Merry Christmas?

I'm not so sure this year. It just hasn't felt like Christmas at all, despite the endless snow. It's the first year in a long time I haven't spent two weeks working solidly over Christmas - I was on night shift instead for three days. Coupled with the lack of decorations in my house due to the ongoing, er, decorating, there was a distinct lack of festive spirit.

I won't expatiate on Christmas day, it involved driving home from work in the morning, opening a couple of presents, sanding the bedroom doors, sleeping through the day and going to work again in the evening.

Boxing Day started off a little more exciting with the good intentions of going for a ride. It was a daring plan considering the still hazardous icy conditions on the roads. It's possibly my shortest ride ever and was brought to an abrupt halt at the end of my street with a loud "thunk". At least I think it was a thunk; it's that noise you and your bike make as you go from upright to horizontal in the space of a nanosecond, that strange clinking/thud sound, a "thunk". So it was back to the house for more DIY.

No work tonight so I hit the DIY hard all day. Well, at least until I set the carpet on fire with the paint stripper; I read somewhere once that in terms of driving and performing manual tasks, being awake for 24 hours has the same affect on thought processes and reaction times as being twice over the legal drink/drive limit. I can with some authority now say that that is indeed true. I put the tools away.

Glass of wine and a very early night for me...

10 Things Not To Do With a Broken Rib

After some extensive research over the last couple of months, all in the name of medical advancement of course, I've been compiling the definitive list of top ten things not to do with a broken rib. Some of these things have been stumbled upon in the course of everyday life, others have been pursued purely to benefit humankind so that others in a similar state of disrepair will not attempt such acts.

So, here it is, MountainBikeGirl's Top Ten Things Not To Do With a Broken Rib:
10) Get up, finish the lap and work for the following 2 days at a bike race - this will just extend the period of adrenaline fuelled painlessness and will ultimately compound the inevitable discomfort experienced when finally the 'morning after' arrives.

9) Paint the landing ceiling. This can and does in fact include painting any ceiling. I don't know why I thought painting the bathroom ceiling would be any less painful than painting the landing ceiling, or the stairwell, because it isn't.

8) Clear out the loft. Frustrated at not being able to paint anything or do DIY, it seemed like a good time to clear out the loft - because obviously pushing heavy boxes up through a small gap in the ceiling whilst hanging onto a ladder is totally different to painting the ceiling. I can now state with a certain amount of fact that these two seemingly very different tasks do actually involve similar movements of the rib cage and upper body muscle usage and both result in rib pain.

7) Rearrange the shed. Defeated in my attempt to clear out the loft, there was only one thing left to do - tidy up the shed, something I've been meaning to do for 18 months. Why would this be a problem? There's no reaching or stretching, hardly any upper body movement at all, it's just moving some old paint tins surely. No. My shed is full of bikes, boxes and cumbersome items. Moving anything, even slightly, involved a one-footed, unbalanced stretch to reach the intended item, whilst holding on to an unstable, precariously placed object exactly an arm and a fingernails length away. Once again this task was rapidly abandoned in the now familiar pose of right arm dangling and left hand holding rib.

6) Go Trail-Blazing. Quite often the event work involves finding new bits of trail or course to use. Nervous of riding anyway I was quite happy to get off and walk down anything I was unsure of. Sadly this was made all the more difficult by using a new set of pedals that aren't 100% compatible with SPD cleats whilst riding over rough, boggy grassland. I persevered until the fourth 'stuck in my pedals' fall, which also happened to be the first time I fell to the broken rib side, and called it a day. Sometimes, it's just not worth it.

5) Chopping down trees/machete work. Although I'm naturally a lefty, I'm distinctly more accurate with a machete when using my right hand. This means that a branch or sapling that would normally take 3 or 4 attacks using my right hand, takes about twice as many using my left - obviously resulting in more upper body work and more rib movement. So, do you take the chance and do less work with the more accurate but damaged side, or more work with the less accurate, intact side? Answer: play the "I'm just a girl" card and get a bloke to do it for you...

4) Lift metal crowd barriers onto the back of a truck. You'd have thought by now I'd have figured out the whole 'heavy-lifting, stretching, moving' combo was a no-no. It's amazing how an injury like this makes you aware of how much work your ribs and core are always doing.

3) Get a two-wheel drive quad stuck in 3ft of mud with no tow rope of any kind, in the middle of a forest, miles from the arena with no radios or mobile phones, just as it's getting dark with two escape options: a) I stay in the woods by myself in the dark with the quad while Paul takes the other quad to go and get help, or b) I drive the other quad back to get help, taking a route that either involves lying on the floor for 20 minutes with my hand up a gate post trying to undo the stiffest padlock in the world or taking a tricky off-road route and lifting two sets of Harris fencing out of the way. I tried both, after 20 minutes and huge amounts of shouting and swearing I gave up on the padlock and risked the unknown route. Over an hour later I arrived back with a tow rope and within 5 minutes the quad was free and we were all heading home.

2) Mow a 4ft high, uneven "lawn" covered in sticks and twigs with a flymo. Less of a flymo on this occasion, more of a liftmo - with me having to hold it in mid-air to get it to cut the grass whilst skimming over the covering of sticks left over from cutting down the 60ft Ash tree earlier this year. After 3 hours I'd managed to cut an 8ft square patch in the middle, the edges would have to wait, another few months wouldn't hurt and cutting the lawn twice a year is more than enough in my eyes!

And finally, the number one thing not to do with a broken rib:
1) Attempt to walk the full 180 mile length of the Offa's Dyke Trail in 6 days. Never has my body experienced such complete and utter shut down in a final and crippling statement of defiance. It had had enough. It was barely coping with what I'd been asking it to do for the last 5 weeks and this was just a step too far, literally. I'd made it through the first day, 30 miles carrying a full pack, but had started feeling dizzy and light headed towards the end. I put it down to not eating and drinking enough and was sure I'd be fine in the morning. I wasn't, nausea and blurred vision put an abrupt halt to the epic adventure after just 9 miles. I sobbed as Tony and the lads walked off into the distance and I promptly collapsed in a heap by the side of the road in Pandy - pale, shaking and weak with a throbbing pain in my rib. "So there!" my body screamed at me, "I tried to warn you, you wouldn't listen, and now look at the lengths you've driven me to." Fair point I suppose.

So there you have it, 10 things that you really, really shouldn't try and do with a broken rib, and if you do, don't say you haven't been warned. But I hope my research hasn't been in vain and if this blog post makes just one person think twice about attempting any of these tasks, then my suffering will have been worth it. Stay safe out there kids... ;-)

Absence

Well, I've been away a while and what a 7 weeks it has been! There have been plenty of visits to muddy fields for mountain bike races and venue recces, I've been up and down and backwards and forwards across the country, sent hundreds of emails and made dozens of phone calls to strangers.

I've started a new job; I've run my first mountain bike event and launched Britain's first 100 mile mountain bike race; I attempted to walk Offa's Dyke and failed miserably (more on that at some point) and had a sense of humour failure getting a quad bike stuck in 3ft of mud in the middle of nowhere at sunset.

Then there have been those surreal moments, like having an 8 hour conversation that finished at sunrise with somebody I barely knew. I spent a day at the Victoria and Albert Museum looking at 400 year old works of art; I saw Rowan Atkinson play Fagin (with a hint of Mr Bean) in Oliver! in Drury Lane, laughed a lot and sang every word of every song. I didn't go to Mountain Mayhem. That's right, I didn't go to Mayhem, for the first time in 9 years.

Sadly, the one thing I haven't done is ride my bike. Partly due to a rib that simply refused to stop hurting, but also I haven't had the time or motivation. I'm not in love with mountain biking at the moment. The fates have joined forces against me and I'm just not having a good year.

I've had this feeling before though, not just with mountain biking, but all the sports I've played throughout life and I find it's better just to give it a rest for a while and do other things. The feeling of wanting to go for a ride soon comes back. Trying to force a ride at this stage, knowing I'm not fit, that I'm not going to enjoy it and I'd rather be doing other things, is futile and will ultimately make me less motivated to ride and prolong the down time.

