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

Half and Half

Phew!

That's all I can say.

Phew!

Been a bit of a week and a half of it over the last two weeks. And its given me time to practice my new pre-Olympic strategy. I've decided that with all the modern technology now available it is likely that I'm being spied upon by my opponents in the Marathon in 2012.

Now, I've always proudly carried the 'Deceptively slow' label and so, I've decided to fool everybody and lull them into a false sense of security. You see I reckon it makes sense to pretend that I'm not actually as good as I really am. That way the opponents slow up - and then when it matters I can just leave them standing knowing full well that they will have taken their foot off the electric during their training.

I have used the strategy to good effect over the last two Sundays.

Last Sunday I ran with a lot of old people in the Hastings Half Marathon and just missed out on a podium place. My time of 2.28.58 was good enough to beat the dolphin and some blokes oulling some beer barrels so I have to be pleased with my performance.

Yesterday I popped along to Maidstone in Caravan County for something called the A20 Pathway 13/21 race. I opted for the 13 mile race and zipped round in a rather impressive 2 hours 35 minutes which was good enough to make most of the 21 mile competitors eat my exhaust fumes. Of course one or two were whinging that they'd covered more distance than I had, but as I've said many times before - whose fault is that?

And, in any event, isn't it first past the post that counts? You don't get Paul Radcliffe and those Kenyan men moaning that they should win because they ran a bit further in the New York marathon do you? So, until the day they award the winner's prize to a bloke who doesnt come first over the line, in my mind I beat those other people fair and square.

Right - has that little bone of contention been put to bed?

Its Easter this week and I'll be taking a couple of days R 'n' R with Ernie to sample a tube or two. I'm also going to Folkestone on Friday to win the Folkestone 10. Other than that it will be an easy week on the training front - my legs are a bit sore from three weeks on the bounce covering 13 miles.

So, in the words of Elaine Page "I'm having a blow".

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Poor me

I've woke up this morning and I'm in a bit of a state.

I've caught Kennel Cough off our dog Mandelson and under normal circumstances I think I'd have turned over in bed and waited for my fry-up to arrive. But its the Hastings Half Marathon this morning and I know that they have had a substantial boost in entries due to my appearance.

So, I cant let down all those people can I? Its times like this when Olympians come to the fore. So, its chest out, adopt my British Poodle Spirit and just try to think what Keith Chegwin would do if faced with the same problem.

I'll be there Ronettes, don't worry.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Dover bottles out!!

Just when I had primed myself, what happens? Dover only goes and wimps out of the challenge!

That's right the pesky blighters have cancelled tomorrow morning's Half Marathon because of the snow. I'd really set myself and psyched myself up for my first stab at the distance for some considerable time - but it's not to be. So, in the words of that bloke who reads the news on the telly - "You'll just have to find something else matey".

Instead of running the half marathon I'm having a Leffe beer instead and just contemplating what might have happened if it hadn't been for the weather. In fact it got me thinking about weather and the kind of weather I like.

Although this kiddie does appreciate the sun on his back - I do sometimes find the sun to be a bit like a nosey neighbour. It bursts into your day - whether you like it or not. I mean you can't decline the sun if you don't want it can you? It's just there! It gets in your eyes, it gets on your skin. In fact it just gets everywhere.

Not like drizzle.

If the sun is the Home Counties of the weather world - the soft southern meteorological softie, if you like, then drizzle is your northern equivalent. Drizzle isn't intrusive. It doesnt ask for permission to drizzle. It doesnt announce itself with a geat fanfare like thunder or lightning does. It just gets on with what it wants to do - and does so without fuss or theatre.

Drizzle - for northern blokes who cant be fashed with worrying about weather.

Anyway, I'm rambling. I did do a little 4 miler this morning - and talking of weather it was perishing cold, I can tell you. Tomorrow me and the Half Share are walking round Britain. A little 14 mile walk/run from Dungeness to Hythe will do me the world of good in my Olympic preparation programme.

Talking of which, us Olympians are not at all impressed with those blokes going down a hill on sledges and tea trays and calling it an Olympic Games. As my mate Ernie often says "If God had meant us to ski he'd have made our feet a yard long".

I mean if they just want to jump on the bandwagon and have something called a Winter Olympics - what next? A Spring Olympics with bulb planting, lawn mowing and frisbee chucking?

Do me a favour.

Anyway, I've a Leffe to get on with here.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Six inches won't stop this kiddie

Well, my Olympic training programme remains on hold thanks to this pesky weather.

We've had huge 2 mililitre snow drifts here which means, of course, that everything has ground to a halt. No roads to run on - well the roads have been there, but buried underneath an inch and a half of ice. So, too dangerous this week to even step outside the front door. In fact, its been all we can do for Ernie and I to get to the Brick and Trumpet - the Half Share has been struggling to clear the road, to be fair. But today has seen another deluge of the white stuff. It must be deep out there because I heard the Half Share tell Buttocks the Oil Delivery Man that she hadn't seen six inches since 1997.

But if this weather is going to hang around much longer then I'm going to have to devise a special winter training plan - and I've done just that.

No matter the weather, I am grateful for having the opportunity to get outdoors. Well it gets me out of a few jobs apart from anything else. And being outdoors in fresh snow brings so many opportunities to show how you feel about certain people. Like the selfish ha'porth who insists on revving his motor bike every morning at 7 o'clock. So he got a snowball on the back of his helmet; as did the traffic warden, as did next door's cat who insists on peeing on my bike wheels.

