A colleague and friend of mine has done what I consider to be a very brave, and very foolish, thing - he's signed up for next year's Edinburgh marathon.
I know for a fact that I couldn't run a marathon - my knees are agony after an hour of football, never mind four or more hours of running on concrete.
And there's no way I could be bothered to train for a marathon - I'm just too damned lazy.
Please head across to Kevin's blog and show your support for his madness....
Showing posts with label Exercise. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Exercise. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
In Action
I've been a bit lax in contributing to the Blogosphere over the past few days (weeks...months...), but my excuse since Saturday comes in the form of my first game of 11-a-side football in a few years, something I mentioned recently.
(Photograph courtesy of Cedric Raguenaud)
Though I drag my sorry carcass around the five-a-side pitches of Aberdeen twice a week, it's been a few years since I donned the boots and thumped around a proper grass pitch.
Well, that changed on Saturday when a team formed from the male employees of my company took on a former employee and his old school friends.
There was a fair gulf in class - the opposition counted amongst their number several players who play at amateur and junior level, while our side included one or two players who had never played in a full-size football match before.
Unsurprisingly, we were beaten, and unsurprisingly the defeat was fairly comprehensive, finishing 7-1 to the younger, fitter side.
But we gave a good account of ourselves and in truth the scoreline wasn't a fair reflection of the match, especially as our first-choice goalkeeper was injured making a penalty save in the 15th minute.
Lest anyone doubt my abilities as a combative striker, here I am in full flight, the massed ranks of the opposition attempting to prevent me scoring (an objective they succeeded in achieving....)
(Photograph courtesy of Cedric Raguenaud)
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Another Sports Day
Writing about sports day yesterday got me thinking again about the sports days I took part in as a boy.
As I mentioned previously, I was, for a few of my years, a half-decent sprinter, winning the McGregor Cup as Senior Boys' 100m champion in both of my final two years at school.
Unfortunately, this success didn't translate to other events, and I was never crowned overall champion, although Baby Brother achieved that feat a few years later.
My inability to convert my sprinting prowess to other events reached its peak when I was around 14. At the end of each school sports day, the final event was always the boys' open 1500m race, an event in which every boy in the school was entitled to compete, regardless of age.
Entering the event as a fresh-faced 14-year-old, I had no grasp of the concept of pacing myself. If I did something, I did it flat out, as befitted a sprinter.
Lining up alongside my fellow male pupils, I was one of the younger runners. But, as the gun signalled the start of the race, I flew out in front of the pack, determined to rattle around the track as quickly as possible.
For the watching crowd, comprising every other pupil in the school, all of the teachers and a few bored parents, it must have been some sight. By the end of the first lap, I was 200 metres in front of my nearest challenger, a senior pupil four years older and considerably fitter than I was.
As I crossed the line at the end of the first of my three laps, I received some sterling advice from those congregated at the line:
"Slow down!"
"You're running too fast!"
"Move into the inside lane!"
True enough, by the midway point of the second lap, my lungs and legs were burning, and the runners behind me were closing in fast. By the end of that lap I was second.
Midway through the third lap, I thought I was going to die, my legs barely willing to carry me any further, my heart dancing to its own private hardcore rave compilation and my lungs wondering what they'd done to deserve the punishment I was inflicting upon them.
Finally, desperately, I stumbled over the finish line in seventh place, staggered to a nearby grassy bank and collapsed.
The world was spinning and I could see spots flashing wildly in front of my eyes. It took me a good 10 minutes to summon the energy to stand up.
The lesson I've learned from that race?
If nature had intended me to travel 1500 metres in one go, he'd have given me wheels instead of legs.
As I mentioned previously, I was, for a few of my years, a half-decent sprinter, winning the McGregor Cup as Senior Boys' 100m champion in both of my final two years at school.
Unfortunately, this success didn't translate to other events, and I was never crowned overall champion, although Baby Brother achieved that feat a few years later.
My inability to convert my sprinting prowess to other events reached its peak when I was around 14. At the end of each school sports day, the final event was always the boys' open 1500m race, an event in which every boy in the school was entitled to compete, regardless of age.
Entering the event as a fresh-faced 14-year-old, I had no grasp of the concept of pacing myself. If I did something, I did it flat out, as befitted a sprinter.
Lining up alongside my fellow male pupils, I was one of the younger runners. But, as the gun signalled the start of the race, I flew out in front of the pack, determined to rattle around the track as quickly as possible.
For the watching crowd, comprising every other pupil in the school, all of the teachers and a few bored parents, it must have been some sight. By the end of the first lap, I was 200 metres in front of my nearest challenger, a senior pupil four years older and considerably fitter than I was.
As I crossed the line at the end of the first of my three laps, I received some sterling advice from those congregated at the line:
"Slow down!"
"You're running too fast!"
"Move into the inside lane!"
True enough, by the midway point of the second lap, my lungs and legs were burning, and the runners behind me were closing in fast. By the end of that lap I was second.