So it's a while longer off the bike for me, for no other reason than I don't fancy it. But as Dodger once said "I'll be back sooooon!"

Finished!!

Finally! After all these months and months and months of waiting for work to finally finish, it has! And I'm so happy and relieved and excited and cheerful and stress free and I'm really looking forward to my Summer now.

It's been an odd few days though, both before and after the leaving do (obviously, things never go smoothly around here). It started with a shopping trip on Thursday morning with Jodie to get new outfits for the leaving do Friday night. We both hate shopping, I really hate shopping in London, and to top it off it was raining. We were both doing surprisingly well until what will now and forever more be known at 'the Diesel incident'. I was trying on a pair of jeans in Diesel that turned out to be far too tight. Peeling the ridiculous tight pair of trousers back down my legs to my ankles I stumbled... out of the cubicle into the shop, banging my thigh on the handle. The young, male shop assistant looked stunned to say the least - and Jodie burst out laughing. I left in haste. I didn't really want a pair of jeans anyway.

Friday was the last day. I have to wonder how many P45s have been handed out amongst cheers, hugs, rounds of applause and popping champagne corks? Ours were. It was brilliant. Champagne. Lunch. Champagne. Lunch, again(?!) Champagne reception. Pub. Champagne. Champagne. More Champagne. (And I really have to say thanks to the guys at Green Media for a considerable amount of the champagne - there are some true gents out there ;-) I also have to say a really massive thank you to Nick Blackham, one of my managers, for being an absolutely top bloke over the last couple of months, and for some of the champagne on Friday. I couldn't have done it without him.

Not surprisingly, Saturday started with a hangover, and in fact ended with a hangover. (Note to self: don't drink that much champagne again in one day, it's just not worth it.)

Sunday should have been race day but I had a rather niggly shopping injury (see above) which meant my thigh went 'twang' on the first hill of the first practice lap at the first round of the Midlands XC series. So I spent the day soaking up the sun, with the odd bit of roving marshalling and course work.

Tomorrow I start my new life as an unemployed person, or should that be full time event organiser/consultant? Or maybe full time cyclists? Maybe I should call it a sabbatical? I'll have to have a think over the next couple of weeks whilst I'm finishing doing up my first house. It all feels really weird. I've been waiting for this for ages but now I can't get my head around it. Not that I'm going to have too much time to think about with the sheer amount of work I have to do over the next few weeks. I'm sure the time will fly by though. But, that time starts first thing tomorrow morning. Can't wait!!

I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here!

What a lovely weekend: relaxing mornings; fresh coffee; some tidying up; some DIY; tasty lunches; productive afternoons on the computer; freshly cooked, homemade dinners; stress free evenings listening to music answering emails and tidying up the desktop; early nights. This is a life I could get used to, and I so easily slipped into it. I even managed to get an Easter ride in and treat myself to a Cadbury's Buttons Easter Egg.

Just three more days of work left and then I can take it easy for the Summer. I should even have time to work through my things to do list whilst finishing off the house and taking long rides in the sunshine. I'm so excited to finally be finishing this chapter of my life and starting the next one - and I've only got a few days to wait!

Life is already better and care free. There was industrial action on the trains today and though I'd made a special effort to get to the station early, I still had to wait half an hour. I didn't care. The train was packed with Easter day trippers, I couldn't sit down. I didn't care. The exit barriers were too busy and I kept getting rammed in my ankles by pushchairs. But I just didn't care. Traffic in central London was chaos. Oh well, I didn't care. I sat at one set of traffic lights on Shaftsbury Avenue for almost 15 minutes - traffic wasn't moving and an ambulance was trying to get through, even though his lights were flashing and his siren was on, there was one female driver who would rather sit at the front of the queue doing her makeup instead of pulling forward out of the way and lose her hard fought place in traffic. At this point I did care. I wanted to find a large blunt object and throw it through the window, hitting her on the head and scarring her just above the beautifully mascara'ed eyes, so that she would never do her makeup in traffic again, and would pay more attention to the emergency services around her. (Not that I spent every second of the 15 minutes thinking about this you understand, I seem to have a gift for instantaneous creation of mythical scenarios - particularly if they're on the slightly evil side.) The rest of the day was delightful and care free.

Roll on next weekend!
(And yes, I did spend an afternoon on the sofa watching Annie. Admittedly it only just makes it into my Top Ten favourite musicals, mainly because of the annoying little ginger kid, but it has its good points and there are worse things than snuggling up on the sofa with a steaming hot cup of tea, an Easter Egg and a feel good musical.)

Happy (Belated) St David's Day!

Okay, so I'm a week late, but due to my cultural ignorance (and the fact there aren't hundreds of Welsh people pub crawling around London on their national day unlike SOME nationalities, thank god) I wouldn't have realised if it hadn't been for a jovial young walker shouting it to me across a windy hillside last weekend.

I'd decided to pop down to the Crickhowell Walking Festival to drop off some leaflets for the Slick 'n Knobbly Cycling Festival. A three hour drive on a Sunday morning after a night shift is never a brilliant idea but I arrived in the morning sunshine feeling rather spritely. My target for the day was Pen Cerrig-calch at a mere 701m, dropping down back to Crickhowell via Table Mountain. Every time I've been to Glanusk Estate I've seen the Darren Crag looming high on the hillside and I couldn't resist it any longer - I was there, it was there. Why not?

I decided on the indirect route starting at the Information Centre heading out west on the Beacons Way, then going off track turning straight up the hill to the west of the rocky out crop and skirting round to the saddle to join up with the path again. The ponies on the ridge were a nice surprise. The wind wasn't, nor was the exposure. Even though the sun was shining and the sky was blue, snow still lay in hollows on the northern slopes and the biting wind reminded me it was still only March.

Finally I reached the trig point and time for a quick self-timed snap. Then a sharp exit south east to get out of the wind, heading straight for Table Mountain with Sugar Loaf as the oh so familiar landmark in the distance (that one's for another day). Three hours and 8 miles or so later I was back in town, content with my first solo jaunt into the hills in many years. I need to do some more of that. Excellent training for my Summer epic on Offa's Dyke with Tony though - can't wait!

Monday was similar with a gentle 4 mile wander on one of the Festival's organised walks around Grwyne Fawr reservoir with another 20 or so walkers. For £4 we had a guided walk up along one of the old railway lines to the dam and back down the other side, with a brief history lesson at the start about the navvys who lived in the temporary village, the railway lines and the building of the dam. All making for a rather pleasant Monday.

More photos available on my flickr page.

Plumbers Squashed!

This was the scene in my bathroom the other night. It wasn't pretty. All I can say is, it's a bloody good job they'd decided the bath needed to be raised or I might have an accidental permanent resident by now! (Sorry Mark ;-)

To be fair, everybody put in a fantastic few days work - electricians, plumbers and poor old Paul, who used to be the plasterer but has now turned into a builder, chippy, painter and tea boy. It's funny to think that if I wasn't a mountain biker, none of this would be happening; I'd never have met Paul at Mountain Mayhem and would never have taken on such a renovation project without his help, advice and contacts.

So after some longs days, a lot of hard work and a fair amount of head scratching, things are moving along nicely. With any luck it should be finished within a few weeks and then I can sit back and relax for a bit. Well, actually, when I say 'sit back and relax' what I actually mean is instead of spending every spare minute doing DIY, I should actually be able to find time to ride my bike, socialise, have some adventures, tidy up the website and get on with the little project I'm doing next year - in between ridiculously long working days.

Actually, I might stretch the DIY out a bit longer - it sounds much easier than doing the other stuff!

Not very exciting...

This week, I will mostly be working. In fact, I'll be working so much, that the working time directive has told me I have to take a lunch break every day. So I'm listening to these words of wisdom and have decided to put the enforced break time to good use - I went for a run. It was only a short run because I haven't been for a run for about 2 years. But it's a start. And in the absence of any riding possibilities, it's better than nothing.

Working time directives suck. Enforced break time is painful. I'd much rather sit in my chair watching afternoon television drinking cups of tea. But I'm not allowed. So tomorrow I shall don my running gear once again, and head a little further down Old River Thames (that's assuming that I can walk obviously). It's no real hardship though as I'm having to shower at work anyway (see the post below ;-)

Running time today: 25 mins

This week, I 'ave mostly...

