Hilly Street Blues

There are many words you could use to describe the New Streets. 'Flat' is not one that springs to mind. 'Easy' is another you can forget about. Every year I tell myself I don't care if I don't beat X, or if I get thrashed by Y. And every year I really mean it. And then Andrew says 'Go!' again, and all that gets forgotten. Again. And for half an hour or so, it's pure torture.

This what it feels like -

And this is what it looks like -

But it's strangely compulsive. And so in 51 weeks time we'll be back again. Yes, I know it's only 4 miles. But I haven't yet found a tougher 4 miles on tarmac, anywhere. So, maybe this event encapsulates why we run. It's a challenge, and it hurts, but there is redemption in the camaraderie and the achievement, whether you finish first, last, or nowhere.

Actually, you can't finish nowhere. Not at the New Streets.

Wesham Wonderland.....

... Saturday 29 November 2008...

“....so we’ll hand you over now to Brendan and Steve who are down in deepest Lancashire to describe for us the build up to the Wesham 10k ...”

....yes, thanks Sue, welcome to an absolutely freezing Salwick Social Club, nestling in the countryside in deepest Prestonshire, where the runners are beginning to gather for the famous Wesham 10k. As you’ll know Brendan, this event is a firm favourite on the North-west road-running calendar, and regularly attracts some of the best club runners in the area....” “...that’s right Steve, remember that many of our northern club runners have gone on to represent GB and even become world record holders....although I can’t remember any of their names right now. I’ll tell you what Steve, at £8 per entry the race organisers must be taking a huge loss on this event. In my experience you can’t put a running event on for less than 45 quid these days what with dire pension forecasts and escalating celebrity-runner appearance fees. Speaking of which, Paula Radcliffe’s friend Helen Clitheroe holds the women’s record for this race, and I know that she told Paula about this race, and Paula said she might come along one time and have a look, so let’s hope she turns up today Steve, that would really make my day and.....” “....yes Brendan we know, but in the meantime let’s go to our man in the carpark, the former World 200m and still 400m record-holder, the legendary Michael Johnson. Looks like the atmosphere is beginning to build. Come in Michael, can you hear me?”

“Aye loud and clear Steve, I’ll tell you it’s baltic out here. The carpark marshals are doin’ a great job though, making sure that the cars park in the er,...carpark. The fast lads get the places reet near the clubhouse, the fat lads get shoved out into the off-road area round the back – let’s face it they need the exercise – so there’s a fair bit of banter out here already with 45 minutes to go. I can see a well-honed crew from Eden Runners, looking fit and sharp as ever. I’ll try to catch up with them, see what their pre-race strategy might be....oh but they’ve shot off into the warm clubhouse. Let’s see if we can follow them in there...back to you for the moment Steve....” “......cheers Mick. Brendan’s just nipped out for pie & chips, but while he’s away I think we can bring you some news just reaching us ....it seems that Karen Heaviside, who currently leads the Eden Runners Autumn Series (Female) rankings, has sensationally withdrawn from the race. She did tell me earlier that, although she has almost recovered from her recent ankle thingy, the weather conditions may be against her today, and since she has important races coming up in the next few weeks, she has made what I think is a sensible decision. Ah Brendan’s back...Brendan, any comments on that?..” “Yes, Steve...the pastry was a bit chewy but overall not too bad for half ten on a freezing Saturday. I still can’t see any sign of Paula....but we have got Mickey who’s in the clubhouse with Karen Cummins, from Penrith...Michael?” “......yes Bren, I’m here with Karen who’s just slid off the treatment table to talk to me...Karen, first of all, what were you doing there on the table?” “ Oh, I’ve never experienced that before in my life Mick. My legs are on fire. And look at ma hair! It’s standin on end! My goad, I’m away back for more.....” “Well good luck Karen...there she goes......