Midway through the third lap, I thought I was going to die, my legs barely willing to carry me any further, my heart dancing to its own private hardcore rave compilation and my lungs wondering what they'd done to deserve the punishment I was inflicting upon them.
Finally, desperately, I stumbled over the finish line in seventh place, staggered to a nearby grassy bank and collapsed.
The world was spinning and I could see spots flashing wildly in front of my eyes. It took me a good 10 minutes to summon the energy to stand up.
The lesson I've learned from that race?
If nature had intended me to travel 1500 metres in one go, he'd have given me wheels instead of legs.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Sports Day
Today, as I made my way to the train station, there was a chill in the air, but it was a chill that suggested that another day of warm sunshine beckoned.
Mornings like that, when the smell of cut grass hangs in air alongside the morning mist, always remind of sports day at high school.
I'm not sure if this situation was replicated at other schools, but at the high school I attended, there were two sports days - an individual sports day and a team sports day.
At the first, the individual sports day, each competitor was out for personal glory, taking part in as many events as he or she saw fit, the person with the most points at the end of the day winning the individual sports trophy for that year.
A week later, the official school sports took place, with the school's three houses competing against each other for the collective bragging rights. And the events couldn't be rigged - no single competitor was allowed to compete in more than two individual events plus the relay race.
In those days, I was a fairly formidable sprinter, at least within the context of our school. And from first year onwards, it became apparent that taking part in the individual sports day was a great way of missing a day's lessons.
I competed every year from first until sixth year, even in the years when Standard Grades and Highers were doing their damndest to suck the will to live from all who cowered in their shadows.
It was a fairly easy decision - a day in a stuffy classroom with algebra, iambic pentameter and the farming habits of Amazon indians, or a day spent running around in the sun.
Those who participated in the individual sports day fell broadly into three camps:
A) The Competitors. These were the individuals who saw, in sports day, a chance to bag some glory through lifting a silver trophy at that year's prize-giving ceremony, their parents beaming happily from the audience. Their ambition would know no bounds - warm-up exercises, knee braces and isotonic sports drinks were all employed as they attempted to get their grubby paws on a trophy.
B) The Skivers: These people were at sports day simply as a way of avoiding the book-based horror within the school's walls. What they lacked in physical prowess and athletic endeavour, they made up for in journies to the sweetie machines or escape bids to smoke a fly fag around the back of the science block.
C) The Complete Bampots: Even at the age of 13, there are some people you can pick out as being a bit special. They may not have a brain cell to call their own, but when they're 6'2" of rippling muscle before most of their classmates' balls have dropped, you know it's best not to point out their shortcomings.
I was somewhere between groups A and B: I turned up half expecting to do well, then remembered that I can't run for more than 200 metres without coughing up semi-vital internal organs.
But, from the age of about 15, I was almost unbeatable over 100m, when limiting the competition solely to other pupils at my school. I say almost, because there is always one....
....Jimmy (I've changed his name to avoid any future repercussions) was a machine. He didn't so much fit into group C as define it. There are people you describe as solid who don't deserve the accolade. Jimmy wasn't one of them.
I'd encountered him on a running track once before, during a relay race. My team was doing well, and I was leading from the front on the final leg.
Then I heard Jimmy.
That's right, I heard him coming.
Snorting like a charging bull, he was closing the gap on me, his arms and legs seemingly replaced by steam engine pistons.
And, in a blur of thunderous gristle, he was past me and through the line.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Jimmy, not renowned for his ability to work with calculus, is now in the army. Never mind tanks and guns - just set Jimmy at those Iraqi insurgents. He'll take down the whole of Basra in a day.
Mornings like that, when the smell of cut grass hangs in air alongside the morning mist, always remind of sports day at high school.
I'm not sure if this situation was replicated at other schools, but at the high school I attended, there were two sports days - an individual sports day and a team sports day.
At the first, the individual sports day, each competitor was out for personal glory, taking part in as many events as he or she saw fit, the person with the most points at the end of the day winning the individual sports trophy for that year.
A week later, the official school sports took place, with the school's three houses competing against each other for the collective bragging rights. And the events couldn't be rigged - no single competitor was allowed to compete in more than two individual events plus the relay race.
In those days, I was a fairly formidable sprinter, at least within the context of our school. And from first year onwards, it became apparent that taking part in the individual sports day was a great way of missing a day's lessons.
I competed every year from first until sixth year, even in the years when Standard Grades and Highers were doing their damndest to suck the will to live from all who cowered in their shadows.
It was a fairly easy decision - a day in a stuffy classroom with algebra, iambic pentameter and the farming habits of Amazon indians, or a day spent running around in the sun.
Those who participated in the individual sports day fell broadly into three camps:
A) The Competitors. These were the individuals who saw, in sports day, a chance to bag some glory through lifting a silver trophy at that year's prize-giving ceremony, their parents beaming happily from the audience. Their ambition would know no bounds - warm-up exercises, knee braces and isotonic sports drinks were all employed as they attempted to get their grubby paws on a trophy.