But running in the snow is not without its hazards of course. But I say get your self dressed, get prepared and get out and have some fun. We didnt win three world wars with a give-up attitude did we? Lets see a bit of that old Gundog spirit eh?

Here’s a few Ron suggestions if you do opt to get out there:

Always dress properly.
For me, this means:
o proper head gear - for me that's my 1969 Leicester City bobble cap (minus bobble)
o a good quality pac-a-mac
o tights are for strange people and wally runners - I wear woollen leggings
o a proper Millets anorak
o wool socks
o Dunlop wet weather shoes - though if the snow is really deep, I run in wellies. It helps to build up my stamina. You may laugh but when did you last see Paul Ratcliffe in wellies eh? Exactly - and how many races has he won this year? Point proved.
Watch your footing!

There may be a sheet of ice under that fresh snow, so make sure your wellies or pumps are well scrubbed.

In fact, come to think of it, if the elements are against you and you find it just too slippy, why not just do as I do?

Forget the whoel bally idea and just go to the pub instead.

Keep on tapering

Ron

Happy New Year everybody!!

Or, as the French would say "Gut New Jaar".

Well what a Festive season this kiddie has had! Life as an icon isn't easy sometimes you know and that's why I awarded myself a clear two week pass to just relax and get some much-needed carbo loading in to preface the kick start to my London Marathon regime.

Well, folks, ask me how I feel now?

The truth is, entre noo, I think I may have overtrained somewhat and I'm beginning to regret that little bit of Christmas spirit I entered into and exited from with some degree of whoosh. I spent the time with family and like-minded people and I'm afraid the Olympic diet and training programmes have drifted south.

I realised I might have got my timings slightly wrong when I came home on New Year's Day after what I thought was a fairly agreeable evening of Chicken Tikka Masala and a few tubes down the Dog and Bucket with Ernie. Well you'd have thought I'd kidnapped Ted Heath by the reception I got from the Half Share and Cash Drainers who apparently weren't happy that I'd gone awol for a couple of days.

But I did explain that Christmas is a time for families - New Year is a time for mates.

That went down well.

But not as well as New Year's Day. It started after I suggested that a couple of bacon butties would be just the job for me and Ernie. Well before you could say Bobby Davro, I was chewing the rough end of a set of bathroom scales. After some encouragement from the Half Share I did eventually stand on the bally things.

Well, Ronettes, you could have knocked me down with a quilt. I thought the flippin' thing was telling me the time - but horror of horrors it was my weight. And I was kind of a bit the wrong side of where I shouldn't be.

And that is putting it mildly. So that was it! The Half Share whipped off me kex and after thinking it was some kind of foreplay that's where the fun stopped. Before I knew it she'd flung a set of my Festive Lycra and a pair of green flash at me and pushed me out the front door for what she called a pre-training walk. Walk? I haven't even driven that far this Christmas!! Eleven and a half miles she had me walking - over shingle, sand dunes and beach. My calfs felt like they'd been ripped off my legs when I'd finished.

And it didn't stop there either!! There was no way I could run yesterday so as a punishment I wasn't allowed a pie.

I now know that I need to knuckle down. I know because it has been written on a piece of paper and stapled to my head. So this morning I went for my first run in weeks. Two flippin' miles!! That's all I could manage - 2 miles!

More to the point, I was so traumatised by the experience I couldn't take my lycra off for hours - I just sat in front of the fire hugging a cup a soup. And as I sat trying to get my Olympic flame to light I decided that I needed to have a few New Years Resolutions to encourage me to glory in 2010 - just two years now mind you - before my glorious Olympic medal winning occasion.

So here are my commitments for 2010:

1. January is officially a 'No Pie' month. Well at least until the last weekend in the month when I have insisted that no trip to Cork can be considered fulfilled without a pie.

2. I'm having to leave the tubes alone in January - apart from Saturday nights.

3. Learn to play a musical instrument. Might sound ridiculous but when I appear on chat shows I need to be able to play or sing a duet with people like Des O'Connor. So the Half Share has bought me a ukulele.

4. Learn a foreign language. I need to connect more with the Cash Drainers so I'm going to learn to speak text.

5. I must stop lying on the couch watching rubbish TV. So I've bought some exercise and workout DVDs and I'm going to sit and watch them instead.

6. I'm going to stop delaying things. Starting tomorrow,

7. I'm fed up with being in the same old rut - so I'm determined to find a new rut.

8. I've got a job so I'm going to stop working in the office in just my Y Fronts. I'm going to move the computer into the bedroom instead.

9. Get a place on the GB Team - I'm not fashed about competing I just want one of those fancy track suits.

10. Buy some 'Blong' so that I can look like those proper athletes.

I'll be doing my best with these - and in the meantime, the serious running business gets under way this week. I need a good three or four runs before the weekend. Then, on Sunday, its the Swanley 10K - and at the moment I have to say that I'd struggle to make the distance.

Anyway, from all my team here - Ernie and the Half Share, the Droog, Hylie Minogue and the Sod, here's to a great New Year. In the words of Griff Rhys Jones 'Go Bang a Drum'.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Global warming - you're having a laugh!!

I had already committed to a Personal Appearance in West Sussex on Sunday so when I woke early-ish, it wasn't just the kebab carton by my pillow that concerned me.

First of all - where is West Sussex? Surely there's only one Sussex? But I'd promised to appear - for no fee whatsoever I might add - at something called the Foxtrot Five in a place called Shoreham. I don't know if you have ever been to Shoreham but I'm sure it looked great in the 1950's.

