie here never shies away from rubbing the old frog's noses in the doo-doo. Fortunately we did come away with a few pots - the Half Share in the House won a prize for being a nippy old woman and - and this really smacked me in the gob - my youngest, the Sod, who'd stowed away on the bus - only went and won the nippers race. Winning it knocked me for six - mind you, he's just a chip off the old block. What really made my weekend was seeing the kid's face when he went to collect the trophy and had to give the old Frenchie a couple of smackeroons on the cheek! (see below for the proof!)



I was a tad miffed not to have been able to run in the race - but I did content myself with a Leffe or two. I also had my last 'Big Breakfast' of the Spring for the foreseeable. I'd already made my mind up it was to be my last blow out - so I did rather go over the strasse on the egg and bacon front. But what the heck!



Anyway, I'll let you know about my little jaunt down to Luxembourg in a day or two - in the meantime, wish me luck as I take the first tentative steps back to world-class elite athleticism.

Starting tomorrow in Chelmsford- so may see you there? After a rather sluggish 6 miler this evening, I’m looking forward to it!

Keep on tapering.

Ron