B) The Skivers: These people were at sports day simply as a way of avoiding the book-based horror within the school's walls. What they lacked in physical prowess and athletic endeavour, they made up for in journies to the sweetie machines or escape bids to smoke a fly fag around the back of the science block.
C) The Complete Bampots: Even at the age of 13, there are some people you can pick out as being a bit special. They may not have a brain cell to call their own, but when they're 6'2" of rippling muscle before most of their classmates' balls have dropped, you know it's best not to point out their shortcomings.
I was somewhere between groups A and B: I turned up half expecting to do well, then remembered that I can't run for more than 200 metres without coughing up semi-vital internal organs.
But, from the age of about 15, I was almost unbeatable over 100m, when limiting the competition solely to other pupils at my school. I say almost, because there is always one....
....Jimmy (I've changed his name to avoid any future repercussions) was a machine. He didn't so much fit into group C as define it. There are people you describe as solid who don't deserve the accolade. Jimmy wasn't one of them.
I'd encountered him on a running track once before, during a relay race. My team was doing well, and I was leading from the front on the final leg.
Then I heard Jimmy.
That's right, I heard him coming.
Snorting like a charging bull, he was closing the gap on me, his arms and legs seemingly replaced by steam engine pistons.
And, in a blur of thunderous gristle, he was past me and through the line.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Jimmy, not renowned for his ability to work with calculus, is now in the army. Never mind tanks and guns - just set Jimmy at those Iraqi insurgents. He'll take down the whole of Basra in a day.
Monday, March 03, 2008
Carry That Weight
My recent bilateral toenailectomy has had an unfortunate side effect entirely unrelated to the masked man who hacked at my feet with his interesting mini crowbar and scalpel combination.
Though both weeping wounds have long since stopped weeping, and the skin is returning to its standard "Scotland in February" corned-beef tones, the areas where the nails used to be are still a tad tender.
Unfortunately, this has left me unable to play football (some might argue that it has had no bearing on my inability to play football, but that's a debate for another day).
Even more unforunately, two games of football a week is about the only exercise I get. And now it has been temporarily removed from my schedule.
Which means that my weight is slowly but steadily creeping upwards, and I am in danger of reaching a weight I have never reached before.
I'm not quite there yet, but another week or two of couch-based chocolate guzzling would pretty much do it, I'm sure.
Though both weeping wounds have long since stopped weeping, and the skin is returning to its standard "Scotland in February" corned-beef tones, the areas where the nails used to be are still a tad tender.
Unfortunately, this has left me unable to play football (some might argue that it has had no bearing on my inability to play football, but that's a debate for another day).
Even more unforunately, two games of football a week is about the only exercise I get. And now it has been temporarily removed from my schedule.
Which means that my weight is slowly but steadily creeping upwards, and I am in danger of reaching a weight I have never reached before.
I'm not quite there yet, but another week or two of couch-based chocolate guzzling would pretty much do it, I'm sure.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Eight More Things About Me
My favourite Fred Astaire-loving wiseass Jooette has tagged me with the Eight Fascinating Facts meme.
I've actually done this one before, but what's another eight facts between friends? So here are facts nine to 16:
1: The first football match I ever attended was a friendly between Brechin City and Rangers in 1990 or 1991 for Dougie Scott's testimonial. I think the score was 6-4 to Brechin. Ian Durrant scored a penalty and Mark Walters, Terry Hurlock and Colin Scott all played for Rangers.
2: I have eight Standard Grades, seven Highers, two Certificates of Sixth Year Studies and a Bachelor's degree in Journalism. Oh, and National Certificates in Art, Music and Keyboard Skills.
3: I've scored two goals in the Aberdeen Oil League this season. Our team hasn't won a match yet.
4: I collect Hurricane cocktail glasses from Hard Rock Cafes around the world. So far, my collection covers Rome, Sydney, Edinburgh, Madrid, Melbourne, Singapore, New York, Cancun, Paris, Kuala Sumper, Surfer's Paradise and Hollywood.
5: Wales is the only country in the British Isles that I've never been to. For some reason, it just doesn't appeal.
6: The first dance at my wedding was Here, There and Everywhere by The Beatles.
7: This year, I'm spending Xmas with Mrs Wife's parents for the first time before jetting off to Brussels for New Year.
8: I attended four different Primary Schools and one High School as a boy. My first school had several hundred pupils, my second had nine when I started and seven when I left, my third had three when I started and five when I left, and my fourth had 13 when I started and 11 when I left.
So, weren't those facts just scintillatingly exciting? I'm meant to tag eight more bloggers to play along, but I think everyone should play if they want to and ignore it if they don't.
