Damn, blast and set fire to it

Picture the scene.

Its Ron Towers on a sunny July afternoon.

Youngest Cash Drainer The Sod leaves bike in garden.

Said bike throws itself at me as I walk past.

I go Blair over Brown and stott myself against a stone step.

Step enters leg and leaves yours truly with a gash the size of the River Severn.

Medical back up team not available (are you listening UK Athletics?) so have to go to hospital in back of Ernie's Transit.

Undignified scenes in a cubicle involving your hero, a nurse and a hyperdermic needle. I took exception to her "Its only a little prick" comment.

Now sat sitting here with leg bandaged and seventeen stitches holding it together*.

No running for at least a week.

And who was it that said life was a bowl of blackberries?

Keep on tapering.

Ron

* OK two stitches. But it hurt a lot.

Wee wee my cherry

Hee haw hee haw hee haw!!

Yep - this kiddie can speak foreign if he wants too!

Just back from a trip to one of those foreign suburbs and a guest appearance at the Paris Marathon, near a place called France. Its an event I get invited to every year. Rather like that bloke tennis player - Billy Bob King? - who won the Wimbledon Cup and then goes back every year to milk the applause, I took part and damn nearly won the Paris Marathon a couple of years ago and its kind of on my itinerary every year now. To be fair they don’t actually formally invite me back - but I know they really want me there.



I travelled with the Nice Work crew in the back of their Dormobile and, between cans of Stones Bitter, kept my fellow athletes regaled with some fantastic tales from my glorious running career. One or two of them were so impressed they actually suggested that I stay in Paris rather than come back here - they reckoned I could really teach the Frenchies a thing or two about running! It wasn’t a bad trip but the flippin' price of food - almost a fiver for a half pint???? Only trouble I had was at a small bar close to Blackpool Tower. The waiter said I could have two wines for 10 Euros so I told him he had a body odour problem and I didn’t think much of his beer.

No sense of humour these foreigners eh?

But I had a fairly pleasant weekend. I went for a small run in and around the city. And I tell you what - they're such a tolerant lot. I had a bit of bother with my orange Lycra mankini running outfit which I thought I'd try out ahead of its official debut in Dartford next month. Well, was I popular!! Although starting to run on my own I soon had a whole posse of French runners following me - and what appeared to be half the Paris Police Athletic team also kindly ran with me back to the hotel - now how kind was that?

I must hold my hands up to slightly over celebrating though. I have absolutely no memory of the return trip whatsoever following my discovery of a strange drink. I asked the chap in the shop for a pasty – but he gave me a bottle of aniseed ball-tasting stuff. I had a couple of slurps and, well, that was it. The next thing I remember was waking up in a bus shelter in Dover.

I’m doing more celebrity stuff this weekend. Although my training is still in full swing (out with the Old People of Hastings again on Tuesday) I’ll be taking a break on Sunday morning to add a touch of glamour to the Brighton Marathon. I’ll be on hand at the finish to shake a few hands and pass on a few rehydration tips – so if you’re in Needle City on Sunday why not give me a wave?

Then, of course the week after I take centre stage again – this time for my appearance in this year’s London Marathon. As Dale Winton says – ‘You can't beat a bit of bully can you?’.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Easter Eggy thump

You cant beat Easter can you?

A bulk buy from Thorntons used to be the norm at Ron Towers but with the credit snatch still biting it was a trolley dash round Poundstretcher to stock up on Easter goodies. Then we were off to Lidl to get some tubes in - then a couple of carrier bags of take away fodder later it was off to the Barnacle and Bicycle for some decent Easter rehydration sessions. And, you know, that's why I like Easter. As long as the kids enjoy it then its job done eh?

I did a spot of training too as Good Friday approached with a session with the Old People of Hastings and then it was off to Caravan County to take part in the Folkestone 10. Its a race I enjoy because I can enjoy a spot of anonymity there. The locals by and large are used to celebrity. Well why wouldn't they? It is, after all, the birthplace of one of this country's finest classical actresses Hattie Jacques.

So I nipped along the 10 miler in an hour and 47 minutes-ish. Didn’t quite get on the podium - so I found out later - but there's nothing wrong with letting some ordinary people and those less fortunate then me (i.e. women) having a bit of the limelight eh?

