Another 50 Up

Today MD does his 50th parkrun. Hurray. I have done 56 in all and all but 6 of them have been with MD. He’s done well. His PB is 22:14 and today at Long Eaton we run 23:36 which isn’t bad at all for an oldie. An oldie and his dog that is.

We celebrate as ever with coffee and bacon sandwiches in the Rugby club.

We decide to go ahead with one of the painting quotes we’ve had. L describes it as a choice between the dipsy one that was late for his appointment but did give us a quote or the one that forgot to give us a quote entirely.

Having chosen, we are then told it will take 7 days. So that’s £850 plus a week off work? No thanks. Looks like L might have to get her brush out after all.

(Saturday 1st December)

My Favourite Author

This morning we parkrun first at Leicester Victoria then L and Daughter get the train back to Nottingham.

MD doesn’t get to run because we have an Agility Show at Market Bosworth Rugby Club and we drive there straight from parkrun. All my runs are scheduled late morning and we arrive just in time to do the first one.

We get E’d but it wasn’t too bad. Then our next run is in the Crufts Individual Qualifier. It was better and clear but seeing as we had an argument mid-course I don’t think we’ll be taking up a qualifying berth. We do all three of runs by lunchtime and then we head home. I do like these short dog shows.

In the evening, L has got tickets to see Terry Waite at Derby’s Book Festival at Quad. That’s at 5pm and then afterwards she heads over to Broadway where we meet for food and Ian McEwan.

Ian McEwan is my favourite author that I've never read but I do like the films based on his work, so his 'On Chesil Beach' intrigued me.

It is the story of Florence (Saoirse Ronan) and Edward (Billy Howle), two young university graduates from different cultures. She is a talented and ambitious violinist from a wealthy parents (Emily Watson and Samuel West) while he is the son of a schoolteacher (Adrian Scarborough) and an artist (Anne-Marie Duff). His mother is brain damaged following an horrendous incident with train door.

They meet when Edward, a little drunk after celebrating his exam results, gate crashes a CND meeting because he feels he badly need to share his success with someone, anyone. In Florence he feels he's hit pure gold and wants to share more than just his exam results with her.

Like other McEwan adaptations all this back story is revealed in flashbacks from where they are now which is their bedroom in a quaint seaside hotel on Chesil Beach in Dorset on honeymoon.

Edward is eagerly anticipating the big moment of consummating their marriage while Florence is absolutely dreading it. I think she’s too posh for that sort of stuff and despite the fact he’s positively gagging for it, he bottles it. This creates an uncomfortable situation and even the waiters who serve them dinner laugh at them. This is the 1960s but nothing is swinging here. Nothing is zipping either. Why did they never sort that zip out?

It is excruciating for them but especially for us and a bit of a surprise really considering how natural, normal and intimate the scenes of their courtship were. Then the thing that understandably finally kills off their attempts at sex is Edward’s premature ejaculation. Clearly this wasn’t covered in the sex manual Florence had been terrifying herself with but how he got himself that worked up when so little progress seemed to have been made on the seduction front I’m not sure. The film is so overwhelmed by its momentum impeding flashbacks that its enough to put anyone off their stroke.

Florence legs it on to the beach where they argue and eventually she offers a compromise deal, herself as a dutiful but sexless wife. He’s not buying that, he thought he'd signed up for the whole package, and I don’t blame him. So apparently that’s it. One crap shag and its all over. That’s a worry and if true how did anyone ever get born?

Given that the book is only a short novella, the film feels padded out and McEwan has indeed added some extra scenes. These include quite an eye-opening one thirteen years later, set in a record shop run by Edward. A child, Chloe, appears in his shop and she is clearly Florence’s daughter. She is aged about twelve.

So whatever Florence’s hang ups were she got over them pretty quickly didn't she and with a member of her string quartet, Charles. Whereas in the book she remained single and filled with regret, here that is clearly not the case. Perhaps her failure to consummate her marriage was actually down to unresolved feelings for another man?