I've actually done this one before, but what's another eight facts between friends? So here are facts nine to 16:
1: The first football match I ever attended was a friendly between Brechin City and Rangers in 1990 or 1991 for Dougie Scott's testimonial. I think the score was 6-4 to Brechin. Ian Durrant scored a penalty and Mark Walters, Terry Hurlock and Colin Scott all played for Rangers.
2: I have eight Standard Grades, seven Highers, two Certificates of Sixth Year Studies and a Bachelor's degree in Journalism. Oh, and National Certificates in Art, Music and Keyboard Skills.
3: I've scored two goals in the Aberdeen Oil League this season. Our team hasn't won a match yet.
4: I collect Hurricane cocktail glasses from Hard Rock Cafes around the world. So far, my collection covers Rome, Sydney, Edinburgh, Madrid, Melbourne, Singapore, New York, Cancun, Paris, Kuala Sumper, Surfer's Paradise and Hollywood.
5: Wales is the only country in the British Isles that I've never been to. For some reason, it just doesn't appeal.
6: The first dance at my wedding was Here, There and Everywhere by The Beatles.
7: This year, I'm spending Xmas with Mrs Wife's parents for the first time before jetting off to Brussels for New Year.
8: I attended four different Primary Schools and one High School as a boy. My first school had several hundred pupils, my second had nine when I started and seven when I left, my third had three when I started and five when I left, and my fourth had 13 when I started and 11 when I left.
So, weren't those facts just scintillatingly exciting? I'm meant to tag eight more bloggers to play along, but I think everyone should play if they want to and ignore it if they don't.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Fever Pitch
My inauspicious football career lurched onwards yesterday evening in my company's second match in the Aberdeen Oil League.
A 17-4 defeat obviously isn't anyone's result of choice. And coming on the back of a 12-2 loss, things aren't looking too bright early on.
But I suppose we need to take into account a number of factors: that as a small publishing company, we have only a squad of around 11 players to choose from, whereas our opponents last night were from a multnational oilfield operator, whose Aberdeen offices alone must contain hundreds of employees. That as a team, we'd never played together prior to our first warm-up match a month ago, and that we've never yet fielded a full-strength team.
So last night's performance, whilst tough to take, was an important step forwards. We scored more goals than in any previous match, with four different players hitting the net.
However, these goals came at a price. My first touch of the match saw me turn my marker, and my second saw me lash a shot at goal. But the marker I'd just turned smashed his foot into mine at high speed. My big toe on my left foot is now a lurid shade of purple and has been in agony since it received that kick. And my knee sports a beauty of a bruise sustained in the final minutes as we desperately chased further goals.
So now, to end this post, a question: is there an easy way to tell if your toe is broken?
A 17-4 defeat obviously isn't anyone's result of choice. And coming on the back of a 12-2 loss, things aren't looking too bright early on.
But I suppose we need to take into account a number of factors: that as a small publishing company, we have only a squad of around 11 players to choose from, whereas our opponents last night were from a multnational oilfield operator, whose Aberdeen offices alone must contain hundreds of employees. That as a team, we'd never played together prior to our first warm-up match a month ago, and that we've never yet fielded a full-strength team.
So last night's performance, whilst tough to take, was an important step forwards. We scored more goals than in any previous match, with four different players hitting the net.
However, these goals came at a price. My first touch of the match saw me turn my marker, and my second saw me lash a shot at goal. But the marker I'd just turned smashed his foot into mine at high speed. My big toe on my left foot is now a lurid shade of purple and has been in agony since it received that kick. And my knee sports a beauty of a bruise sustained in the final minutes as we desperately chased further goals.
So now, to end this post, a question: is there an easy way to tell if your toe is broken?
Monday, October 01, 2007
Return of The Mark
I'm back. Not only back, but holidayed out. I swear, I'm more tired now that I'm back at work than I was before I headed off on holiday.
Anyway, what did I get up to? Played football a couple of times, including featuring in my company's debut in the Aberdeen Oil and Gas League at the local five-a-side centre. We've joined at the end of the season to replace a side that dropped out. That is the first excuse for our 22-0 defeat. Others include the fact that we've never played together as a team before, the team we played are about to be crowned champions for the fifth time in six years, our goalkeeper was missing and we played an injured non-goalkeeper in goals. The fact of the matter is that we were "only" 3-0 down at half-time, which in five-a-side terms is a pretty slender margin. And we conceded what felt like an atomic fuckload of goals in the last five minutes as we desperately chased a strike of our own. But yeah, 22-0 is a pretty horrific debut.
Prior to that, Mrs Wife and I visited the central belt to catch up with some friends, visit Stirling Castle and venture down to the Falkirk Wheel for the first time. The wheel is pretty special, another triumph of Scottish engineering, designed to lift boats from one level of a canal to another. The sun shone and we enjoyed an hour-long boat ride, so a good day was had by all.
We entertained Mrs Wife's parents in the latter part of the week, allowing them to sample the hospitality at Dungroanin' for the first time.