... been demolishing my bathroom:


To this:



No, I'm not making an en-suite, but I am making it bigger. Fortunately Paul Davis was here to help - though why he wouldn't let me loose on the wall with a huge hammer I don't know! (Secretly I think he was really enjoying it, I mean how often do you just get to totally demolish something and take out all your aggression using a really big hammer without any consequences?)

Also rather fortunately, Paul is an excellent plasterer. After the initial hiccup of cutting off a large cast-iron pipe in the middle of the new bathroom, to find that the tap had stopped working many years ago and I had a lovely trickling water feature in the middle of the room (with nothing but my beautiful, brand new kitchen ceiling and halogen spotlights stopping the water dripping right through to the new kitchen), the walls were knocked out, new walls built and Paul set about plastering the whole room.

I still don't have a bathroom, that's being done next week. But I do have a larger, newly plastered room. I now have to go out and buy all of the things that constitute a bathroom, and that is a very, very, long list. Somehow I have to do this whilst working double shifts every day next week. I feel some serious internet shopping coming on... to be continued...

Motivation

Sometimes I find it hard to get out of bed and go and do something. This morning I found it hard not to get into bed and do nothing (the first night shift will do that to you). I didn't last long. An early start yesterday and a trip across the country for a meeting with Epic Cycles in Tenbury meant by mid-morning today I'd already been awake for 30 hours. Sleep was needed. Sleep is good.

It seems I'm not the only one lacking motivation at the moment either. Work is in chaos and showing no signs of improvement. I won't go into full details but the brief background is my department was outsourced last year and a plan started to relocate in June 2008 - missed that deadline. The relocation to Chiswick involves working somewhere nobody wants to work, doing a job nobody wants to do, working for a company nobody wants to work for. So much so that in this current climate of economical turmoil and unemployment, most staff are actually thinking of leaving. (They're offering us a 'finders bonus' if we recommend a new member of staff for God's sake!)

So with this in mind, and the fact that staff morale is similar to the FTSE100 (just when you think it can't go any lower, it drops a few more points) and stress levels at an all time high, (8 months ago we had 30 engineers running the place, now we have about 12) this was a scenario that came about the other day:

- The Vice-President of the company was standing with a group of managers at the new location. Deadlines are whizzing by like traffic on the M4 outside - you know it's there but it comes and goes without any real impact. A new deadline is approaching and, remembering everything I've just said, the VP comes out with these motivating, inspiring, pearls of management wisdom, "If we don't get this place up and running in two weeks, we're pulling the plug!"

Apparently the minor management were seen giggling in the corner and the staff let out a loud cheer; the biggest improvement in morale and staff solidarity that has been seen in many months. With this renewed vigour for the ailing project, they then went and put the kettle on...

I do love the people I work with sometimes.

Enough now... no really

September has not been my month. Whilst some of my friends have been clocking up hundreds of miles, having fantastic holidays and generally enjoying themselves. I haven't. It started well with a committed and determined start to a 30 in 30, and at times there were glimpses of the good life, but it didn't last for long.

My boiler was fixed after 5 visits from the gas man and 6 weeks without hot water. My radiator is leaking.

I sorted out the insulation in the loft. The fuse blew on the lights downstairs. The hallway light blew on the upstairs ring main - either downstairs lights with no lights as I came in and out of the house, or upstairs lights and cooking by the light of the hob.

My week of convalescing in the Lake District was all very pleasant with a good mountain walk or two; in dreary weather. My only ride of the week resulted in the biggest crash I've had in many years. A big, hard, fast crash. Bruised and scraped from my right shoulder down to my right knee, including my ribs. A good chunk out of my right elbow and a lump the size of a tennis ball with a rainbow coloured bruise on my hip. I hit my head and cracked my helmet. Fortunately Hyacinth, my Maverick ML7 only suffered superficial damage to her handlebars and brakelevers and a slightly buckled rear wheel. Fortunately her fall onto the jagged rocks was broken by my stunned and helpless body. Lucky her. I gave the Grizedale Mountain Bike Challenge a miss the following day.

Traffic on the way home on Sunday night was dreadful so I got back in the early hours of the morning to cram in a few hours sleep before an early start to some long days at work. A heavy schedule over the next few days, coupled with a repairing body, the continuing course of antibiotics and the damp from sleeping in a tent all week gave me a wrotten cold. I still have a wrotten cold.

On the way home from work on Friday various pedestrians, cyclists and drivers seemed determined to kill themselves and/or me, by completely ignoring every single line of the Highway Code and their common sense. My journey time home was doubled by roadworks and heavy traffic on the M1.

Ah, my front door by midnight. But no hallway light. Time for a shower. The shower head flew off and hit me on the forehead. I sighed. A deep, shoulder-dropping sigh. I looked around for someone to give me a hug, one of those "don't worry, everything's going to be alright soon petal now dry your eyes and be a big brave girl" hugs. There was nobody there. I sighed and put my head under the pathetic dribble of warm water that was coming from the remnants of my shower head.

One more long day at work and then a day off. I think I'm just going to curl up on the sofa and try not to hurt myself, break anything or burn the house down.

Bring on October, please...

Getting Better...

...in more ways than one. I seem to be on the mend, still another week of antibiotics to complete though but more importantly a variety of things have happened over the last couple of days to really turn my week around. I've changed my plans for next week as well. I've read many a classic novel which tells of Victorian ladies retiring to the countryside to convalesce. I shall be doing the same for most of the week with a camping trip to Beatrix Potter country; just me, some good books and some better wine.

On Friday I found the energy to have a complete spring clean of my bedroom, kitchen and lounge. The bedroom is now immaculate and I plan to keep it that way - a tidy house is a tidy mind as they say and I always feel a lot better when my bedroom is looking clean and tidy.

On Friday evening I found out registration is open for the 2009 Tour of Ireland, hurray! It's not often I get excited about entering an event but the Tour of Ireland is different, it's special - you just have to read my previous TOI blogs to find that out. I'll be entering it as soon as I get back from my holiday and it's really given me a kick to get back on the bike as soon as humanly possible and will be my motivation throughout the long, cold, winter months (I'm actually giggling with excitement about it).

Everything else just seemed to fall into place over the weekend and was topped off in style with a 20 minutes firework display on the way to work to mark the end of the Thames Festival. Now I'm not one to sing the praises of city living and I'm normally bleating on about how I can't wait to go and live in the countryside, but I have to say it's things like this that, just for a second, make me love London.

Bad Timing

Well I finally have to report that I have been beaten by the 30 in 30 challenge. Again! I've been putting it off for a couple of days in the vain hope that I would be able to pick it up again without anyone really noticing, but it wasn't to be. I'd made such a good start, even riding in the rain, even enjoying riding in the rain! I'd been eating well and only drinking moderately and had an excellent set of rides lined up for the following week. 30 in 30 was going to be positively joyful.

On Saturday I was supposed to do a race over near Windsor, but as my alarm went off at 6am I could barely drag myself out of bed and I didn't surface until 1pm - I still managed to squeeze in a ride though. (Who'd have thought early Friday nights out on the orange juice could take it out of you so much?!) By Saturday evening I really wasn't feeling great.

Sunday came and went and I barely moved from the sofa. Fast forward to around 4pm today and I'm doubled over in pain in the front seat of my car, mouth watering, head resting on the steering wheel and unable to focus. I managed to stumble across the car park and into the GP's surgery. A confirmed infection, some painkillers and two weeks worth of antibiotics prescribed. Still too light-headed to drive I was given a cup of tea and some biscuits. Forty-five minutes later I'd finally gained enough strength to make the drive home, and spent the rest of the day on the sofa.

Hopefully I'll be well enough to ride next week, though my motivation to ride, in fact my motivation to do anything at the moment, has completely gone. I'm well and truly fed up.

Balance

I'm a great believer in the natural balance of life. Similar to a commercial that was on TV a few years back, I believe that for everything good that happens, something equally bad will happen; for every high in life, there will be a low of equal proportion.