That's what I promised to do - and I didn't want to let down my followers. So I set off in Ernie's van with Half Share in the back sitting on his stepladder.

Dear people.

The heavens opened. The wind was blowing Frenchmen across the channel. The hailstones were coming down quicker than Betty Trollop's drawers.

In short the weather was horrendous.

We arrived in Shoreham about an hour before race time - but the weather was so bad we had to stay in the van. The half share started whingeing saying she'd get wet going for the teas - but, hey, do you hear Tyrone Woods' caddie moaning about having to carry his golf sticks? Do you hear Henry Cooper's bloke in the corner moan when he's asked to take the lid off the vaseline? Do you hear Lord Redcliffe's boat people carp when he asks them to out his canoe on the Olympic river? A big three times 'No'.

I mean its fine when these people want to hang on to your shirt tails when they get a sniff of the Gold Medal - but signing up to an elite athlete's back-up team is not something you do on a whim. It demands commitment. It demands dedication. And yes, sometimes you will get wet.

So I reminded the Half Share of this principle as she mooched off to find a couple of bacon butties and two teas with one sugar.

Anyway, back to sporting excellence.

I ran the bally thing. And the weather didn't let up. It poured with rain and the wind blew like you wouldn't believe. It blew all the way to the half way stage as the race took us along the estuary - and then we turned back and ran against the strongest headwind I've ever experienced - accompanied by hailstones.

Of course as all this is going on, I got a couple of smart beggars asking me for an autograph. Well ha flippin ha - so I told them in no uncertain terms that I wasn't interrupting an Olympic training session for a couple of oiks.

I eventually got round the thing in 56.13 - which is not too far away from world record pace.

So, despite the conditions I was reasonably happy.

I eventually arrived back to find the van only to discover that the Half Share had deposited a plastic bag with my clothes where the van should have been.

It was a petulant display which, frankly was nothing more than childish. And the money she'd left for my train fare was only just correct - leaving me with no spare spondoolinks for a tube or a pie.

A highly unsatisfactory weekend.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Starting to ramp up now

Well its that time that all elite athletes dread - the Saturday after the Friday night. Naturally I've not been on the lash because ... well because I am elite! Plus Ernie's van broke down last night and he couldn't pick me up from the kebab wagon, so I did without the usual Friday night half keg. Instead I thought I'd try and pick up some tips from a contemporary of mine and watched Trevor Wogan on Children Indeed last night.

Well if anything can give you a bally hangover its watching that drivel. I mean I know us celebs are rolly models and I know we have to put our bit back into the community. But I tell you this I'm giving that charity a wide berth when I'm an Olympic champion. Its just so full of dreary people! Nope - when I get to choose my telly appearances for poor people I'm going to go on one of those jollies to somewhere hot and sunny like those comedians do - always assuming that the money is right of course.

But sitting there last night with the Half Share I did get to thinking of some of the places that I've been lucky enough to visit in this so-far glittering career of mine - Indialand, France, Belgium, Welwyn Garden City, that place where they wear clogs and drink a lot, Norway and who could forget Luxembourg? And, you know, in that time I must have whipped the backsides of many different personalities representing many different countries. I've enjoyed the company of some of them, I've felt like decking some of them - but they all have something in common - I stuffed them where it mattered. Here's some of them:

Paul Ratcliffe - I used to respect him and we often shared a few tubes after a race. I usually beat him but I ignore his time of 2 hours and a few minutes for that London Marathon race because I didn't feel well. But I went right off him when he stopped for a poo in the middle of a race. Some of us have standards you know.

Haille Gebrselassie - well he might have the current marathon world record but I beat him in a 10K in Bexhill a couple of years ago and he hasn't spoken to me since.

Paul Tergat - had a memorable battle with him at the 2007 London Marathon. The race between us was made a bit more difficult than we first anticipated because he was running dressed in a Motorola Mobile Phone costume and he blamed that for the fact he had to drop out. Who finished? Who didn't? I rest my bag.

Ron Hill - oh very funny. I bowled up to race in Bolton near a place called the north and this bloke turned up claiming to be Ron Hill. I have to say he pigged me off a bit because some of the crowd actually thought he was the famous Ron. As Ronnie Corbett used to say, "Say La V".

Eddie Large - mullered him in a 5 miler in Reading. Good bloke though - bought me a kebab afterwards.

Mildred Sampson - claimed to be an Olympic Marathon runner but I made her eat dust when I beat her in the Folkestone 10 a few years ago. I did feel a bit embarrassed when I gave her a bit of lip and accused her of being an umposter - then when I got home she had, indeed, competed at the Olympics in 1924.

Beth Wilkinson - she might have designs on making the GB squad but she's yet to beat me fair and square in the marathon.

Anyway, I haven't got time to daydream I went out for a nippy 4 mile run round our lanes this morning and it brought a dash of reality to my otherwise star-studded life. I was amongst my own people, ordinary people and some women too. No crowds, no autographs. Just me and the wind and the chilly air of Good Old Blighty. A vision cruelly stripped from my mind when I went backside over thingy after slipping on some dog poo.

Tomorrow I'm off with the Half Share for a bash at something called the Foxtrot Five. Its in a place called West Sussex but I don't mind. It could be rough, it could be unfriendly, it could get nasty - but once the car journey with the Half Share is over, it could be me bringing home the bacon once again.

What a life I have eh?