And on Friday night we attended a comedy night in Montrose, where we were thoroughly entertained by Patrick Rollink, Des McLean, Joe Heenan and Des Clarke, all stars of the Scottish comedy circuit. A slight over-indulgence on alcoholic beverages during the performance left me in a fragile condition come Saturday, so I've spent the time since then recuperating and preparing for a return to work.
Apologies to my fellow inhabitants of the blogosphere, as I've not been able to keep up with your sites as well as I would like. Whilst I was away, Ian over at Or So I Thought kindly presented me with the Awesome Dude Blogger award, which is given out to those of us who can tick the boxes beside "Blogger", "Awesome" and "Y Chromosome".
I'm extremely grateful to have received the award, especially from Ian, whose blog is one of the best I've encountered - an incredibly informative and entertaining site written with a great deal of skill and knowledge.
In this spirit of dudeness, I should really pass the award on, so I'll pick out three awesome dudes from my own blogroll: Eric (the Straight White Guy who is also my blogfather); Elisson and The Tomahawk Kid. May you venture forwards and enjoy their sites.
Anyway, what did I get up to? Played football a couple of times, including featuring in my company's debut in the Aberdeen Oil and Gas League at the local five-a-side centre. We've joined at the end of the season to replace a side that dropped out. That is the first excuse for our 22-0 defeat. Others include the fact that we've never played together as a team before, the team we played are about to be crowned champions for the fifth time in six years, our goalkeeper was missing and we played an injured non-goalkeeper in goals. The fact of the matter is that we were "only" 3-0 down at half-time, which in five-a-side terms is a pretty slender margin. And we conceded what felt like an atomic fuckload of goals in the last five minutes as we desperately chased a strike of our own. But yeah, 22-0 is a pretty horrific debut.
Prior to that, Mrs Wife and I visited the central belt to catch up with some friends, visit Stirling Castle and venture down to the Falkirk Wheel for the first time. The wheel is pretty special, another triumph of Scottish engineering, designed to lift boats from one level of a canal to another. The sun shone and we enjoyed an hour-long boat ride, so a good day was had by all.
We entertained Mrs Wife's parents in the latter part of the week, allowing them to sample the hospitality at Dungroanin' for the first time.
And on Friday night we attended a comedy night in Montrose, where we were thoroughly entertained by Patrick Rollink, Des McLean, Joe Heenan and Des Clarke, all stars of the Scottish comedy circuit. A slight over-indulgence on alcoholic beverages during the performance left me in a fragile condition come Saturday, so I've spent the time since then recuperating and preparing for a return to work.
Apologies to my fellow inhabitants of the blogosphere, as I've not been able to keep up with your sites as well as I would like. Whilst I was away, Ian over at Or So I Thought kindly presented me with the Awesome Dude Blogger award, which is given out to those of us who can tick the boxes beside "Blogger", "Awesome" and "Y Chromosome".
I'm extremely grateful to have received the award, especially from Ian, whose blog is one of the best I've encountered - an incredibly informative and entertaining site written with a great deal of skill and knowledge.
In this spirit of dudeness, I should really pass the award on, so I'll pick out three awesome dudes from my own blogroll: Eric (the Straight White Guy who is also my blogfather); Elisson and The Tomahawk Kid. May you venture forwards and enjoy their sites.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Fives Alive
Last night, I played my first "competitive" game of football in over a year, when I turned out for my employer's five-a-side team.
By competitive, I mean a match that wasn't played between groups of friends or fellow employees.
Our opponents last night were a team of men in their late teens, who it immediately became apparent have more opportunity to hone their fitness levels than we do. The average age of our side was probably somewhere in the 30s.
And it showed early on, as we trailed 4-1 at half time, and also suffered an injury to one of our players in the opening ten minutes, leaving us with only one substitute for the rest of the match.
Nonetheless, we showed an increased vigour in the opening spell of the second half, bringing the score back to a respectable 4-4. But fatigue took its toll. A final score of 11-6 doesn't really tell the whole story, as there was definitely not a five-goal gulf in class between the teams. In fact, on another day, with passes finding their intended targets and shots flying into the corners of the goal instead of hitting the posts, we'd have beaten them.
As for my performance, it wasn't absolutely dreadful, but it was far from magical. I'd forgotten the difference between a "friendly" kick around and competitive league match, even at five-a-side level. There is no respite from the action, no possibility of drifting out of the match for a few minutes as you attempt to regain your puff.
I hit a few shots wide, swiped wildly at a couple of balls, scored a couple of goals and missed a penalty. Which is probably a fairly accurate description of my contribution to football over the past 20 years or so.
By competitive, I mean a match that wasn't played between groups of friends or fellow employees.
Our opponents last night were a team of men in their late teens, who it immediately became apparent have more opportunity to hone their fitness levels than we do. The average age of our side was probably somewhere in the 30s.
And it showed early on, as we trailed 4-1 at half time, and also suffered an injury to one of our players in the opening ten minutes, leaving us with only one substitute for the rest of the match.