As I look across the room here in the clubhouse there are many athletes preparing for the race, all in their own different ways. Some, like Karen who you just saw there, are taking advantage of the pre-race massages on offer. Some, like Paul Saager, have kept their trousers on. Others are sitting in quiet contemplation....let’s see if we can have a word with this athlete.....it’s Andy ‘Wacker’ Wacker isn’t it? It is....great to see you Andy. I was meaning to ask, could I borrow your big luminous green/yellow coat Andy? I’ve heard it’s real warm and you’ll not be using it while the race is on? Oh I see, Karen’s wearing it...ok. Well, our camera motorbike has a headlamp out, I don’t suppose you’ve got a spare bulb in the.....in the car? You have? Great job Andy Wacker! I’ll get that in a minute ok? Cheers mate....Steve – what an incredible atmosphere here in the clubhouse. I hear the five-minute warning gun has just gone bang, so back to you for now...” “...thanks Mikey. Brendan, what difference d’you think these conditions will make? We’ve got freezing fog and ice out there, it’s still a degree or so below freezing and...” “.....no difference at all Steve, as long as your pre-race preparation is meticulous. I’ve got my ViewFrom base layer on and my Great North Run Race Memento over the top, and I can see the pie van about 15 metres away Steve.....hang on there’s my mobile, that could be Paula....hello, Paula? Oh no it’s you again Barker... the race is about to start...yes I know for cryingoutloud....Jeez what was that?” “...that would be the starter’s pistol Brendan. Alright, back to Michael who’s out on the course.....what can you tell us Mike?” ......

" ’kinell Steve it’s chuffin’ freezing here....we’re out at around one and a half kilometres, right by a gap in the hedge where there’s a massive puddle with ice on top. I’ve just seen John Bridge, running like Sebastian Coe in ‘Steve Ovett : Was he the One with the Beard?’ going through, followed by Alan Marshall running like, er, like he can’t. Next green vest through it looks like Andrew ‘Andy’ Wacker, running like John Wayne in ‘Rio Bravo’, then it’s Paul Saagerinho emerging through the mists, like Michael Caine in ‘Get Carter’. As the runners move past us there is what can only be described as a ‘mobile disturbance’ in the area, surely it has to be The Comeback Kid, a.k.a Dave Peacock. Indeed it is......there he goes, running like The Trousers in ‘The Wrong Trousers’. Dave looks to me like he’s moving at just outside 47 minute pace, if only we could somehow tell him he needs to increase his pace by an average of 1sec/km. Never mind. Here’s the Other Comeback Kid, Jools ‘Holland’ King. What a performance this is – she isn’t even wearing a coat, such bravery. Julia is quietly re-honing her stiletto-like competitive weaponry after a well-earned, er, break, and we will no doubt see a gradual return to form over the coming weeks. Ah here I think I can see Kevin Whitemore, running like Sancho Panza in ‘Man from La Mancha’. Oh hang on, back to you Brendan...” “ Michael I’m fairly certain I saw Paula down there in the throng... can you tell her that the whole world is glad to see her running here in the Great North Run, sorry did I say ‘Great North Run’ there? Sorry I meant ‘London Marathon’. Anyway, tell her that I’m still carrying that torch for her, and that I’m keeping her pie & mushy peas warm inside my ViewFrom climate-control parka....” “...no Brendan in fact I think it’s Karen, yes it’s Karen Cummins you saw, it’s not Paula....Karen is looking for a pb, among other things, here at Wesham today. There she goes, like a miniature Scottish stormtrooper. I can hear Brahms ‘Ein deutsches requiem’ (from ‘Live at the Bremen Arena’, (1868)) blasting through her headphones there. How fitting that she should choose that piece rather than the slighter ‘Rinaldo’, the cantata often used as an alternative to ‘Keep On Running’ at the Cumbrian Run. Typical of the woman, Steve....” “....thanks Mickey.

Well, the race is approaching its final stages, so while we wait for Michael to get to the finish area I’ll just remind everyone that the we have extended coverage of the post-race reaction, interviews, warm-down routines and shoe-lacing workshop. Just press your red button as coverage ends here on Your BBC1 ...but quickly back to Michael....What up, Mikey?..” “ Well Steve, here come the first Eden Runners...it’s Bridge tearing into the home straight looking for a pb at sub-40...but wait here’s Marshall too....Bridge holds him off... they’re at full pace now, other competitors are being skittled out of the way as they blast towards the line....Bridge still has it.....well! I can’t separate them, they’re in a heap under the finish gantry. We’ll have to wait for the official result but I’m being told that’s around 39.53, a PB for JB, gr8! He comes Andy ‘Walker’ Walker, looking nonchalant as ever, cruising through the finish, closely pursued by Paul Saager, running smoother than my vintage Camero used to do on those summer Sundays through the leafy New England countryside, close to where Maria and I used to .......but anyway here’s another blue ‘n’ greenie, and it’s Dave Peacock, demonstrating his superb technical ability as he holds it together in the home straight. Quickly back to the studio where I think Brendan wants to add something...” “ ...too right I do, these hot dogs are tremendous value, but more onions next time please... agreed Steve? No, well just leave it... I’ll finish it if you like, I’m starving....is that Paula I can see on the monitor Steve?.....” “...No Brendan it’s Karen Cummins...looks like we’ve missed both Julia ‘Return of The’ King and Kevin Whitemore.