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Right - that's it. I've had enough

I've been sat on the sidelines for too long now. London 2012 is not far away now and if I'm to justify the tag of pre-race favourite for Olympic Marathon gold I need to get back into training - and sharpish.

The last five months havent been particularly happy for yours truly. I've had a stop-start running summer - with more stops then starts between you, me and the gatebell.

I'll update you with what's been happening a little later today, if I can. But my running experiences in France, Luxembourg, the Somme and a place in England called the North have left their mark in many ways.

I have a busy schedule of personal appearances next year with events in Belgium, France, Norway, Holland and a special return to see my colonial chums in Indialand.

This weekend I'm off to the land of cheese, clogs and foaming mouths - yep, I'm a celebrity entrant for the Amsterdam Half Marathon - but a nasty case of tendonitis has put paid to me competing. I'll still pop over there though - I'm off with my mates at Nice Work so at least I'm guaranteed a beer.

I'll let you know how I get on this weekend. But in the words of that woman who reads the news "It's great to be back".

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Well done to the teapot

Well there was a tear in this kiddie's eye as Sammy Wanjiru won the London Marathon. Sure his victory was made all the easier due to my absence but it still took some bottle. His time of 2 hours 5 minutes was not as quick as my Hastings 5 time but it was still an impressive time. I particularly liked his teapot costume.

I'm not sure what happened to Paul Radcliffe but there was a bloke who looked just like him dressed as a fire engine - and that may have been him.

I was a little disappointed not to see my old foes the Bakewell Tarts make more of an impact but maybe my absence made them a little complacent eh?

Anyway, of more importance, my training schedule is bang on track after a swift 5 or 6 miles along the seafront - and call me smug, but my time tonight was also faster than Wanjiru on Sunday!

A couple more training sessions and I should be fit for my next personal appearance in Barkland next Monday.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Well if that doesn't have the Kenyans dobbing themselves I don't now what will

Popped down to Hastings this morning and starred in their Hastings Runners 5 Mile Race.

I like the Hastings Runners - think it must be the alcohol that knits us together - and they usually put on a good show.

And your man here did us all proud with a blistering run. Although I'm still waiting for the results, I heard a few people comment on just how quick I looked. A tad over 50 minutes when I dipped over the line and I only saw two people ahead of me so I reckon I came third.

So, come on Kenyans, come on Tangerinians, come on Upper Voltaists - what have you got in your tank to respond to that? As the famous Newsreader Huw Edwards once said - its not how you respond to victory that counts, its .... well I can't remember, but it was good what he said.

So, it was a happy kiddie that took the plaudits, signed a few chests and made my way back to Ron Towers for an afternoon on the sofa watching the footie and sinking a few tubes. I do have a little soft spot for the red half of Manchester and so I was feeling a little miffed about the final score. I blame it on that Tevez bloke. I saw him once when I ventured to London for a spot of autograph signing - and I tell you something. There's nothing wrong with your telly - he really is that ugly.

Anyway, feeling rather chuffed with my week of Olympic training. Another solid week ahead of me with my next race a double header in Reading and Chesham on Bank Holiday Monday.

Till then Ronettes.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Christmas time for athletes

So, its Christmas time. A time for living and a time for giving as Clint Richard sung in that Christmas record. It's at times like these that your man here turns his thoughts not to my hopes and expectations in the sporting arena - but to the hopes and fears of others. Because, deep down, I'm just a humble person with lots of love to give out - and I do care about you all.

Whenever I make one my many public appearances I get approached by ordinary people asking me what life is like as a sporting icon. And, you know Ronettes, its difficult for me to express myself without feeling ... how should I say ... smug. Because I cant deny it, life as a sporting icon is special, it is different to the life that you probably lead.

But that's just what life is like isn't it? Sometimes you get dealt a bum deal and, for instance, you get to be born in a poor country like Wales or Yorkshire. But if that happens you just have to get on with life as well as trying to be as miserable as sin. And what about those that got the two of spades when God dealt the cards and ended up a woman? They didn't complain did they? OK they may have made up for it since but at least they have us men to keep their spirits up.

So, whilst I do try and empathise with ordinary people it is difficult. But I take heart from the little pep talks I give to people and I hope that they go some way to bringing a little sunshine into their otherwise poor lives.

Of course, this time of year can be a particularly difficult time for me because I have to juggle the demands placed upon me by my exhaustive training regime and the demands placed on me down at the Dog and Duck by Ernie and his mates. But I still love the life I lead.

So my Christmas was a whirl of social occasions - I went out for a few tubes with Ernie and then we went for a kebab on Christmas Eve. Felt a tad ropey so stayed in bed till lunchtime on Christmas Day then got a lift to the Dog and Duck for a couple of hours with the boys. Went round to Ernies for some turkey sandwiches and completely forgot about the Half Share, Haille Minogue, The Droog and The Sod being there. Think I could have been in trouble but I dug up a privet hedge on the way home and presented it to the family before deciding to leave them in peace to watch the telly. But, for God's sake, what's Christmas if its not for the kids eh?

Anyway festivities were well and truly over this morning when we ventured over to Eastbourne for a bit of cross country action. Galley Hill in a gale force wind with ice on the ground was not my idea of a game of soldiers. And after a 2 mile run down hill and a two mile run back up the hill with the wind in my face the idea of some warm weather training suddenly became very attractive.

So, I've decided to get my act together and drop a few lines to some of these foreign countries and see if they can't offer me some freebie training facilities - I'll let you know how I get on!!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Fit as a fiddle and ready to (g)rumble.