Nonetheless, we showed an increased vigour in the opening spell of the second half, bringing the score back to a respectable 4-4. But fatigue took its toll. A final score of 11-6 doesn't really tell the whole story, as there was definitely not a five-goal gulf in class between the teams. In fact, on another day, with passes finding their intended targets and shots flying into the corners of the goal instead of hitting the posts, we'd have beaten them.
As for my performance, it wasn't absolutely dreadful, but it was far from magical. I'd forgotten the difference between a "friendly" kick around and competitive league match, even at five-a-side level. There is no respite from the action, no possibility of drifting out of the match for a few minutes as you attempt to regain your puff.
I hit a few shots wide, swiped wildly at a couple of balls, scored a couple of goals and missed a penalty. Which is probably a fairly accurate description of my contribution to football over the past 20 years or so.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Eight Things About Me
As seen over at Blog d'Elisson and at Blissful Bedlam - Eight Random Facts About Me.
The useless knowledge is listed below, but first we'd better keep things proper by explaining the rools:
Write a post enumerating eight facts/habits about yourself. Include the rules at the beginning of the post.
Tag eight people, posting their names and links to their sites. (I'm not going to do that - if anyone wants to play, feel free. If you don't, don't.)
Leave comments at the sites you’ve tagged, letting them know that they have been tagged and asking them to read your blog.
So here we go - eight things you didn't need (or want) to know about me:
1. I've never had an operation under general anaesthetic. In fact, I can count my hospital visits on the fingers of one hand: the first was to get a piece of grit removed from my eye as a teenager, the second was to see how badly I'd damaged my ankle playing football (it turned out to be a strained ligament), the third was to see whether I'd broken my nose playing football (notice a theme here? I hadn't, just burst it open quite spectacularly), the fourth was to see if I'd broken my ribs playing football (I hadn't, they were just bruised) and the fifth was when I had my toenail removed by a doctor who gave me a single local anaesthetic injection. Please note that I was touching wood and crossing my fingers whilst I wrote that answer.
2. The longest I've lived in one house is seven years, when my parents and I (and for three of those years Baby Brother) lived in a small cottage in the countryside near Montrose. I took a drive down there on the way home from work a couple of weeks ago and it hasn't changed at all in the intervening 20 years.
3. The most keepie-uppies I have ever done with a football without it bouncing on the ground is 120. At the end of the session, my legs were exhausted and I'd moved about 10 metres in the time it took, which was probably about five minutes. So I can't begin to fathom how Martinho Eduardo Orige managed to keep a ball in the air for 19-and-a-half hours.
4. I've visited seven of the eight Australian States and Territories, including the Australian Capital Territory and Tasmania. Mrs Wife (then known as Miss Girlfriend) and I didn't make it to the Northern Territory because of an unfortunate incident with an exploding car engine that cost us $2,500 to fix.
5. I can lick my nose and wiggle my ears. But not at the same time.
6. Whilst at university I worked as a security guard, a kitchen porter and as a journalist for a Premier League football team.
7. My favourite alcoholic drink is Cointreau, lime and lemonade. Which is probably the least masculine drink that one can order at any bar in Scotland.
8. I'm allergic to cats and have a phobia of birds. Apart from that, I like animals.
The useless knowledge is listed below, but first we'd better keep things proper by explaining the rools:
Write a post enumerating eight facts/habits about yourself. Include the rules at the beginning of the post.
Tag eight people, posting their names and links to their sites. (I'm not going to do that - if anyone wants to play, feel free. If you don't, don't.)
Leave comments at the sites you’ve tagged, letting them know that they have been tagged and asking them to read your blog.
So here we go - eight things you didn't need (or want) to know about me:
1. I've never had an operation under general anaesthetic. In fact, I can count my hospital visits on the fingers of one hand: the first was to get a piece of grit removed from my eye as a teenager, the second was to see how badly I'd damaged my ankle playing football (it turned out to be a strained ligament), the third was to see whether I'd broken my nose playing football (notice a theme here? I hadn't, just burst it open quite spectacularly), the fourth was to see if I'd broken my ribs playing football (I hadn't, they were just bruised) and the fifth was when I had my toenail removed by a doctor who gave me a single local anaesthetic injection. Please note that I was touching wood and crossing my fingers whilst I wrote that answer.
2. The longest I've lived in one house is seven years, when my parents and I (and for three of those years Baby Brother) lived in a small cottage in the countryside near Montrose. I took a drive down there on the way home from work a couple of weeks ago and it hasn't changed at all in the intervening 20 years.
3. The most keepie-uppies I have ever done with a football without it bouncing on the ground is 120. At the end of the session, my legs were exhausted and I'd moved about 10 metres in the time it took, which was probably about five minutes. So I can't begin to fathom how Martinho Eduardo Orige managed to keep a ball in the air for 19-and-a-half hours.