Whitemore crosses the line...the lights of Salwick Social Club can be seen in the background

I think that Kev had another pb there Brendan, he’s in the form of his life, like. As is Karen here, she was hoping to run under 60 mins, and she’s in here in just over 54 minutes. Great work – just shows what a pre-race massage will do. Agreed Bren?” “Aye Steve. I remember this one time before the European Championships in Helsinki in 1974, and a lovely lass she was Steve, she had the most beautiful..” “right Brendan, that’s all we have time for. I just have a few seconds to read out a text we’ve received from an Andrew Sharples in Laz-y-boy in Cumbria, he asks ‘Brendan – did you ever run a race that wasn’t quite the advertised distance?’ Well Andy we’re not sure if that’s a philosophical question or whether you’re carrying some ridiculous complex around with you....either way, it’s a bit sad....and you really should move on. Have you ever thought of joining a running club?....anyway don’t get knocked over or anything.

See you next week where our cameras will be at Keswick for the 4th round of the Cumbria Cross-Country Series.....is that another pie Brendan??”

Battle with the elements

From our intelligence gained the night before we knew the elements were going to fight dirty and where planning to use some of their most fearsome fighting units Wind, Rain, cold and an elite unit called mud. Our small unit was made up of three Highly trained athletes ,a seasoned veteran and team leader (codename Karen), recently recognised as most improved by his platoon (codename john) and a late recruit code name Anne .Early on Thursday morning Karen and myself( John) set off under the cover of darkness to our first secret rondavue just outside Carlisle to pick up Anne at 0900 hrs. Our unit now complete we headed for the secret RAF base in the middle of nowhere called Spadeadem for our briefing (most of which is classified) at 10.00hrs.We meet other hand picked men and women from all over the country who were prepared to join forces and take on this challenge .We studied our maps and instructions carefully as we didn’t want to take any wrong turns along the way .At 10.55hrs the officer in charge gave the order to proceed outside . We gathered at the edge of the base and no sooner after the commander had finished his words of encouragement the battle began ,a single shot whistled over our heads, it was time to go.

We all set off as a tight unit at first heading up a gentle hill on a tarmac road. I settle in behind Karen, my usual position. We passed the first two check points in good time and before long our path change direction and we where on forest track and in the cover of the trees. We passed several abandoned rocket launcher and rusting tanks scattered along the track and it was at this point that we thought we were all gonners as a loud explosion shook the ground around us and we all ducked for cover we where definitely in a war zone. After regaining our composure we pushed on. We had good cover for most of the way and the elements weren’t affecting our progress but that wouldn’t last for much longer, after a long steady climb I could see that the cover was about to end and we where heading for open Moor land. We had no choice but to make a run for it. No sooner had we broke cover we where attacked form all sides. Some of the rain and cold had combined and form a splinter group called hail stones, and they were using needle-sharp skin piercing ammunition. And being fully exposed we were easy targets .Our specially design lycra and thermal clothing gave use some protection but our faces took the full force from the hail stones which where being supported by the wind. We kept our heads low and pushed on .The constant barrage seamed to go on for ages and it was at this point our unit began to break up, it was every man (and women for themselves). I made it back into the safety of the trees and it was then I realised Iwas on my own I soldier on.I soon passed two more check points 9+10 and things starts to go down hill, Karen was way in front now and I could only just see her in my sights I turned round to check on Anne but there was no sign. Had she succumbed to the elements ? I know she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

With the wind and rain gathering in force the elements knew we would be tiring at this point and laid an ambush on the track, yes the mud was lying in wait, ready to take us down. Karen was the first to take on the mud and like a knife through butter she ploughed through, mud splattered everywhere she made it look easy but she had been in this situation many times before. As I approached the mud my legs were getting heavy and wasn’t sure I was going to make it . The mud was doing its best to trip me up using hidden booby traps and water filled pot holes .I battled on and came throught the conflict relatively unscathed.
I was soon back on the road and passed the 12th checkpoint I could see in the distance the safety of the base. As I got closer I could see the waiting crowd ,and with admiration and relief that another one had made it back they cheered and applauded. The commanding officer was there to congratulate us and award us with a medal for bravery and endeavour. But relief soon turned to anguish as we realised that Anne was still out there.