So, after my race I retired to enjoy a rather subdued post race celebration with just a couple of Leffes to keep me company.

Mentally though I was as sharp as a zip because in the back of my mind, of course, I've got one of the pinnacles of an Olympians year coming up in a couple of weeks - the London Marathon. And with Paul Radcliffe having bottled out again and some of his Kenyan mates also chucking in the towel - well, lets just say 'who knows' eh? Could I win it? Well stranger things have happened. Just ask that woman in the Bovril adverts.

I'm getting a little bit of big race experience this weekend too with a trip to Paris for their laughable attempt at organising a marathon!!

If you're there - well, wee, give me a wave!

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

Stumbling in the dark

So, your man here enjoyed a weekend of international sport in two of the country's leading centres of sporting excellence.

Reading and Lydd.

On Saturday I joined the eldest Cash Drainer Haille Minogue in a place called Reading which apparently is in a small place called Berks. And all I can say is .... well how appropriate. its full of Berks! Reading is the kind of place your Great Grandparents used to aspire to live in when they were tied to the local cotton mill. Its got lots of concrete, lots of students, lots of pubs and not a lot of character.

Our Haille went there on one of these exchange schemes - we got an ironing board and a new pelmet for the kitchen which the Half Share and I thought was quite good value. But apparently when she reaches an IQ of 50 we have to bring her home. I mean she's not blonde thick - but you wouldn't want her to breed.

So, I felt perfectly at home there. I was there as the Guest celebrity at a 5 mile race to help raise money for some dodgy student cause. I've never understood why students have felt the need to fundraise - I mean they do so well scrounging of us and the State anyway - so why not just cadge a bit more? In any event they probably stuff all the money they do raise on drugs, alcohol and strange magazines.

I tried to adapt to the local way of life - you know, the hung shoulders, the baseball cap back to front and the body with a six pack (mine's just missing the little plastic thing to hold it together). And then we started the race and I twaddled round the first of the two laps just to show a bit of willing before retiring to the bar and a welcome glass of Guinness.

On Sunday we went back to Caravan County to take a look at the Lydd Half Marathon. And if you haven't been to Lydd .... well its the kind of place people from Reading would go to on holiday. They'd certainly feel at home. The Lydd Half Marathon attracted a fair few athletes of varying degrees of ability - but none of them could hold a candle to an Olympian - so I didn't bother running the bally thing.

But ever conscious of the need to up my mileage and my competition - I haven't competed in a race since November - the Half Share and I have entered the Hastings Half Marathon on Sunday. Now Hastings ain't too bad - its a town that was built specifically for fat people to wear sporting clothing. Not to run in, you understand. Just to hang around outside MacDonald's smoking fags. In fact there are more tracksuits stood outside the local fast food outlets than in the chuffing Olympic Village.

But the event ain't too bad - but I am nervous about my stamina and if I'm going to make those Kenyanites eat my dust I needed to get some miles under my pumps. So we went to Hastings on Monday.

And ran home.

Now the theory was fine. A nice Spring day. The evenings getting lighter. Now that's all well and done but the Half Share obviously miscalculated because as we started the 13 mile run back to Ron Towers, the sun was already dipping over the fumes on the horizon. By Mile 3 it was dusk. And by Mile 6 .. pitch flippin' black.

So we ended up running along country lanes with no bally idea of which way the road went - and the whole 13 mile shebang took us 2 hours 45 minutes. It would have taken me a few minutes less but for having to extricate myself from a hedge. In a desperate attempt to escape the tyres a local hooligan farmer driving his tractor I tripped over a hedge root, fell face down in a ditch and crashed through a hawthorn hedge into a field.

Oh how the Half Share thought amusing.

Anyway I might pop out with the Old People of Hastings for a little jog tomorrow . then its down to Hastings on Sunday - I'll let you know how I get on. Podium chance? Mais Wee Senor!!

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Hey!! It's Christmas - a time of good beer to all men

Deck the bells with walls and cherries!!