Training is going well for this kiddie. I really feel as though a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I'm running like a good 'un, I have a spring in my step and the weight is dropping off me like weight dropping off a fat bloke.

Dunno why I'm feeling so damn good but I intend to grasp the opportunities now making themselves available to me. And that's why I've managed four - yes four - training runs this week. And I've also had my entry confirmed for the Paris Marathon in April - so watch out you Belgiumists!!

First though I'm making a rare public appearance this coming Sunday when the good people of Swanley will be able to see my famous anal credit crunches and pelvic squirt warm-up routine.

I'm bringing a little joy into the hearts of those good people of Swanley by taking part in their little Christmas Caper - a 4.2 mile jaunt through the leafy suburbs of this nice little part of Caravan County.

I'm hoping that as many ordinary people - and women too if they've done the veg - come along to give me a cheer.

After all its not every day of the year you get the chance to see an Olympic icon in the flesh eh?

On Monday I'm off with Ernie and Grandad Stan the Bandana Man to France to get a few hundred Bensons for Ernie's missus' Christmas present. And I might just take the old lycra with me - give them a glimpse of things to come ...

Oh the life of a globetrotter.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Indialand - the end is near!!

So, my adventure in taking by storm one of the world's greatest events was almost complete. With my trophy safely in my duffel bag I couldn't wait to get home to face the media.

We were up at the crack of dawn to board our bus to take us back to Bagdogra. I bade my farewells to all the nice gherkin people and my Nippallese friends. I'm sure I spotted a tear in one or two eyes! I told them not to forget to watch out for me in 2012 – and my how they smiled at the prospect!

We were flying back to New Delhi for a couple of days R & R before my triumphant return to England and what would surely be a red carpet job. And as we drove in our bus down from the Himalayas, passing through the little villages with all those nice people living in hut-type things, passing through the tea plantations, passing monkeys, cows, water buffaloes and camels, I couldn't help but think how difficult it must have been for those nice people to wave bye bye to me.

The reason we were going back to Delhi - apart from letting MOS loose on the shops - was because the Half Share wanted to go to the Taj Mahal in a place called Agra. I told her that I'd been to the Taj Mahal in Hastings and it wasn't a patch on Pizza Hut - but she was insistent. So we left the mountains and flew back to New Delhi.

Of course we didn't need anybody to tell us we'd arrived - we could smell and damn near taste the place. We arrived back in 30 degree heat - but the entire city was enveloped in yellow, acrid smog. I told the chap at the car park exit I wasn't impressed and he promised to see what could be done about it.

The journey from airport to AJ's was, once again, hairy with the highlight being a spectacular crash with the car in front twotting and t-boning a motor cycle. Somebody really should teach these Indian people some driving etiquette.

In the evening we joined some of our fellow athletes for a farewell drink in a bar called Piccadelhi - which I found to be a rather amusing name! Food-wise we'd been well looked after but I was craving a steak or a pie. I settle for a non spicy Satay - which promptly blew my brains out - non spicy indeed.

Tomorrow we'd be going to this bally Taj Mahal Indian restaurant in Agra - it was going to take us five blasted hours to get there as well.

Well what a day that turned out to be.

Tell you later.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Himalayan 100 Mile Stage Race. Day 5 Palmajua to Manybhanjang

Friday morning and its up at dawn – 5 o’clock – to see the sun shining once more. This was going to be another glorious day – and one that would surely spread even more joy and happiness amongst those who had come to see me in Indialand.

Today is the last day of the 5 day event – a last stage for the runners of just 17 miles from Palmajua to Manybhanjang. As it was the last day of the race, Himalaya Charlie encouraged us to adopt an ‘end of term’ atmosphere. Well what a laugh I had! I put itching powder in Captain Underpants’ underpants; I put a worm in the South African’s corn flakes, I put curry powder in the shampoo, – and I threw a flour bomb at the Americans. It didn’t have the effect I’d expected – and it seemed to me that I was the only one who was entering into the spirit. Even the Half Share had a sense of humour failure when I tied her trainers to some nettles.

Some people eh?

My relationship with HC had been cordial for most of the week – I think he respected me. And my reputation had certainly been enhanced following my Warm Up routine with the Buddhist Monks last night. In fact even the local Police Chief popped in to the Lodge this morning and was discussing it with HC and his staff. Impressed eh? I was a bit puzzled when the rest of his paramilitary force turned up in a wagon and can only assume that they wanted some autographs or something – they were gesticulating wildly in my direction – so I gave them a wave and a quick series of five one fingered press ups before some of HC's numpties shooed me away – jealousy it was. Just didn’t like somebody else taking the limelight.

So, I’m feeling pretty good about life this morning. I’ve got a whole new legion of fans in this far flung part of the English Empire – wow how popular am I now then???

Today also saw a slight sea change in my relationship with the Half Share. Because I’d declined the chance to win this event I’d kind of seen myself as a sort of mentor to her during the week. And to get the best out of people I believe in using the cucumber and stick approach to motivation. So – the cucumber bit was my daily cursory hand shake and a nod – how motivating that must have been for her, particularly during the low points of her week? But, of course, with every bit of cucumber there has to be a bit of stick. So, I quietly, but firmly, asked her to consider something. OK so she’d taken part in one of the toughest races on the planet. And, yes, she’d finished each day, including the gruelling Everest Challenge Marathon. But was she really happy with her times? I mean – getting on for 11 hours for a marathon – that bloke with the diving suit didn’t take that long in the London Marathon did he? Her time for the 20 mile stage on Monday was way slower than she’d done in Gravesend – and Gravesend was hilly!! And her half marathon time would have been beaten by those four firemen who carry a wooden house round the Hastings Half Marathon.