My life is full of fantastic experiences and exquisite moments of fun and happiness, there's never a dull moment. But it did take me a while to figure out that every time I was having loads of fun, at some point this would come crashing down and plummet to some very low places; 'heading for a fall' is a phrase I often hear. Still, you can't have the highs without the lows, so I wouldn't change it for all the world.

Anyway, I've digressed slightly and this philosophy stuff can all get a bit heavy. But the theory is also carried over to intelligence - for every moment of genius, there follows one of equal stupidity: my boiler broke down during the week and I didn't have any hot water. I called some plumbers and heating engineers and after 2 days none of them had returned my call. So I looked up the problem on the internet and within 15 minutes I'd saved myself a call-out charge and fixed the boiler. I also bled the radiators and balanced the system. Oooh, look at me! I was very pleased with my new found plumbing skills and carried a rather smug grin for the rest of the week.

Fast forward a couple of days to the morning of Saturday the 19th of July (i.e. today) and I jump in my car early this morning to drive to work. Turning out of my road I can't quite remember whether I normally take the main route or the windy back route to the A41 when I drive to work. As I drive down the road and join the A41 dual carriageway, the reason why I can't remember which route I normally take suddenly dawns on me: I don't actually take the A41 to work. I take the M1, which is on the other side of Hemel Hempstead. I was going the wrong way!

All local road knowledge abandoned me and it took a good twenty minutes to find the M1 and get on my way to work. I smiled to myself with the calm realisation of what had happened; my moment of boiler genius had been equalled by getting lost half a mile from my house and going the wrong way to work.

Balance has been restored.

Dogs Resemble Their Owners?

I'm dog sitting this week for my Mum who's gone on holiday. I'm actually dog sitting my dog Sox, at least he was my dog when I lived at home. Then I moved out and having a pet when you live on your own is quite difficult, so he stayed. But he's definitely still my dog.

People often say that dogs look like their owners and I've always thought this to be true in a majority of cases. I'm not sure whether Sox looks like me. He's a 16 year old Border Collie, so he's black and white but greying. He's also fairly rounded now thanks to foot & mouth a few years back when the dog walking field was closed. I'll try and get a picture at some point, you can judge for yourself.

But it has been said that he has my personality too. Again, I will let you judge for yourself:
1) When he's fed in the evening, he stands and looks at you with a "yeah, and..." look. Then promptly wanders off somewhere for a while and returns when he's hungry. He does things at his own pace, not when other people want him to.

2)He barks at everyone who comes to the door and will continue to growl at most people who make it into the house. It's only really some family members who can stroke him without him constantly growling with a mad look in his eyes. He doesn't do that thing where he shows his teeth and gets really upset, it's more of a low grumble growl, just to let you know he's tolerating your presence, but doesn't really like you.

3) When you tell him to go down the garden to do his business, he just lies down outside the back door. He lies there and watches you as you walk down to the bottom of the garden, and when you call his name he looks the other way. He certainly has the ignorance to back up his stubborn streak...

4) We thought he was going deaf due to his age. He's not. He's selectively deaf. And brilliantly so. Stand and call his name to get him in, or to send him out, or to move him from one room to another, in fact any kind of instruction, and he won't listen to you. But every single evening, when the truck pulls up outside my Mum's house, just before it pulls into the driveway, he barks. He can actually distinguish the sound of the truck arriving amongst all of the other traffic on the busy road. And he can hear the scraping of his food bowl as you pick it up off the floor. He can even hear the distinct tone in your voice during the word "Sox" that means 'come here I'm going to give you a treat'. He truly is ingenius.

5) Last, but by no means least, and the thing that I most admire about good old Sox, is his ability to hold a grudge. A 15 year grudge. 15 years! The story goes that 15 years ago, only a few months after we got him, there was an incident involving my 5 year old brother. We're not sure what, but they were both in the car, there was a yelp, a bark and then some screaming, then the dog ran off and hid. Sox had bitten my little brother on the cheek, narrowly missing his eye (personally I think he was provoked and was defending himself, but we'll never know. I know). He got the beating of his life as a punishment and never went near my brother again. My brother kept his distance too. It was only after about 10 years my brother could actually get within a foot of him without Sox growling and walking away. And still, to this very day, 15 years on, Sox will growl every single time my brother touches him. Now that's a grudge.

God I love that dog! And all his familiar quirks...

A Perfect Bank Holiday Monday?

So another bank holiday rolls around (aren’t there a lot in May?) and the dilemma of what to do. Actually it’s more like a quad-ilemma but I don’t think that’s a word, so we’ll go with double dilemma for now.

Option a) Cancel your leave and have a long lie in followed by a relaxing day at work with no office staff or managers around, take it easy, watch some TV and drink as much free tea and coffee as you can manage, get home around midnight then have another day off.
Aha? Interesting. It’s a possibility but it is still work. And it does mean travelling into central London on a Bank Holiday – there’s probably engineering works on the train line, replacement bus service, tourists everywhere etc etc and I hate all that!

Okay, option b) Don’t cancel your leave. Have a long lie in followed by a relaxing day on the sofa, eat what you want, watch want you want and listen to the rain pounding on the window from underneath your cosy, warm duvet. Just generally kick back, relax and take it easy.
Oooh! Like your thinking. Now that does sound like a good way to spend a Bank Holiday, because I am still ill obviously…
Well, obviously…
And that sounds like just the kind of thing I need – but I’ve been doing that for the last couple of days really and I’m a bit bored of it now.

I see your point, so how about option c) Go on a mountain bike holiday to the lovely Swiss alpine town of Verbier – take in the fresh mountain air, stay in a luxury chalet, drink lots of ice cold beer, ride great trails all week and just admire the views.
Hey! Now you’re talking! Just one problem – there was a slight error on my part when booking the flights and now they’re going to cost a fortune and I can’t really afford it at the moment because I do have a new bike to pay for…

Fair enough. So option d) Get up at 6am, drive 100 miles in the pouring rain and spend the day doing building trails on a steep, slippery, muddy hillside, hacking through shoulder high bracken and thistles, getting scratched by thorns, stung by nettles and give yourself blisters on your thumbs whilst desperately trying to stay upright in the thick mud and the driving wind and rain. Get soaked to the bone, covered in dirt, freezing cold and totally wear yourself out.
Hmmm…
What?
Well apart from the obvious…
You mean the early start, the mud, the rain, the cold, the wind, the manual work, the blisters, the thorns, the nettles, the slimy bugs…
Oh yes, I’d forgotten the slimy, nasty little creatures, well remembered…
Thanks, so where were we? Oh yes, nettles, the slimy bugs, that nasty little drip that drops off your sodden woolly hat and down the back of your neck. So apart from those…
Yes, apart from those… Oh, arse!
What?!
(sigh)I’ll get my car keys, you fill the thermos, it’s going to be a long, long day…

It's A Good Life

700 miles, 6 days, 5 cycling venues, 4 hotels, 3 bike rides, 2 new beers and a curry with an old friend - throw in a machete, an Army Major or two, some old trails, some new trails, some 'are you sure this is going to work' trails, lots of mud, more beer, even more rain(!) and Joolze Dymond hanging out of the back of her car taking photos and that was last week.

It kinda reminded me of my student days and my first years at work, when I'd take all my cycling and walking gear and disappear for a few days. It's been a long time since somebody asked me where I was staying that night and I said I didn't know. Thankfully my friends still realise that I could turn up on their doorstep at any moment wanting a hot meal and a bed and are very accomodating.

I like that; That feeling of going where the wind takes you for as long as you want and doing what you want. There's a certain sense of freedom that comes with it. It's very simple freedom but can be hard to attain these days (especially once you've bought a house and got a proper job - though some would say I've yet to get a proper job).

So now I've got the taste for it again, hopefully there's more in store. Though where on earth I'm going to find time to wander off for a week this year is anyones guess. My next couple of months and the logistics involved have been planned with military precision; Something I've only had to start doing over the last few years. I still prefer the old way, it's so much more fun.

Happy St George's Day!

"God for Harry, England, and St George!"
I had a million and one things to do today, but decided to go for a few pints of real English ale to celebrate St George's day instead - I've always got a million and one things to do, but today only comes around once a year.