We waited and waited looking into the distance for Anne but there was no sign, had we lost one of our comrades to the elements, our hearts began to sink. Then we spotted the green and blue camouflage vest and with fight and determination that we have come to expect from Anne she fought all they way to the finish
It had been a successful mission and in the officers mess afterwards we drank cheap beer at a pound a pint and ate free pie and chips (these where RAF pies the lids were securely fastened-Andy) and laugh and joked about our victory. Was that the best that the elements could throw at us!

The commanding office awarded those who showed outstanding performances in the field and Karen was given the Victrix Ludorum the highest honour .Karen said it’s the best thing she had ever won but her jubilations soon turned to disappointment as she realized that she couldn’t take it home to show the rest of the troops. As it had to stay on the base, permanently on display for others to remember the men and women who turned out that day .

Twenty Falls But No Submission

An account of the Langdale Horseshoe as seen from the rear of the field.

Well, I had run badly on the previous Sunday, staggered around Coombe Woods at Armathwaite on the Thursday; I was definitely coming down with something. I was viewing snotty children at work with suspicion… it was inevitable, I was obviously going to BE ILL – I had found an excuse not to run the Langdale Horseshoe on Saturday.

Unfortunately, the unrelentingly cheerful Andy Ramsay rang me on Friday night to see if I was running. ‘Well…’ I muttered about my declining health, the bad weather and then fobbed him off with a ‘I’ll watch the weather forecast and then think about it again’. Second bad moment of the evening arrived in the form of a cracking weather forecast and smiling weather presenter. Really, I couldn’t be malingering at home whilst there was a race to be run… I rang Andy back ‘I’ve changed my mind’ He sounded mildly surprised – doesn’t he know about the female prerogative?

In the way that these things happen, I next found myself slogging up to Stickle Tarn at the rear of a very large field of keen looking runners. ‘Ha!’ I thought ‘They’ll not be looking so fit by the time they get to Pike O’Blisco’. So, working on the principle that it may well be a long day, I made no attempt to overtake anyone, settling instead for keeping Andy in view and relishing the fact that the man with the bad leg I had managed to pass hadn’t yet caught me up.

And so time passed.

As the morning wore on it became apparent that the main feature of the route was going to be bog. Having had our compulsory Cumbrian pre-race 24 hour deluge the back of Thunacar Knott now resembled the Everglades (but with no trees or crocodiles). It was when the chap ahead of us fetchingly attired in bright orange vest and shorts vanished up to his waist that we paused slightly in our downhill trajectory. This gave Andy enough time to leap onto a quaking raft of moss. As it shivered gently, threatening to cast him adrift across the fathomless boggy depths his army survival training kicked in and he leapt manfully from the watery trap. His Ron Hills greedily sucked up the moisture, threatening to drag him back in, as he staggered knee deep at the waters edge. Luckily, Andy’s foresight in carrying an empty bottle up the hill to save weight in his bumbag meant that he did not complain one jot about the extra two kilos of water he was now carrying in each leg of his trakky bottoms. In the meantime day glow man had successfully extricated himself from his sphagnum grave (presumably employing some useful Ray Mears techniques) and was valiantly struggling on although his ability to fluoresce had taken a spattering.

More time passed.

We reached Esk Hause, we passed Esk Hause, we gained on the orange man struggling in the mud on the way to Bowfell. Andy kept falling over.

We reached Bowfell and passed a few more people. Then the Crinkles. Considering our position at the rear of the field I was impressed to find a bottle neck of half a dozen people skittering about at the top of the ‘Bad Step’. Who cared if you might break your neck – just get down tha’ bloody thing. I found myself slipping into dialect as Andy and I skipped stylishly past the small crowd, effortlessly downclimbing into the gully below, the whole seamless performance I felt, reflecting well on our Eden Runners vests. Then Andy fell over again. Having survived the short rock climb he chose to plummet face down with some force onto the rocks in the gully below, startling a number of other runners (however failing to trip or injure any of them). With nobbut a commando roll and a curse he was up again and off.