In all a disappointing film, that never really exploded into life even when you think it ought to. Sorry Ian, I don't buy it.

(Saturday 2^nd June)

All The Best Places

L is panicking that she might struggle to clock up her 500 miles. There’s no chance of that, I’ve already ordered the commemorative t-shirts. It does mean though that we’ve got a pretty tough schedule between now and May, including a trip to Peterborough today. We go to all the best places, oh yes.

Today’s race is the Nene Valley 10 Miler, which sounds nice but, having been lured down to the area recently for the not-by-the-riverside Riverside Half, probably isn’t and there’s no t-shirt.

I’m here because anything has got be better than the Edwinstowe Christmas 10k again, off road and all for another red t-shirt with Christmas trees on it. It’s such a minefield picking a race at this time of year, they nearly all have ‘Reindeer’ or ‘Santa’ in the title and can often involve fancy dress. All to be avoided, I think.

So here we are trying to find the Rugby Club somewhere round the back of Sainsbury’s, before queuing for the temporary toilets and then finally milling about on the road outside Aldi looking for the start line. I tell you, Mo Farrah doesn’t know he’s born. It’s back there we’re told. Back up, back up, back up... then suddenly, with no evidence of a starting gun, horn, whistle or even a cry of ‘ready, steady, go’ we’re off, I think. I never did find out where the start line was.

It’s a bit of a dull one, around the local housing estates with a short stretch through a wood, which is presumably where the local muggings take place after dark.

The first few miles are livened up with a game of dodge the post. How it works is the chap in front of you suddenly yells ‘POST’ at the top of his voice and dodges violently to one side, causing you to hurdle the two foot high metal post that you are now hurtling towards. You then yell ‘POST’ yourself or sometimes perhaps ‘****ING POST’ as you pass the problem elegantly on to the next man. Great fun.

A few miles in, with everyone now more spread out, a broken leg starts to become less of a concern and I begin to concentrate on the race itself. Well, on the ponytail in front of me, which had the nerve to overtake but that I now have no intention of letting get away from me.

The course has PB potential, there's a few twisty bits but it's pretty flat apart from the underpass, oh and the bridge. It’s also devoid of all scenery but just in case you did miss something you get chance to do it all again with a second lap. The view though is no better second time around but by then I was focusing purely on getting a PB rather than debating the architectural merits of modern housing estates with the people around me.

Talking of which, I was just thinking what hairy legs the owner of the ponytail in front of me had when I realised that, although I was still following a white and blue running vest, it’s owner has suddenly turned into an grey haired chap. How did that happen? I really have not been concentrating enough. Still, it makes no odds; I can’t let him beat me either.

There’s a thimbleful of water on offer at halfway but in plastic cups, so I have to ease up to drink it. Then having been revived, a little, I go past the grey haired chap and tag on to the back of four other guys who I reckon are going at about the right pace to pull me round to the finish but they part, let me through and then fall behind me. That wasn’t supposed to happen either. This is going far too well, after doing all three of my previous ten milers in 1:13 perhaps I could possibly get a 1:12 this time?

I continue to pass people all the way around the second lap. That is until last 20 yards. Where did they all come from?

1:12:56 I reckon or maybe 1:12:57... Job done and a negative split, not done many of them. The official results say 1:12:59... They’re having me on but it still counts as sub 1:13, just. So I must have got my training (ha ha) and my pre-race routine (thanks L) right.

The goodie bag turns out to be just that, a bag, an empty one or you could have a drinks bottle. So I go for that, you can never have too many drinks bottles... or bags for that matter.

Then it’s back up to Derby, where I’m due at the Dog Club AGM before we head out on the tiles for what seems the first time in ages, taking in the Lincolnshire Poacher and a curry that is so cheap we have to tip them for fear of them going out of business.

(Sunday 4th December)