THE GOOD BUCK

Same shit, different day. The slogan had been on the ‘fridge so long that John opened the door without consciously registering it. Had he been asked about it he would probably say it was true; get breakfast, go to work, come home, have a pizza and a beer, watch some TV, play some games, go to bed, and repeat. That was just the routine of existence, common to most. He’d originally put the magnet on a different ‘fridge when he was fresh out the army. He’d been young, disillusioned and as cheaply cynical as the statement. But that was 12 years ago. John poured milk onto his muesli and shut the ‘fridge door. He made a fresh coffee and took a moment to look out of the window at his garden. This was the best time of the year for it. Spring was really getting into gear and the garden was bursting with potential. Vibrant greens and freshly minted leaves were bringing hope and life back after the frigid void of winter. He took a sip of too hot coffee and just enjoyed the moment. Perhaps if he’d have been asked about the sticker he would just be a little embarrassed by its trite nihilism and dismissed it as an old memento. After breakfast he ran through his mental checklist; food, flask, ‘phone, keys, boots, then set off for work. He worked for a van courier firm. He lived in Runcorn, between Liverpool and Manchester, so there was always plenty of work. He parked his Mercedes Sprinter van by the loading area and went in to collect his run paperwork. “Morning Petr.” The office manager looked up from his laptop to grunt something noncommittal. “What exciting things have you got for me today?” Petr always gave the impression of doing ten jobs at once, always under immense pressure. It was just how he made himself feel important, John thought. “Actually,” Petr said, as if suddenly remembering from the host of things he was currently juggling, “you’ve got an interesting one today.” John was instantly suspicious. “Define ‘interesting’.” “Well, you are going off the map.” ‘There be dragons!’ John thought, but didn’t know if Petr would get the reference. “It’s in Wales. We have instructions from after some place called Llangadog, but on Google maps it doesn’t exist.” “Hang on, Petr. If I’m pissing about looking for a drop in Wales that’s off the satnav, I am going to be losing serious money.” “It’s a special. The customer has agreed..” he paused a little too long “£200 for the one drop.” “Nice try, Petr. How much is this drop worth?” “£400.” That was a lot of money for one drop. John suspected Petr was holding out on him, but he didn’t want to push his luck. “OK. So what are the details?” Petr tossed him a folder and went back to being performatively busy. John looked through the pack. Go to Wales, LLangadog, then hand written notes, presumably taken from ‘phone […]

Somehow or other I got caught up in motorbikes again. I wasn’t getting much work due to the strikes and I wanted to be prepared to travel to a new job. Or at least that’s how I rationalised it. Possibly (probably) it was just my obsessing and blatant bike desire. I had resisted and turned my nose up at some really great VFR750s recently. I kept telling myself I didn’t need a bike, and if I got one it would be a modern one with fuel injection to combat the problems of the new ethanol additive fuel (rotting seals in carbs, gumming up carb jets, rusting tank if unused). I regret not getting some of them quite a bit, in retrospect. I saw one at the bottom end of London (of course. No bike is ever local. It’s the law). It was at the lower end of the price bracket for a VFR, it’s only done 30,000 miles, supposedly full service history (faked, I think, the first few have been loosely stamped then smeared to illegibility) with a near perfect MOT history. The thing is I’m not fond of the colour. A sort of purpley blue with gold wheel rims. I decided I wasn’t going to be the guy who turned down a brilliant condition, low mileage, example for something as petty as the colour. After I’d decided I wanted it, I had to wait two weeks to get a train. First the roads were a mess with a week of frozen snow and ice, then the trains were on strike. I managed to get a ticket on New Year’s day, the only one for the fortnight preceding and following. 4 trains. They had to do a cross country diversion to avoid one striking company. Anyway the bike was a good ‘un (good job, really) and I got it. Because it’s a 25 year old bike certain things get soggy. The hydraulic brake lines stretch so you lose pressure to the brakes, and the rear shock absorber gets old and saggy. This bike had had the brake lines upgraded to new braided lines and the rear shock recently reconditioned. Sorted. Also it has heated handlebar grips, which are a huge plus for winter riding. Then the bank kept me sweating for an hour before sending an “instant payment” to the seller. I thought I was going to have to get a hotel room and pick it up the next day. It finally cleared then it was just the matter of riding home 197 miles in the cold, dark and rain. And it turns out my super-duper, big, thick, padded overtrousers I got about 15 years ago had lost all their waterproofing so I was soaked within the first 10 minutes. Joy. Anyway. Bike! I thought the throttle was stiff at a certain point, on the ride home, but it seems fine now. I tried to recreate the problem by slamming the throttle open, but all that happened was my back […]