I love St George's day. There was a great atmosphere in the pubs today with plenty of people wearing St George's flag badges and red flowers in their button holes. Apparently the paraphernalia has out-sold the paddy's day stuff this year - maybe the Union Jack and St George flag are no longer the sole property of the BNP and other such extremists but can be worn with pride by all English people everywhere.

Talking of busy, if the last couple of weeks are anything to go by, it's going to be a long summer. I've already done two races in two weeks (G2 Revolver report coming soon) and I'm spending the weekend at Enduro 6.

I don't even have time to unpack these days, but that seems to be working in my favour. Bags of snacks are still strewn across the kitchen floor and almost everything else I need should still be in the car from last weekend. My kit bag resides at the top of the stairs and every time I walk past a piece of used, muddy, smelly kit comes out and is thrown into the washing machine, being immediately replaced by a new fresh piece of kit that had been lounging on a radiator for an unspecified length of time. So apart from sundry day clothes and essentials, I'm pretty much ready to go at the drop of a hat. Very handy when I only seem to be spending an hour at a time at home.

Better go. Lots to do before the weekend!

Don't Panic

As I said the other day, it's not very often I talk about work, I don't often have anything to talk about seeing as my job entails watching TV - no really, it does. But we have our fair share of fun and maybe our unfair share of cock-ups: like the time we accidentally put porn to air during the Richard Littlejohn show; or someone sat on the machine and rewound Coronation Street whilst it was on-air; or the time we switched out the local news rooms too early, at the very moment the news presenter was chatting to the director about the affair he was having (that one made the newspapers).

The problem is, is that if normal people make a mistake, press the wrong button, pop to the toilet at the wrong time, then maybe they'll miss a phone call, or send an email without the intended attachment. If we make a mistake, millions of people see it.

That happened this morning. I pressed the wrong button. The studio PA did the usual countdown to the local news and instead of doing nothing (which is what we do now, due to aforementioned cock-ups of switching out loose-lipped news readers), I pressed the button (which is what we've done for the last 10 years).
"What did you do that for?" exclaimed my colleague, Jodie.
"I don't know," I said.
"What do we do now?" she asked.
"I don't know!" I said.
"How do we get back?" she screamed.
"I don't know!!" I screamed back.

Panic was in the air. "Two minutes left on the news" said the studio PA. Right, two minutes to save our arses from the diabolical mess we were now in. We looked at each other with a look that said "you bloody idiots, I can't believe it, what are we going to do, I don't know, hold me, help, I'm glad you're here, pull yourselves together" all in the space of a nanosecond.

"One minute on the news." The PA was counting down to an imminent catastrophe with her calm and unwaivering voice of doom, still oblivious to the chaos we were in.
Jodie threw in her suggestions and like a chess grand master (ahem) I assessed the impact of each possible button press - nothing so far. "30 seconds..." came the voice. Frantic typing put an event into the electronic schedule that would buy us some time - "3, 2, 1..." I pressed the button and we were back.

But we weren't! But some channels were, and some weren't. More frantic button pressing and all looked good. Numerous phones rang and were all answered with "yes, we know, bit busy right now". Our makeshift would only get us out of jail for so long, 3 minutes in fact; the time we had to the next commerciall break. Lose one of these and you're in big trouble!

The PA rang, my hands were shaking and my voice was quivering, still unsure what we were going to do. So far, the viewer at home would hardly have noticed there was a problem. In reality, we were in a mess, and our next actions would either save our bacon, or land us right in it. This is where professional studio crews really come into their own and my garbled explanation of what was happening didn't even phase the PA.

We made the decision to use the backup tape for the next commercial break, realising we would lose commercials (that alone is way more than my annual salary, never mind the fines incurred!), put makeshift events into schedules, pressed emergency buttons and were basically flying by the seat of our pants. "Two to the break." I pressed the button. Please God, let it work. It worked! I could hear Luke Skywalker in my head, "almost there, almost there" as he's flying down the centre of the Death Star.

Calm and collected we knew what we had to do and got on with it, reloading schedules, checking and double checking automation information, events, timing, durations, everything in fact. We might come out of this ok if we could just hold it together for the next 3 minutes and 53 seconds. "Ten on the break...2, 1..."

The GMTV studio sting came up, on all the screens, on all the channels, across all outgoing lines, on all the satellite boxes - it worked! We'd made it! We were back on track! A nervous sigh of relief. And only 30 seconds worth of commercial losses with minor collateral damage on the programme - jesus, how the hell did we manage that?!

Manic giggling ensued. That could have gone a hell of a lot worse and been a complete disaster. But we'd somehow saved the day, somehow. Bizarrely, through the initial panic and not doing anything, we'd saved ourselves. And through that moment of panic, we'd reached a state of calm, clear headed thinking.

Another story to add to my (long) list of 'times I've taken the ITV off air'. Oh you wouldn't believe how many times that actually happens! Professnioial? Us? Yeah, course we are...

Trying to be a bad day

Still buzzing from Sundays surprise podium place, Monday was a day off to relax and enjoy the sunshine. Or so I thought. My mobile phone had been covered in coffee Sunday morning and had stopped working. It had been on the radiator all night in an attempt to dry it out. It still wasn't working and my mobile phone company were less than helpful. I tried to check the internet for tips to sort out the problem, my internet connection was down as well.

I made myself a cup of tea and a good breakfast and settled on the sofa to watch a bit of daytime TV - my digital receiver had packed up. This was a technological conspiracy. I know I rely on my mobile phone a lot, but this was getting ridiculous - my mobile phone breaks and the rest of my house throws a hissy fit.

So, DTT box unplugged I set to work on the internet connection. Some fiddling and frantic searching for long forgotten passwords and it was up and running. Yes! My website was down. No! More internet faffing with passwords and the website was back up. Yes! Technology 2, me 1. No! I was still losing the war against the machines.

I went to do something more basic that didn't involve anything with a chip in it - a bit of DIY. I started assembling the flat pack set of drawers for my bedroom. After rounding off the ends of two Philips screwdrivers, one of which was an electric one, I was reduced to assembling the furniture with a freebie multitool from the front of an issue of MBUK magazine! My hand was getting sore and sweaty and as I put pressure on one particularly tough screw I slipped and a flathead screwdriver on the other side of the multitool went into my palm! I jumped back in shock and banged my head on the corner of the chimney breast.

It was definitely not my day. Inanimate object 1, me 0. Time to quit while I still had some dignity and drown my inadequacies in the bottom of a large wine glass. It was at this point that trusty, reliable humans stepped in to save the day.

I received an email from an old university friend, Niall Varley, who'd googled me and found this website. I haven't heard from him for at least 5 years, but hopefully we'll get to meet up in Ireland when I'm there in May. Maybe technology isn't all that bad after all. Then some great news I'd been waiting for from another friend in Canada. I'm not going to say too much about that just yet, it'll be a surprise! But I am very, very excited. I went to bed happy (with a throbbing head and sore hand, you can't have everything I suppose.)

Happy Anniversary!

There's been a flurry of activity down here over the last few days finishing off some bits of DIY in a vain attempt to stop my house looking like a building site/laundry room. It's been a whole year since I bought my first house and I had big ideas of what I wanted to do and how long it should take.

A year of racing, travelling, holidaying and generally faffing about somehow got in the way, as well as an enforced 'do nothing' couple of months when I had a chest infection. (This cunningly came right at the point where everything was waiting to be sanded or stripped - the very things that had caused the chest infection in the first place!) So everything just sat, static without progression, just waiting to be prepped for it's final stage of decoration.

By the time I was well enough to start again, I couldn't be bothered. The motivation had gone. Realising that excusing the state of my house with the line "I've only been in a couple of months" was starting to wear a little thin, as well as becoming rapidly untrue, I decided to get on with all those fiddly little jobs.

So, in April 2007 my list of jobs consisted of:
1) decorate master bedroom
2) fit new kitchen and decorate
3) extend bathroom and fit new bathroom suite
4) decorate second bedroom for visitors
5) do the garden

Right now, my list of jobs consists of (and this is massively abbreviated and generalised because somehow every time I finish a job I create 3 news ones!):
1) Finish decorating master bedroom and paint door and door frame. Patch up scrapes etc
2) Finish painting kitchen, woodwork and fit new door etc
3) Get carpet for second bedroom, finish decorating.
4) Start bathroom
5) Stare hopelessly at the massive task that is going to be keeping the garden under control again this summer whilst racing, travelling, holidaying and generally faffing about.