Its Christmas time again. And at times like these my thoughts turn to those ordinary people in the world who are not as fortunate as us elite Olympians. You see I know how difficult it is in these Credit Scratch times when money is tight. Some people even have to have Bernard Matthews turkeys, you know!

I thought that I'd just drop you a seasonal line to let you know how my strict regime has been going – and also share with you my thoughts as we approach this festive period.

I must admit Ronettes that I've taken the foot of the electric this last couple of weeks and my training is not quite what it should be – but I'm confident that I'll get things back on track in the New Year. I've not done too many miles as the place has been stuffed with snow, ice and rain. Training is always difficult when the bad weather comes because the Half Share does struggle to get the path and road clear at Ron Towers – despite me buying her a new shovel for her birthday. So, I decided that I'd have a period of rest and focus instead on tapering and carbo loading. I did though make a couple of personal appearances. I pottered up to Caravan County to help start the Kent Christmas Cracker – and enjoyed helping dish out mullered wine and mint pies to runners. Last Saturday I carried out similar duties at the Christmas Pudding Dash in Battle and it was good to catch up with some of the legion of adoring fans I've assembled. Bit of an issue with the mullered wine and Ernie but I chucked him in the back of his Transit and we got out before the police arrived.

I've got my training plans in place for the New Year and I will be stepping up my mileage as I prepare for my celebrity appearance in next year's London Marathon. I've also got a string of overseas races planned in Cork, Bruges, Paris, Luxembourg, Norway, France, Amsterdam and, of course, my return to Indialand in October. So, it's going to be a busy year for Yours Truly as 2012 begins to loom large. I have also suggested that the Half Share puts her back into it and gets some miles under her belt – and I think she appreciated my concern when I pointed out that her midriff was not supposed to be hanging over her pinny.

So what is life like for an Olympic superstar I hear you shouting? I'm visiting family for a couple of days and I'm currently in a place called the Midlands which is somewhere that people go to to get used accents before visiting the north. I've brought my mate Ernie with me to help with my training programme.

Today is Christmas Eve and I'll be holding my usual Training Planning meeting with Ernie later today. We'll probably pop up to the Horse and Cucumber for a couple of tubes then go for a little tour of local places of worship before settling down with a kebab and watch Spartacus. Christmas Day we'll nip to the Rose and Thorn for a sip with the Landlord before sitting down to the full turkey monte which the Half Share should have defrosted by the time we get home. Then it's a well earned kip on the couch whilst the Cash Drainers sit watching Mary Poppins – and that's what is important for me. Christmas is a time for the kids and as long as they enjoy it then I'm happy. Well so long as they keep out of my way and keep the bally noise down.

I'll be returning to Ron Towers on Boxing Day and there's a small chance that I may make an appearance at a local 10K on Sunday. I'll also be aiming to return to Caravan County on New Year's Day for the Deal Bar Run - it says Bra Run in the papers but I presume thats a typing error.

I'll pop back with my Annual Christmas and New Year Message soon – but in the meantime have a happy and merry Christmas. And kids – remember that at this time of year there are always people worse off than yourself, so make sure you keep all your sweets and chocolates safe. You don't want people trying to pinch em!

In the words of the Bobby Davro song – rom pom pom pom.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

What is the point of a hill?

That's it. I've had enough of training like ordinary people. I'll be writing to Sir Sid Coe first thing tomorrow to demand some proper respect for us Olympic greats - and that includes some bally warm weather training.

I've just got back from a personal appearance at the Crowborough 10K. It was cold. It was wet. It was miserable. And it was tough.

Tell me this Ronettes.

What is the point of hills?

I mean. Just what is the bally point?

(To be continued)

Sorry, it's a day later. Had a bit of trouble with Septic Knuckles the Rent Man's stooge so had to lie low for a day.

Anyway, where was I?

Oh yes. Hills.

Crowborough is built on a hill and the locals' idea of fun is to design a 10K course that includes the local peak - and because it's a two lap course you have to negotiate the damn thing twice.

Well ha flippin ha Crowpeople. I suppose you thought that was funny eh? Good gracious, I swear on the life of Ronnie Corbett I am never doing the thing again. It's just far too much exertion for a Sunday morning. I mean, OK, so I posted a time of 1.09.31, which is just outside the top ten I think, but why? Why? Why?