So I thought my comments were constructuive and fair – harsh maybe – but fair. And I hoped that my little pep talk would really fire her up for today’s final 17 miles.

Well she must have got out of the Himalayasian bed on the wrong side this morning. And she went off on one of those illogical rants - ridiculously accusing me of being insensitive. Me insensitive? Is that calling the kettle brown or what? And there was more. “Out of touch”, “Did I have my head up my …?”, “I hadn’t a clue what she’d been through” etc etc. Errr ‘Hello’ – you’re talking to Ron here – I deal with pain, dedication, commitment, mental strength and pushing myself to the limit every day of the week you know. And if I hadn’t how come I’ve got such an impressive reputation for myself eh? How come I’ve created a celebrity culture amongst my Ronnettes?

Anyway no matter how much I tried to put my case forward she was having none of it.

And that’s how I found myself on the start line for the 17 mile race.

She was forcing me to run the ruddy thing.

No walking with my new friend Joe from Canadia. No trekking with my British friend George. And no shopping with MOS and her personal shopper.

So, by running the stage, said the Half Share I’d get a feel for what she’d been through. No matter this kiddie has been on the treatment table with a bad knee injury for the last three months; no matter I’d not run a single step in three months. But at the end of the day I was an athlete and I had a duty to perform. I’d had four hard days of trekking, covering around 45 miles – and the knee seemed to have stood up OK. And to be honest I knew that my presence on the start line would be a real morale boost to the other international athletes – and it would certainly provide a shot up the jacksie for Captain Underpants.

The route today took us by bus to Palmajua – basically the side of a hill – some 13 miles outside Rimbik, to a spot where the previous day’s half marathon had finished. The first 10K of today’s stage was all uphill – great! But the final 10 miles would be a mix of downhill and flat with a bit of uphill chucked in as we made our way back down to 6,000 ft.

From the off I made quite a determined start and we reached the top of the hill in just under 1 hour 50 minutes. By the time we’d reached the summit I was pretty confident I was in the lead – well I couldn’t see anybody but the Half Share around – and I was a good 6 inches in front of her!! Along the way we had some final but spectacular views of Mount Kanchenjunga and Mount Everest. At the top we arrived at a village full of those gherkin people who smiled and clapped and cheered us through. Three small children ran with us for about a mile – but I was feeling a bit puffed so I let them run on – the joys of youth eh? But from the summit down I once again felt the joy of running and realised just why I’d make such a wonderful Olympic Champion in 2012. I was good – and humble with it.

That joy of running thing lasted for about 10 minutes mind until I came across another uphill bit! We kept up the walk/run routine for the next 11 miles – and I have to admit to feeling a little jaded by the time I approached the end of the race. Mind you a 17 mile race up and down the Himalayas is hardly easing my way back in is it? But as we ran the last few hundred metres towards the finish line my thoughts turned to 2012 and my soon to be Olympic crowning.

Yep. Your man was back.

The last 100 yards down to the finish was packed with well wishers – there was also most of the rest of the field who must have dropped out and got a lift to the finish to cheer us in – and a band played that Nippall music which, to be honest, is a bit of a racket.

As we crossed the finish line we were presented with ribbons by local schoolchildren who had been given the day off to see an athletic icon in the flesh. The Half Share insisted we cross the line together and as we did so she started all that sloppy wet mouth stuff that I find so distasteful in public. I’d always prefer the cursory hand shake and a nod – much more professional in my view. Anyway I unhooked myself form the slobbering wreck and headed straight for the beer tent!

And the best thing about the day was that I managed to get a PB for 17 miles – an impressive 4 hours 49 minutes!!

Then it was back on the bus for the long journey back to Mirik – where after a shower and a kip I joined my fellow athletes in the bar for a few sherbets. The Half Share had managed to complete the full 100 miles over 5 days in 34 hours 50 minutes – so not for the first time in our life had she failed to come up with the full 35 hours in a week.

By contrast Captain Underpants won the event in a time of 14 hours 10 minutes.

Ridiculous if you ask me.

And so to a final dinner, a couple of beers, a presentation from Himalaya Charlie – and we then stayed up late till 9 o’clock!

Tomorrow it would be back to Delhi for a couple of days R & R before flying back to Blighty. The end of my adventure in Indialand? Not a bit of it matey.

Just you wait and hear what I got up to tomorrow!!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Himalyan 100 Mile Stage Race. Day 4. Rimbik to Palmajua

Woke up this morning to the sun shining. It was going to be a hot and sunny day and with glorious views of the Himalayas today was one of those days when it was just going to be great in my company.



Bumped into the MOS and Personal Shopper first thing – she was trying to persuade a Sherpa to take her back up the mountain to exchange something she'd picked up in a small shop. The six hour one way jeep journey didn't seem to worry her.

Effort-wise, today was going to be an easier day. The runners had a simple half marathon – on road as well. Us intrepid Trekkers could do what we wanted – so we decided on a 10 miler to a nice little place called Shrikola – famous for its wobbly rope bridge – where we'd enjoy a quick lemonade before walking back in time for lunch and, hopefully, we'd meet the half marathon finishers. The route was very pleasant and we enjoyed some neat little views of the area – it was nicer than Bournemouth in parts. We passed a few Buddhist Monks on the way who blessed me and my friends – dunno what that was about but I felt a bit special afterwards. I offered to sign autographs but I think it got lost in translation.