Hmm, best laid plans and all that. I think I'll just open another bottle of champagne to celebrate the fact that I actually managed to get a mortgage and buy a house - which doesn't seem to be that easy these days - and continue to write my enormous and ever-growing list of jobs to do.

A Stolen Day

It seems I've been on the go now since the start of February - yes I've been on holiday, but it was hardly relaxing, and when I've not been at work I've been dashing around the country, or grabbing an hour on my bike, digging the garden, digging trails, painting, sanding, fixing, cleaning etc. Every moment of every day is filled with something I need to be doing and a never ending jobs list.

Today I phoned in sick. Around 8pm last night, with the prospect of getting up at 5.30am this morning, my body finally gave up and told me to sit down and shut up. So today was an unexpected free day, a stolen day, a void in time and space.

Not surprisingly I woke up late, around midday. I had nothing planned and no jobs laid out as I wasn't supposed to be here. I decided I would ignore the jobs list pinned to the notice board; I would continue to step over the pile of junk in the hallway; the bare wooden skirting board and half stripped doorways wouldn't bother me; and my email account simply didn't exist. Today would be my day, to do what I wanted to do.

And so endeth my day. With nothing done. (Nothing of note anyway.) And now I'm ready to enter back into the chaos again, refreshed and rested, satisfied with my Stolen Day.

Time To Get In The Game

So three days of being really very ill (how come I can camp rough at 4000m in Africa for two weeks, weeing into a hole in the ground whilst standing on who knows what with no running water, eating 6 day old food that's been carried up in sweltering temperatures, using hands ingrained with filth, and feel fine, but get a stomach bug from my first meal on the friggin' plane! Top Tip: Don't fly Kenya airlines).

Anyway, three days feeling ill, two days intense DIY desparately trying to finish my kitchen and two solid days work; (well ok, two 16 hour shifts with a late night drinking session in the middle that went on long enough to make going home a pointless exercise) All of this has meant that I never quite got round to starting my "30 in 30" challenge that a group of friends are doing at the moment.

Basically the "30 in 30" challenge is to ride at least one hour a day for 30 days and March was the chosen starting month. I'd pretty much written it off by now, seeing as most people are on day 6. But having read the various blogs and comments from people doing it, plus the fact that I haven't been on my bike for three weeks, I've been spurred me on to start tomorrow!

That's right! You read it here first - I am starting my "30 in 30" tomorrow, first thing! Straight out of my lovely, warm, cosy, comfortable, soft, snuggly, relaxing, restful, hardly-been-slept-in-for-3-weeks-in-favour-of-a-sleeping-mat-on-a-frozen-mountainside-and-oh-my-god-how-I've-missed-you-,-I-promise-I'll-never-go-away-for-that-long-ever-again-ever bed...(sigh)

Ahem! Sorry, I digress... Er, right, yes, hang on... oh yes, "30 in 30", starts tomorrow!

Wish me luck!

Disclaimer: The author of this blog reserves the right to totally renege on any promises, resolutions or statements made at any point during his or her ramblings and this document in no way constitutes a binding contract. In the likely event of adverse weather conditions, the probability of reneging on such promises, resolutions or statements is greatly increased and the author cannot be held responsible for her actions of staying in the item previously and henceforth known as the 'bed'. All rights reserved.

Is now a good time to mention I'm giving up alcohol for the rest of March as well...

Jambo! Mambo!

Finally back from my adventures in Africa and many a tale of success to tell. February really has been a fantastic month. It was great to ride up in Todmorden again with all the friendly old familiar faces, share a beer and generally catch up without having to type at 100wpm! Chipps's 40th birthday ride was slow and relaxed, as was expected, and made all the better for his sisters homemade coconut ice - I haven't had that since I was a child!

The cold, crisp weather highlighted the hills in all their Calderdale glory. It also meant I was freezing and the ambling pace was hardly sweat inducing. I managed a quick coffee for a final few chats before having to drive home Saturday night to catch the plane Sunday morning - I have to say leaving was quite hard. I just don't get to ride with those guys enough any more and I see CG (G as in Chris) about twice a year if I'm lucky.

But there's no better excuse to leave a group of your best mates in the whole wide world having fun and getting drunk gearing up for a hell of a session, than catching a flight to Africa to fulfill a life long ambition; as excuses go, I reckon it's a valid one.

And so to the big story: actually you'll have to wait for that as I've got hundreds of photos to sort through and the garbled ramblings of a daily hand written diary to decipher. It'll all be up on the adventures page very soon. Needless to say, it was ace! Here's a summit day taster:

Barcelona!

(Sing it like ya mean it, Freddie Mercury style!) Well, what a couple of days. I'd never been to Barcelona and I'm so glad I decided to go - it's a lovely city and my makeshift host for the day was fantastic. I find in life that there are some people you just click with - there's no awkwardness, you're on the same wavelength with everything and the whole thing just feels natural. Troy is definitely one of those people, with an extra something special on top.

Soon after we met in Placa de Catalunya and found a quiet little place for coffee, the conversation turned from the usual catch up chatter to the random everyday observations of two friends who meet up regularly, rather than once a year. Topics ranged from American politics and global warming, to turtles and philosophy, with plenty of laughter and jokes thrown in. I can't remember the last time I laughed that much in one day!

Talking only ceased to be interspersed with lots of "oohs", "aahs" and "wows" as we toured round such sites as the Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Familia, Gaudi's extravagant and still unfinished 19th century church in the heart of the city. And believe me when I say that "wow" was used every other word, but still doesn't fully express the magnificence of this building!

More site seeing under the guise of a pub crawl filled the afternoon and from the way were just wandering into any bars, cafes and restaurants we came across and still being treated to superb coffee and excellent food, I'd say Barcelona is a fairly good city for all of these things. And pretty cheap too. It's also small enough to be able to walk around without any real destination and bump into the various churches, museums and architectural masterpieces of Antonio Gaudi that Barcelona is famous for.

The Spanish eat late, so we went to the popular, exotic La Fianna restaurant and cocktail bar and soon made ourselves at home on the huge cushioned seats sitting cross legged with our shoes off (no, it wasn't just us, this is the style of the restaurant, honest).

Many hours and a few more drinks later (ahem) and the day was well and truly over. Troy had to leave early Wednesday morning to catch his flight and I was sad to see him go - but I don't think my liver was. The day was spent taking in more sites in the cool sea air and then it was time for me to leave.

An extremely successful and fun little adventure that I'm unlikely to ever forget and a tenuous friendship well and truly cemented; hopefully for a return trip in 12 years to see the finished Sagrada Familia. That would be awesome!

The Best Kind of Predicament

So here's how my day took a bizarre turn. All was going pretty well. (Actually, the word catastrophic had been used more than once today, but fortunately it wasn't our fault, so it depends from whose point of view you look at things, anyway...) Early evening I got a text from a friend in Colorado who said he was on a plane to Barcelona for the week, did I want to meet up?

It sounded fun so I looked at the price of flights and getting a couple of days off. It would mean the next few days would be a bit busier than I'd hoped because I had shopping to do, nurse appointments, was driving to Wales friday night for a weekend walk and then heading north to ride bikes for a bit. Still, perfectly do-able.

Then it dawned on me, I don't have my passport, it's with the Tanzanian High Commission! Hmmm, with a little bit of effort and a lot of organisation, this is perfectly do-able; I think...

So, after some frantic phone calls: if I swap my Thursday early shift to a late shift, move my nurses appointment to friday afternoon, go to the Post Office Thursday morning to see if my passport is there and if not go to the Tanzanian High Commission, that all means I can still do the shopping I need Thursday lunchtime, do an early shift friday, straight to the nurse for a Rabies vaccination then onto Wales. Phew! That's if I spend all evening packing my stuff and then load the car tomorrow morning.