More time passed.

It was at this point that I started to get really bad period pain. I began pathetically asking random runners we caught up with ‘Hast tha’ any painkillers?’ they shook their heads blankly – either they had no paracetomol or they couldn’t understand my accent. This was getting really bad. Normally I would be in bed with a hot water bottle and some very strong drugs – instead I was three hours into a long run and I wasn’t near the finish, worse still, Andy was still smiling, even though he kept falling over. It was downhill but I felt like walking; I wanted to go home, but sadly Pike O’Blisco was in the way.

I was temporarily heartened by the sight of a young man bent double in the stream. ‘Are you okay?’ I courteously enquired. ‘Cramp’ was the agonised reply. Thus encouraged by the poor chap’s inability to move at all I continued with my slow progress to the final evil ascent of the race. Trying to ignore the fact that the Prize Giving was probably already underway I valiantly sucked the last remnants of Go-gel from my supply and staggered on. Another man with cramp ground to a halt – if only they had periods, then they’d know what real pain was! Heartened by the demise of another competitor I pushed on flicking Andy the V’s in return for his cheerful encouragement.

Time passed and then that moment in every fell race you’re waiting for… the sweet call of the final descent. Nothing now lay between me and a long lie down except a quick romp off the hill to the valley. I perked up. I could run through my pain. My pace picked up. I could smell the valley. I was strong. I was invincible. I was nearly taken out by Mr Ramsay going down yet again, this time in a stylish sliding tackle, embracing the quagmire full on. All credit to him – he just kept on getting up again even though it quickly became obvious he was not going to make it to the finish without fully engaging with all aspects of the slope. Time spent practicing aquaplaning is seldom wasted and it was here that the young Ramsay’s weakness in the standing glissade was revealed. For me though, it was full steam ahead. Looking over my shoulder Andy somersaulted neatly, performing a full forward roll over a particularly slippery bit – the man was developing real style.

Finally we hit the tarmac of the valley road and Andy was, at last, able to remain upright. We pounded into the taped funnel with only slight confusion as I was resisting a strong urge to run directly into the bar. There at the finish my mildly bemused parents (from Lincolnshire – no hills) were waiting to carry me off to the prospect of a hot bath, clean clothes and civilization (okay at this point I admit I’m exaggerating). I slipped back into dialect ‘Hast tha’ any painkillers mam?’

Disclaimer – the fact that Mr Ramsay was not able to remain on his feet was due largely to the footwear he was wearing and not to any naturally inherent inability he may or may not possess.

Blog post by Penny Clay

The Penrith Triathlon

Anth Labram cutting a mean shape on his way to victory

All photos taken by Stu Mair.

Well, there it was. A rapidly-organised triathlon in our very own town. Who could resist the charm of such an event? Some of us had done no specific training, no planning, no long build-up to the big event, not even a dip in the pool to see how things were in the arm department...It almost had all the minimalist allure of a fell race.

In keeping with the lack of forethought, the nerves beforehand crept up and kept on going. By the time I was in the pool (funny hat on head, oversized goggles slipping about), I could have been on the Olympic nervous-panic team....Will my cycle shorts stay on the lower body, or will they fight to stay in the pool as I make an undignified exit?...Will I don my swim googles for the run instead of the hat?...

The questions loomed large.

Karen poised for the off

With no earthly idea how long it would take to swim 400 m, I'd over-estimated, which meant I was first in the pool. This worked out well, so in no time, I was on the bike, squelching slightly and a bit gritty in the foot department. So far, so good. Anth creamed past on the edge of town, wearing a helmet that he'd borrowed off Darth Vader.

I wobbled on, past familiar faces marshalling the route. This wasn't like a fell race though. Normally I can have an entire conversation with someone as I'm passing. This time, there was the odd snatched word drifting off into the wind...."..Welllll...." or ..."...going..." I wonder what they were saying...