Why have that hill eh? Indeed, why have any hill? In fact ... what is the point of hills full stop? What useful purpose do they serve eh?

Do you see Sir Steve Bygraves rowing his Olympic canoe down a hill? No!! Do you see Paul Ratcliffe running the women's marathon up the side of a bloody mountain? No!! Do Boxing men fight on the side of the mountains? No!! Do they have uphill hurdles? No!(Oh, OK, some of them funny people in Brighton do uphill hurdling, but that's their business). Do they have fencing matches with one bloke 3 foot higher than his opponent? No!!! Bally No!!!

A resounding 'No' to all of these questions.

And that's because all these sports have decided that it is plain stupid involving hills. You can't sit comfortably on a hill without falling over. You cant put a tube down on a hill without it falling over. Ernie's van rolls down hills without us in it.

So, sort it out Crowborough - and any of those other Flash Harry's who decide it's a bit of a laugh having a race up a hill.

Anyway, I've made my point.

Having recovered from the thing I did train like a proper Olympian today. Ernie said I'd done a Fartlek but I think it was just my pumps squeaking. I ran for about 40 minutes alternating between lightning speed and slow jogging.

But the best news of the day was ...... my plea for warm weather training did NOT fall on deaf eyes. And so, tomorrow, I fly to Barcelona for a couple of days warm weather pootling. So, you can say Bonjour to this kiddie - this time tomorrow I'll be feasting on Bratwurst and Steins of Lager as I introduce myself to those nice people in the Land of the Popping Sun.



N'est Pas Non Amis - and Sayonara.

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

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

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

Back in the groove - and with wings on. This kiddie is smokin'!!!!

After eight days or so of head-down, body aching, painful training, this kiddie burst back on to the international road running scene with a vengeance at the weekend.

Like a well oiled machine, a coiled spring and a meteor waiting to launch itself from a meteor launcher type thing, I exploded with talent, power and speed on Sunday morning.

Yep. I'm back in the big time.

There was a great turn out with many, many locals as well as experienced athletes turning out to see my first race back in the UK since returning from Indialand. I was, of course, in Swanley for their little Christmas Caper. A gruelling 4.2 mile race saw me scythe my way through the field like a spoon through hot butter. I crossed the line in 45.03 and in 393rd position out of 484. Of course I would have finished much, much higher but you must remember that I am just back from a career threatening injury, a near-death encounter with a wild boar, two weeks laid up with a contagious disease and I had a bit of a headache. Plus, of course, I had to keep stopping to sign autographs and the like. So, I was pretty pleased with myself and notched the result down as a kind of step one on my UK comeback trail.

The only blot on the day was the behaviour of my lad The Sod. Supposed to be keeping his old man free of marrauders and stopping the crowd getting too close and impeding me, the little herbert beggared off with barely a glance behind me to finish the course in a little over 37 and a half minutes. I returned to the finish area to see him casually leaning against a tree, looking at his watch and pretending to look bored. I gave him a leathering and took his Christmas Pudding off him. That'll learn him not to respect his father.

But I am so grateful for all those well wishers and women turning out to see me. Bless 'em it must be really quite odd being ordinary. They, of course, knew exactly who I was - but to me, their little faces were just smiley images amongst a sea of bodies. Do you like how I've become all poetic since I came back from Indialand and suffered with my near-death experience?

But I bade them farewell and returned home satisfied and with a cracking bacon buttie inside me.

So, what do you do next after completing your first 4.2 mile run in yonkeroos?

No contest.

You run a marathon.

Thats right. This Sunday is the first Hastings Marathon since 1908. And I'm taking part as a kind of celebrity runner. How exciting is that?

This will be my first run at the full 26.2 mile distance since Paris in April so obviously I'm not going to win the bally thing. In fact, between you and I it could take me some consideable time to complete.

In fact, I'll let you into a secret. Its not all guns and roses being an international icon you know. Even top performers like us have feelings you know. And the feeling I have at the moment is something akin to that I had when I caught that nasty e-cauliflower bug thing from Indialand.

Ronnettes - I am dobbing myself. Is this an act of wanton stupidity? Am I really respecting the diatnce and the event?