Then, I can be in Wales late friday evening, do a 20 mile walk on Saturday, drive north Saturday night, ride bikes on Sunday and Monday, be back in time for night shift Monday night. Get to the airport early Tuesday morning, fly to Barcelona in time for lunch. Spend the day there, fly home Wednesday evening in time for night shift Wednesday. Unpack the car on Thursday and start packing my stuff again. Sleep.

Night shift Thursday, drive straight up to Todmorden Friday morning, birthday ride for Chipps' 40th birthday on Saturday, drive home in the evening. Unpack the car, tidy up, straighten the house, double check I have packed everything for my holiday(!), get to the coach station at 4am to catch a plane from Heathrow at 8am Sunday 17th February to fly to Tanzania for two weeks. Woohoo!

Yep, that's er, do-able. Only time will tell I guess.

Pancake Day!

Hurray for Pancake Day! I love Pancake Day (as well as Christmas). It was pancakes with kiwi fruit and mango this morning, pancakes with the customary lemon and sugar for lunch, and a proper dinner followed by - you guessed it - pancakes! With a variety of toppings including chocolate spread.

I fully intended to go for a ride at some point, but the weather was totally rubbish and I got side tracked with painting, tidying, web stuff and er, making pancakes.
I have a feeling that this weekend is going to hurt as I'm nowhere near as fit as I hoped I was going to be. Doh!

Karma v Red Ken

I get the train to work most days and use a Giant Halfway folding bike to get to and from the stations. After a late shift the trains are few and far between, one every half an hour, and to get home at a reasonable hour means I have exactly 24 minutes between my shift finishing and the 22:54 leaving the station.

The equation for this little task goes thus: L = d/(t-2f) x 12K. Where L is the likelihood of me making it, d is distance, t is time, f is the faff time it takes me to get my coat on, run down the stairs, into the underground car park, unlock the bike, turn my lights on and be let out of the security gates; and also the time it takes walking on the pavement to get into the station, across the concourse, find my ticket, down the ramp, wait for the lazy, jobsworth ticket collector to stop chatting to his mate and open up the gate, along the platform and onto the train, all -30secs because "doors will be closed 30seconds before departure time to guarantee a prompt departure".

And then we get to the 12K part, and as anybody who lives in London will know, this stands for Red Ken, the good old Mayor of London himself; whose loves of traffic lights is second to none! His traffic calming measures, one way systems, bendy buses and random 1lane-2lane-3lane-1lane policies are so radical that no-one else in the world seems to be able to understand them enough to implement them, any of them...

So here stands my problem: 12 sets of Red Kens finest traffic lights between me and my destination, making L = about 0.33. But, to fight the red hand of Ken I have employed a much older philosophical approach, that of Karma. Tonight, at the second set of traffic lights, desperate to make the train, the lights were red and pedestrians were waiting to cross. The little man turned green and they stood there looking at me.
"Little man green, people move feet, walk across road..." I barked patronisingly. Not a good move, the next 2 sets of lights were red for ages!! I wasn't going to make it. Damn him!

Set 5 and again the lights were red. A pedestrian was waiting to cross so I pulled up slowly. He saw me and before stepping out bowed his head slightly and waved me through (like a proper gent).
"No, no, I insist" I replied with the same gesturing wave of my hand.
"Why thank you very much" he said politely, smiling as he crossed the road.
"My pleasure!" And I was on my way once more. Hallelujah! It was as if Moses himself was riding ET style on my handlebars - every single set of traffic lights turned green just as I approached and I sailed on up the road to reach the train with time to spare! Karma 1, Red Ken 0.

The Meaning of Life

So on the train into work this evening I was feeling a bit old - it was packed with young girls in little skirts and tight black tops, and boys trying to look older than they were rehearsing their birth date in case they were asked. All of them had carrier bags full of 'tinnies', large bottles of Magners or the timeless bottle of Coca-Cola or Sprite (which as we all know has been half emptied of its original contents and topped up with vodka). Still, I can hardly pass judgement, that was me not so long ago. And just as I did all those years ago, I bet they sat there thinking how cool they looked and I was just a stuffy older person who'd never done any of that stuff.

It was only the other week I was reminded of what great times I had as a teenager. I met up with 3 uni friends in Essex for our annual 'my birthday/Xmas/annual/we-really-don't-see-each-other-enough' night out. These were the 3 guys I spent a couple of amazing New Year's Eves with in Edinburgh - including Millenium New Year, and I don't think any of us will ever remember exactly what happened THAT night (apart from the kissing competition obviously, 250 to beat boys!)

At that point, I smiled at the young pups on the train. Whatever they thought they were doing and however cool they thought they were, it had all been done before - and it was old news when I did it...

I finally made it to work. Believe it or not New Year's Eve is by far one of the best nights to work. We have, without doubt, the best view in London. I fought my way through the crowds of thousands on Waterloo bridge into the building and up to the roof. More pictures posted tomorrow, but there's really no place I'd rather be. It's the only perk left in my job.

When that had all finished I went back to work and while we all sat there discussing what may happen in the year ahead, I was reminded of this:

"Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving,
Revolving at 900 miles an hour.
That's orbiting at 19 miles a second so it's reckoned,
A sun that is the source of all our power.
The sun, and you and me, and all the stars that we can see,
Are moving at a million miles a day!
In an outer spiral arm at 40,000 miles an hour,
In a galaxy we call the Milky Way.

Our galaxy itself contains a hundred billion stars,
It's a hundred thousand light years side to side,
It bulges in the middle 16,000 light years thick,
But out by us it's just 3,000 light years wide.
We're 30,000 light years from galactic central point,
We go round every 200 million years!
And our galaxy is only one of millions of billions in this amazing and expanding universe!

The universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding,
In all of the directions it can whizz.
As fast as it can go, the speed of light ya know,
12 million miles a minute and that's the fastest speed there is.
So remember when you're feeling very small and insecure,
How amazingly unlikely is your birth?
And prey that there's intelligent life somewhere up in space,
Cos there's bugger all down here on earth!

Thanks to Frank for that one, and Monty Python obviously. 2008 is going to be a good year, I can feel it...

Happy New Year everybody!

Happy Birthday To Me!

Yay. It's my birthday today. Another year older. Though somehow I feel like I've aged more than a year this year. Why? Because of this:
This was one of my birthday presents, and no, it wasn't just one of those presents a random relative buys you because they don't really see you that often and have no idea what you like or what you want so get you something they feel you should have - I actually asked for this!

At some point earlier this year I think I might have grown up - I bought a house, I started DIY, I set myself a budget, I had a training regime, I prepared for races, I even gave up drinking for a while, and I started gardening. I actually became rather sensible. (I only went on four holidays! How sensible is that?!)

But no more! If 2007 was a year of sensibleness, 2008 is going to be a year of immaturity; bring on the spontaneous trips across the country for coffee, bring on the stupid bike rides where we barely escape with our lives, bring on the all night drinking sessions. Being grown up is too dull and boring for me - even if it is cheap. There's so much to do before I'm 30 and I can't do it on a budget...

Christmas Indulgence

I love Christmas. I don't know why. I just do. And I find everything quite magical around Christmas - the decorations, the lights, the carol services, the markets, the atmosphere, everything is just brilliant at Christmas.

And this weekend is always particularly good. For the last couple of years I've been away for a Christmas/Birthday treat weekend with my Mum. We've been to Brussels/Bruge, Copenhagen and this year we decided to stay in good old London town (because I'm skint from doing up my house). The weekends involve cramming in some culture in stunning cities of Europe; Cathedrals, museums, old buildings and the like, but basically revolves around the sumptuous Christmas Markets! Mulled wine, mince pies, cakes, gaufres, chocolat, gluhwein, glog, cookies, biscuits, venison sausage, kase, vin chaud - if it's sweet, yummy or alcoholic, we'll try it. If it's sweet, yummy AND alcoholic, we'll take a box of it! It's a weekend of pure indulgence. When it doesn't matter what you eat or drink, or indeed how much it costs, as long as it's good and it's Christmasy.

So I'll just pop into the kitchen and warm up some more homemade mulled wine on the stove, heat up a brandy laced mince pie and pour over the Cognac cream. Best open that next box of liquer chocolates as well, the night is young. I love Christmas.