We went to Spain for a week and that was nice. While we there all sorts of shenanigans broke out in the UK. The last time we went over we left the UK all was normal, we came back a week later and the supermarkets were empty, the streets were desolate and it looked like a post apocalyptic film set. This time we left the UK goose-stepping into totalitarian fascism with no hope of ever escaping the Tory/nazi deathgrip on democracy. By the time we were flying back we were expecting to be greeted by banners saying “Welcome to the Glorious Worker’s Republic of Corbynistan, comrades!” While we were over there mother text me to tell me Lisa’s car was dangerously unfit for purpose. The steering is all over the place. We’d told Lisa that we’d get her a new car when she needed one, but she hadn’t told us. When I said about her steering she said “It’s alright. I just don’t go on fast roads.” Incredible. I know she was just trying not to spend our money, which is thoughtful, but dumb. So dumb. She could have gotten herself killed. Anyway, we had some savings put aside for such an eventuality, and I’d already done a lot of research into which would be a good car for her, so we got her a Hyundai i10. They’re a little, city, runaround. They will do 105mph, but they are for tootling around town, really. Small, easy to drive and park, reliable, good spec and cute, apparently. Sorry about the arrows, I had to screenshot the advert and couldn’t crop them out. It arrived today on a flatbed. Lisa has been fit to pop from excitement so we went around to see the big moment. Here it is arriving on a flatbed. Here is Lisa watching it arrive on a flatbed, lol. She’s a very happy bunny. So that’s great. Big shout out to Wendy. I wanted to get Lisa a fairly decent car, one that would hopefully last her for years. That wasn’t dirt cheap. It’s Wendy’s money as well, and it’s not her sister, but she totally wanted Lisa to have it. She was saying tonight that we are privileged to be in the position where we can help people out. The love of money is the root of all evil, and all that. Happily (due to my condition) it’s never really had a hold on me (spend it if we’ve got it, don’t if we ain’t) but good on her for stepping up. Lisa was so happy it was a treat to watch. I’ve waited until after my marathon to post this so I can update it a bit. Lisa has been having issues with the car. She stalled it 3 times on the way to work on her first day in it. She was still stalling it today, 4 days later, so I went out with her to have a look. It does take a bit of […]

Wendy had to start taking some of her holidays so we both booked a week off work. Wendy promptly came down with covid. So that’s lovely. Obviously I followed suit. She came over all ill on Tuesday, I had to get a test kit, but she tested positive as soon as it arrived on Friday, I tested positive the day after. It’s dragging it’s feet. It’s Monday and I tested positive again today. Wendy’s barking a lot and has had painful ears and throat, and feels grotty. It’s making her low. I’ve only got a light dose. I feel a bit weak and tired and I’ve got a persistent tickle. The worst thing for me is trying to sleep. I’m having to prop myself upright because when I lie down I’m constantly swallowing and coughing. My funky new watch monitors everything I do, I’m not sure how accurate it is about monitoring sleep, but it said I had 21 minutes deep sleep last night, 5 hours 22 light sleep. I don’t know the ins and outs, but I am knackered for sure. Up until today I’ve been bad trying to sleep, but when I get up and get dosed up, it becomes tolerable, and I get bored, so I’ve been out for my runs. Today is my long/ fast run day, the plan says to do 16 miles, 12 of them at marathon pace (6.50). If I was doing that I decided I wanted to focus my mind and go all out for a half marathon and set a huge new PB instead. Neither of those options seems achievable today. By now (13.25hrs) my boredom has been outweighing my illness and I’ve been going for a run, today I’m just too, too tired. Fail day, I fear. I was kind of relieved to get it now, I was scared I was going to get it on race week or something, but I need it gone now. This is not convenient. My fitness is probably going to take a bit of hit with the lung thing, I need to get back to it. Meh. I’m too tired to concentrate. Later, Buck.

I’ve been looking at several race predictors and the science is that you lose 8% off your time when you double the distance. So I absolutely have to be 1.25 for a half to stand a chance. That’s 6.30 pace for the distance. Right. I’m through with waiting for improvement. This week my plan is I’m resting today. I’ll do the easy trots tomorrow. The 5x 1200m I’ll do as an 11 mile run with a flat out 5K race. I’ll do slow runs (8m/m) for the next two. I might skip the recovery run. Then I’m going to do a test half. I’m going to go out at 6.30 and just try and hold. It’s 15 seconds per mile more than I have done previously. If I’m rested, absolutely determined, and prepared to accept the pain, I might be able to do it. I’ve just looked, my last half was 1.29:06. I ran a 1.29:05 in April. If I discount the Garmin blip of that 1.26, I’ve not made any gains in 5 months. That just can’t be right. My speed and fitness have to be loads better. I think it’s my capacity to push and suffer that has taken a kicking with Camille’s plan. Watch this space. I’m through with this shit.