Will I survive?

I'll let you know.

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 Himalayan 100 Mile Stage Race, parts of the far flung empire etc - a postscript

So that was my little adventure in Indialand - and what a glorious opportunity it was for those nice people to see at first hand a true icon. I enjoyed the fact that they loved me to bits and were obviously proud to have me in their midst. It was good too to see that we share the same humble qualities - only I'm better at it than them.

Returning to England on that final day though, my mind wandered back to the first day of one of the greatest stories ever told. To that throwaway comment I made about a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Well as Flo drove us back to home in the Bedford, that funny feeling got stronger and stronger. And when we finally arrived back in Ron Towers I tell you - it was like a 100 yard dash to make it to the loo. Horror of horrors Ronnettes.

I was ill.

Not just a bit ill. Not just a bit peaky. I was full on dreadfully ill.

So ill in fact that this kiddie here did something he'd not done since he had his appendix out in the mid 60's.

I had to take to my bed.

In the space of four days I lost a stone in weight. I was unable to eat from Tuesday until Sunday. I lost so much fluid that I was hallucinating.

After three days of this business I struggled to the phone and called a doctor - who asked me to go and see him. Oh Ronnettes, the irony. The doctor was Indian - and he was called Kebab!! But he examined me and aksed to get a sample of ... well, you know. This was easier said than done but eventually I succeeded. In went the sample - and I was told not to worry they'd only contact me if the tests showed up anything serious. He then told me to make sure I ate something and drink plenty of fluid - so on the way home I stopped at the Dog and Duck and had a couple of pints of Guinness and two pickled eggs.

They stayed down for about 4 minutes - so that was a waste of eight quid!

Two days later it was confirmed that I'd not only got some form of e-cauliflower poisoning, but that it was so contagious and so virulent it is a communicable and notifiable disease and I had to be reported to the Public Health authorities. Great - they can't even empty the bally dustbins so I aint that confident about them helping me through this medical crisis! The thing I'd got is called Campylobacteriosis - and take it from me Ronnettes - you don't ever want it.

The Half Share in the House subsequently contracted the same thing - but obviously nowhere near as bad as I'd had it. Took her ages to get the flippin housework done so I hope she gets over it soon.

But isn't that ironic? Spend all that time in Indialand without a problem. Within an hour of arriving back in Blighty I'm struck down by something that probably originated in Slough.

Despite losing a bit of weight though I was unable to keep up my running that had promised so much in the Himalayas. But yesterday, oh joy of joys - I went for my first three mile run. I did it quietly, but confidently, knowing full well that my journey to Olympic Gold is now firmly back on track. Tonight saw me down to Stallones where I did my first bit of treadmill work. Problem is that the old weight still needs a bit shifting and as I'm running I keep hearing this noise - it kind of goes bilyp - somewhere between my heart and my groin. So I do need to get to work on restoring my body to adonis-like athletic condition.

And believe me that's not a five minute job - it'll take me till at least Thursday.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Indialand - a fond farewell

Today was the last day of our trip to Indialand and we decided to give the MOS and her Personal Shopper a treat,

She could shop all day!

So off she went looking for Boots, Primark and Evans and we followed dutifully in her wake. She's quite a powerful shopper and her hard bargaining skills soon had small Indian traders gasping at her ability to haggle. I did particulalry well at the bargaining skills and immediately targetted a small bag of cashew nuts which I was going to buy the Half Share as a kind of well done for completing the race. Generous, I know, and one of the reasons why my mate Ernie often calls me Big Hearted Arthur - I carry the name with pride. The starting price for the cashew nuts was 40 whoopees but I managed to secure the deal for 65 whoopees - how's that for driving a hard bargain??

The thrill and pleasure of giving MOS the freedom of the shops soon wore off mind. After the thirteenth sari shop and umpteen tea shops, bangle shops and funny department stores I'd had enough. Until, that is, I spotted the watch man. Now this is where I really came into my own. You'll never believe it but I actually managed to buy a Rolax watch for 200 whoopees - thats about three quid!! Can you believe that? A genuine Rolax watch (and I know its genuine because it says 'Rolax' on the back) for just three quid!! Some people I know have paid hundreds of pounds for theirs.

