Tuesday 27 January 2009

Friday Angels

I should of course have been doing this every Friday but nothing is ever simple in my life. So for those out there who have been my Angels and kindly supported my efforts to raise money for Epilepsy Action as I train for the Flora London Marathon - here's an excuse to Google yourself!!!

Cathrine Harrison - seriously good lass and very dedicated PR!
Jim Darrah - never mess with this man, a hero and great support!
Great Aunt Alice - come on would you quibble with a GREAT Aunt???
Rhiannon Spurgeon - this lass is in training for the Bath Half Marathon (Go for it girl!)
Mauro Marenghi - ad sales extrordinaire
Malory Davies - as close to God as they get ( well he IS my editor!)
Will & Anna-Liisa Gaze - Best Brunch in Suffolk!
Susan Lewis of NR Evans - Operational Support Manager of a seriously good logistics firm (which just happens to have a head office close to Carmarthen in Wales where my Nan used to live - see it's ever such a small world really!)
Peter & Sue James - a magical Godfather and pretty special person (and Sue too!)
Gert & Elizabeth Stern - too generous by half!
Charles Mesquita - well what can I say? He's my bestest mate

OK Money raised so far a whopping £414 only £4586 to go....and then of course I have to run as well. Ever onwards, ever upwards...


Monday 26 January 2009

Looking like something the cat sicked up…

When I next manage to go out running I am going to look like something the cat sicked up. And I will do this voluntarily. I will walk out of the house knowing exactly what I look like, which will be seen by my mother as a step in the right direction, as I have never been known to check what I look like before leaving the forgiving environs of my own home.
In fact I have never been known to check what I look like even within my own home, as for many years my dressing mirror was obscured by a huge pile of pictures waiting to be hung on the walls. It wasn’t until recently when the walls were ready for pictures to grace them that I remembered there was a looking glass in my dressing room. It came as quite a shock, I can tell you. I could not figure out who the slightly crazed apparition was before me, I couldn’t remember having a portrait of my Grandmother and then it dawned on me that I was looking at myself – a far cry from the image I had been carrying around in my mind all these years. That had been of a more youthful version, less grey, slightly firmer round the jaw, more defined. I’d like to say that when I finally brushed the dust off the mirror I was all I ever was, but reality, like bright mirrors, is harsh.
However, I digress, despite the changes wrought in me over the years, there are many who can verify that I don’t look like cat sick on a daily basis. No, the reason why I will be looking highly dubious, is that The Boy and The Littlest feel I need to be seen. I need to be violently seen or seen violently. To be honest anyone who does see me will attest to the violence of the apparition that will be me. I just hope I won’t be the cause too many accidents for that is the whole reason why the Boys are determined Mum will be seen.
They have just watched a video all about The Girl Who Didn't Dress Bright in the Dark part of the Government’s road safety campaign this winter and having worked out that they have plenty of bright stuff to be seen in it has dawned on them that their erstwhile parent goes out training for the Flora London Marathon dressed head to toe in black.
Now, the whole point of running attire is that it is black, or at least a dark colour, because that is what is the MOST flattering for the majority of us who run. Come off it, not all of us are built like whippets especially those who have only just taken up the call. I mean there have to be some perks as you abase yourself publicly on the open road. In fact I have taken to silently saluting the courage, chutzpah and well, just down right grit of all those ladies young and old I note jogging round Stowmarket and its environs – J-Lo eat your heart out the booty on these sisters is magnificent to behold!
Having raided my drawers, chests, cupboards, and an unending variety of boxes, bags and other interesting receptacles in the hunt for things eye wateringly bright the boys settled on an array of garments and accessories that when added together look like something the cat sicked up and I am going to have to wear it. The things I am doing to raise money for my charity Epilepsy Action I am beginning to feel are beyond the call of duty...
The violence of the ensemble would make even Vivienne Westwood pale. Upon my head is an old red cycling bandanna appliqued with day glo yellow pom poms left over from my Parent Trumping Christmas Card making blitz last year, this is teamed by an awe inspiring, and again day glo yellow, oversize jumper with 1980’s string vest top twist also in day glo yellow and adorned with silver stripes both front and back. My once pristine Nike trainers have been customised with pink sparkly pom poms tied to the laces. Around each cuff I have old bicycle lights, which I am told, most seriously, I will have to have switched to intermittent flash for the best protection. My worry is not for myself anymore but to other poor innocent road users…luckily though I have yet to recover sufficiently from the dreaded lurgy to launch myself upon an unwitting audience - take heed now they won't let me incarcerated for long however much I cough!

Tuesday 13 January 2009

Is it Ok to PANIC?

At what point is it perfectly acceptable to panic? At the moment of realisation, at the dawning of comprehension or when it’s too late to do anything about it?
I am not quite sure where I am on that scale but there is a burgeoning sense of panic starting at the pit of my stomach and rising. It is causing a slight jittery feeling and making me feel, well frankly nauseous for much of the day and no it is NOT the Winter Sickness Bug – would that it were.
I am becoming concerned about the fact that I have committed myself to run in The Flora London Marathon and my training seems to be going backwards. When I started I was able to bumble along quite happily running 6 miles in an hour but despite training – throughout Christmas – I have got steadily slower. In fact if I continue this way I will only just be finishing when they start next years!
I try to get the thought out of my mind but like all semi-apocalyptic contemplation it won’t go away. It manifests itself in my dreams, interrupting traditional nightmares from being chased by unspecified horror to the realisation that the horror is the least of my worries and the problem is I will never get any faster and said horror shoots past leaving me somewhat deflated in it’s wake.
The thought stalks my day, turning the innocent school run into a potential half marathon circuit if only I weren’t in my car; my coffee break into a test run of trying to drink and keep moving at the same time - a feat I am assured is easier to do when the liquid you are drinking isn’t scalding hot.
Good grief even the washing is turning into a marathon but that’s possibly because it’s now on epic proportions as I was too lazy to do any over the holiday and now we’ve run out of sheets, towels and other minor necessities such as school uniform, pants and socks.
I suspect that my worries are unfounded or maybe even that I am not actually focused on the things where I should have concern such as the fact that I promised to raise £5,000 for Epilepsy Action as part of the marathon ordeal.
Perhaps the real issue of the day is fact that I have yet to start doing my tax return…excuse me I think I need to PANIC!!!

Go on you know you want to...


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