We saw lots of interesting house-type places where the local people lived and I don't mind saying some of the sights I saw made your man here feel almost humble. I mean, I'm used to meeting ordinary people back home in England and I've experienced some of the poor parts of our own country like The North and Scotland. But this was different. But do you know – everybody we met had a smile on their face. Are you listening Yorkshire people?? There's just no need to keep moaning is there?

So, a very pleasant bit of diplomatic mission work by yours truly. I told as many people as I could about who I was and how I was an Olympic Champion – it was just so nice to bring a bit of extra sunshine into their little lives.

When we returned to Rimbik the runners had started to bowl in – the Half Share finished in 3 hours 15 minutes, I gave her the cursory hand shake and nod – but really, 3 hours for a half marathon? Not very quick was it? However I had to bow to her today – she was back in Rimbik before me so we were now drawing in the race to win the 100 Mile Race.



After lunch – Rupeee!! We had an afternoon off!!

After a couple of hours well earned kip it was what the organisers called a Cultural Evening. Evening. Culture? Don't make me laugh. I'd have had a better cultural evening sitting at the fridge door watching a yoghurt go off. The deal was that each nationality had to present something that was representative of their country – in a cultural way.

Well the Brits were an embarrassment. They mumbled and shuffled their way to the centre of the garden and proceeded to present some English culture to the local villagers. What was it? A pathetic rendition of London's Burning. God help us. I decided to try and rectify the situation by grabbing a couple of the local Buddhist monks and some of the youngsters and taking them through my Ron Warm Up – anal crunches, pelvic squirts, one fingered press ups and an old favourite of mine – the Groin Shuffle.


Did I wow them into a stunned silence or what???? Brilliant – they obviously felt I couldn't be topped and that more or less finished the evening off. I was satisfied that I'd made a significant contribution to England/Indialand relations.




I then gave the organisers some tips for the future. Rather than asking the athletes to do something cultural – just ask them to present their national pastimes. Forget the musical bits. So the Welsh could just have sat there and moaned; the Scottish people could just drink and fall over; the Spanish could spit, the Scandinavians could put some cheesy music on and taken their clothes off, the Americans eat pies, the Austrians yodel with funny shorts and the Dutch have bottom sex.

Despite daytime temperatures in the 80's, the night time saw the old mercury plummet to below zero – so after a couple of sherbets and a curry, it was bed at 8 o'clock. Tomorrow was a big day – it was the final day of the 100 mile race.

There was no doubting who would win the race – Captain Underpants was about a day and a half ahead of the field. But tomorrow's 17 mile final stage would provide a surprising little sting in the tail for those of you who know me ......

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Himalayan 100 Mile Stage Race Day 3. The Everest Challenge Marathon

The problem with staying on the top of a mountain is that there is not a lot to do. Our Sherpa Huts are very nice Sherpa Huts – but they are still just Sherpa Huts. Wooden huts, with wooden floors and a load of twigs burning in a tin can on the floor. No lights, no heating and the only facility a hole in the ground. In fact our huts are so basic that even the Sherpas sleep outside.

But I took comfort by mentally rebranding the place as my Olympic Village – but without Sue Barker.



After our stuff that tasted a bit like food – and remember that it was dark by 5 o'clock – the only entertainment available to the field of international athletes was ... me! Well I tried my best. I tried to talk to people about my achievements, about my Olympic Gold Medal in 2012, about my training regimes, about how I could have won this Indialand event if I'd wanted to etc etc.

Unfortunately most of them were obviously a little too tired and so by about 5.30 I was left with the bloke from Italy who ran with a packet of Benson and Hedges down his shorts. So, I chatted to him for about an hour or so – he was obviously enthralled by some of my stories, yarns and anecdotes because he just sat there listening intently – never uttered a word. Not even when I stood up and said 'Goodnight'. He just sat there staring at the floor.

So, it was bed by 6.30 for your man here. Which is fine. No need to get undressed because I slept in what I'd been wearing for the last two days. By 7 o'clock I was in the land of Nod. The problem is, though, that I'd had enough kip after 6 hours – and so at 1 am I'm wide awake – and I then had another restless four hours until it got to 'Up Time'. The wind was howling all night too as a storm raged outside our hut and the temperature had, once again, headed south of Zero. Inside our Hut, the air was so damp that everything – including bedding – was soaked in a film of ice cold moisture.



Am I describing the scene in a best seller kind of way for you?

Up I sprung then out of my bed and to my first job of the day - medication. More Dimox. Decongestion, malaraia, neurofen and some anti poo pills.

Today's stage is a special one – its the Everest Challenge Marathon – a 27 mile stage which has some bits of uphill, retracing some of yesterday's route, and then features a steep decline from 12,000 ft to 6,000 ft, finishing in the village of Rimbik. We're joined today by three particpants who have arrived just to do the Everest Challenge Marathon – they had arrived after a seven hour journey in a jeep up the mountain. It is of much comfort to yours truly that all the Jeeps being used are, in fact, Land Rovers – and British to boot. The comfort is tempered only by the fact that the newest in their fleet was manaufactured in 1947!!



Even though there were now two Swedish girls and a Finish man with a beard in our midst, everybody kept their clothes on.

As we waited for the start of today's stage I was suddenly overwhelmed by an urge to poo. I go red with the effort of preventing an embarrasing situation and try to take my mind off it by thinking of some of my favourite Cannon and Ball sketches and humming 'I'm a Little Teapot'.