So, satisfied with my shopping I retreated to Connaught Square for a few tubes and a Tikka Masala - after all it was going to be a long night ahead of us with a thirteen hour flight to come.

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!

Which was exactly what we did last night and the night before and the night before that. Our farewells to fellow athletes had now stretched to four consecutive nights and I'm sure most of us were just wishing the others would go home - it was costing a fortune in farewell drinks. A last supper in The Legend of Connaught followed and we returned to AJ's for a couple of tubes with my new Indian best friend. I made sure that he knew that if he or any of his friends ever visit England they should be sure to pop in and see us and stay with us for a few days. The Half Share then reminded me that a recent wedding he attended there were 3,000 of his relatives in attendance. Made a mental note to send him a letter on my return clarifying the terms and conditions of my invitation.

And then, before we knew it, it was time to say goodbye to AJ and his familiy and all those nice people in Indialand - and off we hurtled through the streets of New Delhi for the last time en route to the airport.

We boarded our Cataarh Airlines flight to London Airport via Doh!! And just 13 hours and three curries later we were home. Ernie's wife Flo was there in his Bedford to meet us - and we arrived home to greet the Sod and the Droog. Neither of whom seemed to have missed us in the slightest. In fact the Sod was convinced I'd just nipped out for a loaf and a paper.

So, is that/was that the end of my great adventure?

Well there is a post script to one of the greatest stories ever told.

But that's for tomorrow.

Keep on tapering.

Ron

Indialand - are you Brighton in disguise?

So we woke in AJs to a smoggy Sunday. Not just a bit smoggy - but a full on, yellow, throat-scratching pea souper. But, of course, it wasn't smog - because New Delhi no longer has polution. That's what Brian, our driver for the day, told us. Maybe its a sea mist he told me - conveniently forgetting that Delhi is about two bazoomma-million miles from the chuffing sea.


So, the MOS, her personal shopper and the Half Share wanted to go to a place called Agra to visit an Indian restaurant called the Taj Mahal - I didn't even ask. I've been under the thumb long enough to know when it just isn't worth challenging. Agra was a five hour drive. And today was probably the longest and hairiest five hours of my life - until it was time to come home.

We left at 6.45 and set off on the road to Agra. The road is, in fact, a dual carriageway highway - one of Indialand's finest, we were told. So why didn't they tell the locals then???


Dual carriageway means two lanes of traffic - right? Wrong! Two perfectly clearly-marked lanes - but in Indialand that means five lanes of traffic can fit on them.

But not neccessarily all travelling in the same direction. So, in the outside lane we had to contend with Oxen and Carts, bicycle rickshaws, cows, put puts - built for three passengers, but often carrying a dozen or more people. What made this traffic flow interesting though is that it didn't appear compulsory that all traffic travelled in the same direction. So, it was quite normal to be zooming in the outside lane at 50 mph (nigh on breaking the sound barrier-speed in this country) only to come face to face with a rickshaw or horse or camel heading towards you at a sedate 2 mph.

The rules of the road were ripped up and despatched many years ago by all accounts.

And what a collection of sights we saw - camels, water buffaloes, monkeys - often grazing, sleeping or staggering along the central reservation. We saw snake charmers and their cobras, shifters, shysters, thieves, vagabonds and all human forms of life.

In short Ronnettes - it was an interesting journey.

But when we eventually rached Agra, the Half Share and MOS insisted on doing some sight seeing - and you'll never guess what we found - only a scale model of the Brighton Dome!! How fantastic was that?

We had a little look around the Brighton Dome place and, not being able to find the Taj Mahal restaurant, we found another equally good curry house, got ripped off buying a marble elephant - and then travelled the five hours back to New Delhi.

So what a complete waste of a day that was.

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!

Which was exactly what we did last night. Our farewells to fellow athletes had now stretched to three consecutive nights.

An early night followed with dreams of car chases. Tomorrow would be our last night in Indialand - and a chance for the MOS to add to the balance of payment deficit between Indialand and England.

Just as I was drifting into a celebrity sleep I realised that I hadn't been asked for a single autograph today.

The fickle finger of celebrity eh?

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