4. I've visited seven of the eight Australian States and Territories, including the Australian Capital Territory and Tasmania. Mrs Wife (then known as Miss Girlfriend) and I didn't make it to the Northern Territory because of an unfortunate incident with an exploding car engine that cost us $2,500 to fix.
5. I can lick my nose and wiggle my ears. But not at the same time.
6. Whilst at university I worked as a security guard, a kitchen porter and as a journalist for a Premier League football team.
7. My favourite alcoholic drink is Cointreau, lime and lemonade. Which is probably the least masculine drink that one can order at any bar in Scotland.
8. I'm allergic to cats and have a phobia of birds. Apart from that, I like animals.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Well Well Well
As the sun was beating down last Wednesday and Mrs Wife's parents were visiting Dungroanin' for the first time, it seemed like a good idea to take a walk up Glenesk to the Queen's Well.
It was a wonderful drive up the Glen, where my family lived for five of my teenage years, with the unseasonably warm sunshine allowing the scenery to look its best.
Upon arrival at Invermark, at the top of Glenesk, we decided to head straight for the Queen's Well, which is roughly 2.5 miles from the car park.
The only problem was that I was a tad hazy on the direction to take, as I hadn't visited the well since I was at primary school, and that wasn't yesterday.
So, our little party, accompanied by the in-laws' Scotty dog Islay, set out past Invermark Castle. Which, after five minutes of walking, I was fairly sure was the wrong path. Nevertheless, we kept on going, eventually arriving at the head of Loch Lee with its now dilapidated cemetery.
Having caught our breath and taken in the view, we returned to Invermark, having taken around an hour for the round trip.
Then, having found the correct path towards the Queen's Well, we set off again.
They say that only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun - well, we're all Scottish, but we certainly felt the heat as we continued ever onwards towards the Queen's Well - never quite sure that we were on the right road this second time around, as you can't see the well until you are less than half a mile from it.
But eventually, hot and weary, we reached our goal. The Queen's Well was built to commemorate a visit by Queen Victoria in 1861, the year of Prince Albert's death. Apparently the Queen stopped at the well for a drink, which she reportedly found "most refreshing", and a 6m high stone crown was erected in her honour.
So, after spending about 10 minutes taking photos of the well, we headed back to the car, having hiked 7 miles in the baking heat.
Which I think more than compensates for the fact that I didn't play football at all last week.
As you can see from the photograph on the right, neither me nor Mrs Wife died during the lengthy walk - in fact, I would say that we look quite perky for having undertaken such a lengthy walk in the sun.
Islay struggled a bit more though - it must be tough being a foot high and having a thick black coat in that heat.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Dazed and Confused, Battered and Bruised
I think my body is in shock from the recent resurrection in my exercise levels.
My hamstrings and knees are both grumbling after I played football twice today, and I think that my problem toenails will probably resurface in the near future. I don't blame them - if I were an inch long and 15-stone men spent an hour kicking me, I'd complain as well.
To compound today's injuries, I blocked a belter of a goal-bound shot, which I estimate must have been travelling at around 50mph, with my face. As a result, my jaw feels like it has moved a couple of inches backwards.
So it's a fine line between enjoying a game of football and spending the best part of an hour wandering around a rectangular patch of astroturf in a semi-concussed daze.
In fact, I think I must be delirious - as I write this, Celtic are holding AC Milan to a goalless draw in the San Siro.....
My hamstrings and knees are both grumbling after I played football twice today, and I think that my problem toenails will probably resurface in the near future. I don't blame them - if I were an inch long and 15-stone men spent an hour kicking me, I'd complain as well.
To compound today's injuries, I blocked a belter of a goal-bound shot, which I estimate must have been travelling at around 50mph, with my face. As a result, my jaw feels like it has moved a couple of inches backwards.
So it's a fine line between enjoying a game of football and spending the best part of an hour wandering around a rectangular patch of astroturf in a semi-concussed daze.
In fact, I think I must be delirious - as I write this, Celtic are holding AC Milan to a goalless draw in the San Siro.....
Monday, March 05, 2007
Joining in
Joining organisations seems to be a long and laborious process nowadays.
In the past week, Mrs Wife and I have joined the local cinema and the local gym. On both occasions, we have been asked for more identification than when entering Vietnam on tourist visas four years ago.
What I can't understand is why the cinema really needed to see two separate forms of ID and proof of our bank's address before they would let us join - they made us pay the first month up front by debit card, so even if we had provided them with false details, they could easily have cancelled the memberships without any cost to themselves.
Neither joining the cinema nor the gym was made any easier by the fact that our applications were handled by monsyallabic cretins who seemed to spend as much time remembering how to put their left foot in front of their right as they did sorting out the simple process of handing us pieces of laminated card.
Still, all is now well, and more of our money is now being channelled away each month in the name of leisure pursuits. Returning to the east coast, and to an area where recreactional facilities are available far more readily than in Argyll, has led to a sudden rise in expenditure for both myself and Mrs Wife - in the past week, I have spent more than 12 pounds simply to play football.