The marathon runners set off at 6.00 bang on Himalayan Time at 6.45 and as its a big day for the Half Share I ask some American bloke to tell her to have a good race. At 7.15 we board our Jeeps for the 2 mile downhill journey to the start of our 8 mile trek to Rimbik. The journey is nothing short of hairy as we attempt to negotiate the steep switchback tracks – with sheer drops of hundreds of feet inches away from the door. Our driver tells us that its a tradition that visitors to Nippall are drawn to the beauty of the mountains so much that they swear to return within seven years. I remind him that there is a British tradition that if the driver didnt keep his chuffing eyes on the road I'd lamp him one.

So, off we set on our 8 mile trek – pah!! The distance was actually a tad more than 8 miles. We did 15 miles!



It is, though, a very pleasant route as we walk through the cloud cover from 10,500 ft down to 9,000 ft – at which point we enter the jungle. Now this is no pretend jungle – its a real live jungle with lots of green things hanging around, loads of different types of poo and, in fact, the place had a real Tarzan feel to it – heck it even had proper noises like they used to have on Daktari. The jungle in this part of West Bengal is home to Red Panda, Wild Boar (oh no!), Snow Leopards and lots of other animals that would have made Billy Smart happy. But though we heard lots of scary noises we didn't see any animals. Turns out most of the noises were made by a nutty woman in our group anyway.


The nutter was some kind of Red Indian woman from America. I walked the first five miles with her and got very annoyed at having to keep picking her up. The stupid woman had insisted on meditating as she walked – with her chuffing eyes closed! She kept saying that God would get her to the bottom of the mountain and how she didn't need her eyes. Well, if God was going to get her down he was having a bad day – and to be honest, just a casual observer though I may have been, God seemed to be pretty rubbish at getting people down mountains.

I eventually tired of the pesky woman and so, after, five miles I did the British thing. I dumped her and told her to liaise directly with her maker – and I'd see her at the bottom. I then caught up with MOS and her Personal Shopper who were composing a shopping list for when we arrived in Rimbik. Also walked a little way with my new friend Joe from Canadia and my British friend George. The last couple of miles were quite tough as we entered the village of Rimbik at 8,000 ft via a steep downhill cobbled track. The poo business was becoming a real problem and I had one of those embarrassing moments when I tripped over a tree root and did one of those trip/stumble/little run type sequences to regain my balance - with each step I took being accompanied by a short burst of wind breaking each time my right foot hit the ground. Our Sherpas seemed to appreciate my 'performance' and broke into a round of applause. I did shout loudly at them that though I might be a celebrity I wasn't a ruddy cabaret act – and told them to stop staring at me. I did subsequently apologise – but I just so needed the toilet I was just a tad grumpy I suppose.



Eventually we arrived at the Sherpa Lodge in Rimbik and I threw down my rucksack and dashed to the toilet – only emerging red in face some twenty minutes later. Thank God I can now forget about lavatorial issues.

The Sherpa Lodge in Rimbik is a stunning place perched on the mountainside with spectacular views and my welcome was complete when we were given a plate of chips with tomato ketchup and a bottle of beer. Heaven!! I was also able to change out of the clothes I'd been living, walking and sleeping in – and even enjoyed a hot shower. Heaven again.



Captain Underpants had been back in for hours after having finished the marathon in a ridiculous time of 4 hours 32 minutes, with the first girl finishing in 5 hours 10 minutes. Pah! Was I supposed to be impressed?

I then settled down and somewhat irritatingly had to wait the arrival of the Half Share. Nightfall came and we were still sitting in pitch blackness waiting for the bally woman to turn up. Whilst outwardly showing some signs of concern – particularly after hearing some of the horror stories from the finishers – inwardly I was feeling quite smug. For the second day in a row I'd beaten her to the finish – so I was now winning. Of course she would later claim that she'd done more miles than me – but, hey, whose fault was that?????

To be honest I was getting a bit miffed with all the hanging around and it was beginning to look as though I'd have to do my unpacking myself when she eventually bowled over the line after 10 hours 36 minutes. I suppose I was mildly impressed at her achievement and so, in addition to a cursory hand shake and a nod I gave her a bit of my Chunky Kit Kat. I reminded her that her time was slower than any of her previous marathons but she started to say how tough it was. Yeah yeah yeah – its just another marathon for God's sake!! Apparently the descent was very steep. So? I did the Loch Ness Marathon without whinging. I did the Bexhill 10K without muttering how windy it was on the sea front didn't I? Just deal with it!



Anyway my irritation was complete after she'd described every inch of the so-called murderous descent, down dried up river beds and gullies, how they had to run through the jungle and then across the bridge over the canyon at Srikhola. But apparently it was OK because Darren helped her down the steep bits. And Darren helped her across the rope bridge. Oh - and Darren looked after her when it got dark and she couldnt see where she was going. It was Darren this and Darren that and Darren the chuffing other. And then to top the night this bloke Darren - some South African bozo with acne - then started sniffing around "just checking to see if she's all right Mate".

Mate? Mate?

So I decked him and went for another poo.

Bed and sleep came rather more easily tonight. The problems with altitude would now start to ease, I could poo, I'd had a couple of beers and I'd decked a South African. Life couldn't get any better I thought.

Tomorrow - a pleasant day spent on a diplomatic mission to mingle with lots of foreigners. I'll tell you all about it soon.

Keep on tapering.

Ron