Brain Melt Day

I had one of those days yesterday, you know, where everything is just that little bit more difficult and you can never quite remember what you were supposed to be doing. I think it's because I was distracted with the idea of going back to work.

It started with the post. I had a couple of letters to send. Now, I may or may not have put a stamp on one of the envelopes, but that may not matter because I may or may not have included the cheque in one of them, and I may or may not have signed that cheque anyway. I'm not sure, I got distracted.

Then I started to tidy up. Half way through tidying up I noticed the sun glaring through the smudged hand prints on the window. I put down the polish and duster - which are as yet to be rediscovered - and got out the white vinegar and newspaper to clean the windows. I subsequently misplaced the top to the vinegar bottle which is now making my whole house stink! Yes, it is that potent.

I gave up trying to do anything soon after this and sat down with a coffee and a creme egg. But who cares, it's CHRISTMAS!!

A cough...

So, following on from my last blog, I'm still ill. And I'm too fed up to rant now. It's been a rubbish couple of days. Not least because I spent over an hour waiting to see the doctor again yesterday; for the third time in six weeks. Big deal you might think? But before this, I hadn't been to see my GP once in 3 years!

I have nothing against doctors, I just personally don't find them very useful as I have very little need for them. On the few occassions I have been to seem them over the years, they've mostly been rubbish - giving me the wrong information or the wrong diagnosis. Like the time I damaged the tendon in my shoulder joint and the doctor had me doing shoulder shrugs - my physios mouth dropped when I told him. Or the time I had mumps and it wasn't spotted until the following week when 4 of my class mates got mumps! Other instances I won't go into.

But it's not just the good old NHS, it seems it's the same across the Atlantic as well, no matter how much you pay.

Last September I flew to Colorado and a few days later I woke up one morning with a cramp-like feeling in my right leg. Fortunately, it didn't totally cramp up. A few days later the area started to get quite solid, looked bruised and was really quite painful when walking. I popped in to see a friend who recommended a physio to see for a massage to work out what was probably a muscle knot. The physio refused to touch it when I told her I'd only flown in last week as it could possibly be DVT and I should go to hospital immediately!

So I went. And walked up to reception and told the receptionist I'd flown from the UK last week and the physio thinks it's DVT and that I have a "pain in my right calf." It was serious enough to be placed ahead of the guy with the foot and the woman with the finger.

A waiting room stint, a check over, some tests and an ultra-sound later, I was diagnosed with, wait for it... "right calf pain"...

Fast forward again to thursday, a different doctor to the first two times. She read my notes and I added that the bronchitis I'd been diagnosed with wasn't getting any better, I had a back pain almost constantly and these last couple of days I'd been feeling quite dizzy. (I didn't mention that I'd almost collapsed whilst brushing my teeth wednesday night, it's not the most strenuous of tasks and, well, I have got an electric toothbrush...)

Again, more checks - she told me to breathe. I did that. And from that in depth investigation she came to the conclusion that I have, wait for it... "a cough"... But seeing as I've had a cough for so long now, I should probably take some time off work; and take some stronger drugs because the last lot didn't do anything.

Super.

Been a while...

So it was brought to my attention today (thanks Simon), that I've really not been posting too much. Three weeks since the last one to be precise. The sad thing is, it's not because I've been busy or doing anything exciting - in fact, the exact opposite. Which is why I haven't been posting, because I haven't done anything interesting.

Truth of the matter is, I've been ill for a full six weeks now and to be honest, I'm getting really, really fed up with it. It started with a chest infection from Dusk til Dawn, evolved into flu, which then morphed into bronchitis. I've now cracked a rib, from coughing of all things! And it feels like I've got another cold coming on (though apparently bronchitis + cold symptoms = pneumonia in some cases. Gulp! I'm sure it's not though... just cos it's not... gulp!)

Yes, I could have ridden if I wanted to, but seeing as I practically cough up a lung every time I ride up the little hill from the train station, I thought it best not to. I'm pretty sure that's what caused the cracked rib as well. And passers by look at me as if I've got the plague because I'm coughing so hard and so long. It's not pretty I can tell you.

So that's it. That's what I've been doing all this time. Nothing. Nothing at all. How boring is that. I am getting grouchier though because I'm not riding my bike, so my rants are getting more colourful and my temper is getting shorter. So if this riding drought continues, I may have to post more ranting...

Public transport, don't get me started!!

The Cookie Story

It's funny how the simplest of things remind you of the strangest of memories. On my way in to work this afternoon I decided to treat myself to a Millie's Cookie from Euston Station. It's been a long time since I bought one of these, but I certainly remember the last time I did and it always makes me smile.

About 7 years ago I moved down to London to start my first job at a small start-up television channel called whereits.at. The thing that struck me about London was how unfriendly it was and how nobody ever spoke to anyone or smiled or made eye contact. So, one night I was working down at our studio in the Trocadero shopping centre and a friend and I decided to treat ourselves to a cookie. As per usual I was bantering a bit with the cute guy behind the counter, trying to get a freebie, but he wasn't having any of it and we paid and went on our way.

Later that night when the show had finished it was the custom for the crew to go to the pub and have rather a lot to drink - who was I to argue. The pub closed and I made my way to the tube station, passing the aforementioned Millie's Cookies. The cute guy was cashing up for the night and a few random cookies lay under the counter so I tried my luck again. I'm not sure whether it was drunken charm or whether he just wanted to get rid of me, but minutes later I was merrily on my way with a bag of 8 free cookies! Result!

So there I was, midnight, stumbling through the London underground with a bag of cookies, passing unfriendly faces. What better opportunity to cheer a few people up than to share my delights with them! On my way up the escalator I politely asked the man in front of me if he'd like a cookie; "oh, er, well, yes, thank you" he said, slightly unnerved that a stranger had spoken to him, and even more puzzled by the fact it was a young lady offering him a cookie! At the top there was a smartly dressed woman, "excuse me, would you like a cookie?" I asked, "they were free and there's too many here for me."
"Oh, thank you very much" she said, and smiled.
Another grey haired man in a suit and two young Asian guys also partook of the free midnight snack.

I got on the train feeling rather satisfied and happy, and I hope everyone who took a cookie that night also went home a bit happier; and that maybe they recounted the story of the crazy midnight cookie girl to their friends the following day and made them smile as well.

And here I am, tucking into my cookie with a cup of coffee, smiling as much now as I did that night. I hope it's brightened up your friday afternoon as much as it has mine. If not, buy a cookie on the way home, that'll cheer you up.

Paintbrushgirl.com

That's what I'm changing the name of this website to. Why? Because for the last two weeks that's all I've done - the fence, the shed, the spare room walls, the ceiling, skirting boards, doors, architraves, the kitchen. You name it, I've probably painted it. And I haven't ridden my bike once! The closest I've got to bikes is sorting out the shed.

So I'm looking at this as my off season bit. Hopefully by the end of today I'll have a fully functioning kitchen. Hurray! Five months without one was starting to get a little annoying. And by the end of next week I should have a finished spare room and a house that is easily liveable, which means my goals for the year have been accomplished. I can put away all the DIY tools in the revamped workshop/shed, and get out on my bike and go exploring again.

I can't tell you how excited I am to finally be getting these things finished, this house stuff really has dragged on! My fault for going away so much this summer I supppose, you can't have your cake and eat it as they say. Mmmmm, cake...

Back to school...

First day back at work today and even though it's been many a year since I experienced the big summer holiday, it still has that feel about it - the fun is over, normal life resumes, packed lunch is made, bag packed, there's that slight chill in the air that tells you autumn is on the way and the nights are drawing in. Every good holiday comes to an end I suppose.

At least I'm away again this weekend for the final round of the NPS at Coed-y-Brenin. Not that I'm looking forward to it. Two weeks of alcohol consumption that would make my doctor cringe even if I halved the daily amount and then knocked a few units off for good measure, never ending amounts of fried food and grilled cheese, and umpteen 4am finishes, have not surprisingly taken their toll and my body is showing the signs of giving in to a cold of some sort. That was blindingly obvious. Still, I shall persevere, then take a few weeks to chill out, rejuvenate and replenish my bank account by actually doing some work. Ho hum...