But hey, it's all good - the new, lithe Groanin' Jock is on his way!
In the past week, Mrs Wife and I have joined the local cinema and the local gym. On both occasions, we have been asked for more identification than when entering Vietnam on tourist visas four years ago.
What I can't understand is why the cinema really needed to see two separate forms of ID and proof of our bank's address before they would let us join - they made us pay the first month up front by debit card, so even if we had provided them with false details, they could easily have cancelled the memberships without any cost to themselves.
Neither joining the cinema nor the gym was made any easier by the fact that our applications were handled by monsyallabic cretins who seemed to spend as much time remembering how to put their left foot in front of their right as they did sorting out the simple process of handing us pieces of laminated card.
Still, all is now well, and more of our money is now being channelled away each month in the name of leisure pursuits. Returning to the east coast, and to an area where recreactional facilities are available far more readily than in Argyll, has led to a sudden rise in expenditure for both myself and Mrs Wife - in the past week, I have spent more than 12 pounds simply to play football.
But hey, it's all good - the new, lithe Groanin' Jock is on his way!
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Back in action
Very soon, dear readers, I will be unveiling a new, lean, mean footballing Groanin' Jock to the world.
My fitness levels have steadily crept downwards since I left school eight and a half years ago, and I had feared they would never be recovered.
My time in Argyll did not help, as I was in a tiny town where few people played football, and those who did played on Saturdays, generally when I was working. The constant rain didn't exactly encourage me to head out for a run or a cycle either.
But now, back in home territory and working in the city, I find myself practically fending off offers to play football and recapture that lost magic.
In the past two days, I have played two hours of football - more than I had played in the previous two months. Next week, I am line to double that amount - so the weight will be dropping off in no time.
Now I just need to remember whether I can play the game as well as I can talk it.....
My fitness levels have steadily crept downwards since I left school eight and a half years ago, and I had feared they would never be recovered.
My time in Argyll did not help, as I was in a tiny town where few people played football, and those who did played on Saturdays, generally when I was working. The constant rain didn't exactly encourage me to head out for a run or a cycle either.
But now, back in home territory and working in the city, I find myself practically fending off offers to play football and recapture that lost magic.
In the past two days, I have played two hours of football - more than I had played in the previous two months. Next week, I am line to double that amount - so the weight will be dropping off in no time.
Now I just need to remember whether I can play the game as well as I can talk it.....
Friday, January 12, 2007
At a loose end
With Mrs Wife now working over on the east coast and Groanin' Jock stuck without the Jockmobile over in the wet west, I am alone this weekend and unsure how to fill what seems like my first work and commitment-free weekend in years.
The weather forecast isn't promising, which leads me to the conclusion that any activity I do undertake will be indoors.
Although Mrs Wife and I bought bikes last summer, and I have enough waterproof equipment to ensure I survive a day of physical cycle-based activity, the bikes are at the back of the shed, behind a mountain of possessions moved from indoors to help make Groanin' Towers appear less cluttered when potential purchasers visit.
Therefore, I am not inclined to delve into this gardening tools graveyard in an attempt to rescue the bike.
So I guess it's a weekend of computer games, music, football on the TV and DVDs for me.
It's a hard life....
The weather forecast isn't promising, which leads me to the conclusion that any activity I do undertake will be indoors.
Although Mrs Wife and I bought bikes last summer, and I have enough waterproof equipment to ensure I survive a day of physical cycle-based activity, the bikes are at the back of the shed, behind a mountain of possessions moved from indoors to help make Groanin' Towers appear less cluttered when potential purchasers visit.
Therefore, I am not inclined to delve into this gardening tools graveyard in an attempt to rescue the bike.
So I guess it's a weekend of computer games, music, football on the TV and DVDs for me.
It's a hard life....
Monday, December 04, 2006
The Norse god of Lager vents his fury
Some of you may have noticed that there was no new post on this here website yesterday.
This is because I was ill - with one of those mysterious '24-hour bugs' that affect people who have consumed large quantities of lager the previous evening.
Yes, after about 18 months without a hangover, I finally pushed my body too far.
Thus, my day of rest was largely a washout. Except that I had to play football for my work's five-a-side team. Which meant driving through 80mph gales and horizontal rain for an hour, running around almost non-stop for 40 minutes with a splitting headache, enduring a 13-3 defeat, and driving back again through worsening conditions.
Let's just say I've had better days!
This is because I was ill - with one of those mysterious '24-hour bugs' that affect people who have consumed large quantities of lager the previous evening.
Yes, after about 18 months without a hangover, I finally pushed my body too far.
Thus, my day of rest was largely a washout. Except that I had to play football for my work's five-a-side team. Which meant driving through 80mph gales and horizontal rain for an hour, running around almost non-stop for 40 minutes with a splitting headache, enduring a 13-3 defeat, and driving back again through worsening conditions.
Let's just say I've had better days!
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