Meanwhile, back in the pool, Wacker (anchor man of Team ER) was cracking out a scorcher of a swim. In a shade over seven minutes, the half-man, half-fish was in and out, ready for a swift turnaround with Tony the Wheels. Fate played a cruel hand though, when Tony found the regulation Ullswater Community College drawing pin on his way to the event. It had been busy reducing his tyre pressure to a heavy yawn, and it looked like the game was up. With a 20 minute transition that took in Wacker's bike shed and back, it was all to play for. With the second bike, Tony was able to get back on the road. John B then took over from Tony, and ran the second fastest 5K of the event.

Half-man, half-fish

With the running shoes on, I was now ready for the 5K. Well, the upper half of me was. The rest had decided to morph into potato-legs. It was all a bit debilitating. Resigned to shuffling around the taped course, mostly watching Karen steaming along as if this was the first exercise of the day, it was just a case of finishing and not lying down for a nice rest.

Karen on her way to the fourth fastest run of the day

So that was that, the first Penrith Triathlon, but hopefully not the last. The triathlon newbies, Karen and I, decided that we did enjoy it (although that was a few minutes after the event).

Anth was the winner, in a time of 1 hr 15 mins (or was it Darth Vader?).
After a ponderous run, I tottered in at 1 hr 37, and Karen, 1 hr 45. Team ER would have come in about 1 hr 28 without the little pin.

Congratulations to everyone who took part. Thanks to the organisers, Sarah and Phil Graham of Arragon's Cycle Centre, Jeff Marshall of Eden District Council. And thanks to the marshalls, many of them Eden Runners on their day off. A big 'ta' to Stu Mair for magic photography and the odd "aye, grand, lass' as I lolloped past.

TANTRUMS AND TATRAS (2)

So, after thinking for a moment along the lines of ''Wait for me mate, I'm getting off too!'', we had an uneventful flight to Bratislava, some 5 hours by road from our holiday destination.
We were met by Marek our driver, and, with the trailer loaded with our bags off we went. I now know, after two hair raising taxi rides in Bratislava, that Mareks driving was typical of the local style. In his case it seemed to be that overtaking (or undertaking for that matter) could only be done following endless tailgating of the vehicle in front; the act of overtaking ALWAYS involved pulling alongside and then changing gear to finish the manoeuvre, usually in pitch darkness with no obvious clues as to whether we were approaching a bend, or falling off the edge of the world.
I was lucky enough to be sitting immediately behind him for the entire journey too!
Perhaps he knew we were 'bricking it' because he did stop twice for the toilets within about ten minutes, leaving me with the uncomfortable thought that he'd been asleep the first time we stopped!
He came good for us though on arrival at Tatranska Lomnica, when we found our accommodation. Unfortunately it was locked up for the night with no sign of life! My contact, one Jaroslav Pec, had told me that our late arrival after midnight would not be a problem. I've subsequently emailed him to say that though it wasn't a problem for them, as they'd simply shut up shop and gone home at 10 PM, it certainly had been for us, as we trailed around until David got us into a former communist built hotel nearby for the night at about 1:00AM.
This hotel had padded corduroy (OH Yes!) doors to the rooms, which Jan thought we could have had fun with if we'd brought our Velcro suits. The breakfast was good though and the views brilliant, then off went Karen, Katrin and I, to find Jaroslav Pec. We looked in the laundry, were sent to the kitchen, then the restaurant, then reception, to be met with blank stares and Slovak shrugs of the shoulders. I accused blokes in the reception area of being Jaroslav Pec, and just the opposite of that film when everyone wanted to be Spartacus, no one wanted to be Jaroslav.
We did however get booked in and held a room lottery for some very good accommodation, then out to the hills!

We trudged up the foothills of Lomnicky Stit, our local mountain, to the cable car stop at 1751 metres for refreshment, then the fun began with a circuitous route back which we could run on, well, at least until Katrin took a tumble and sustained deep cuts and grazes to hands and legs. Fortunately none of the blood dripped onto her dazzlingly yellow running shoes. This showed up our lack of first aid kit ( I think we had a Stanley knife and some fruit gums between us), although we did later on meet a very pleasant German lady who insisted on sticking plasters to most of Katrins available flesh! Now, for a country which produces such technical stuff as BMW and Audi, you would think their sticking plasters would stick, but no, within 5 steps the plasters wilted like a Tory MP caught with a call girl, but 'thank you kind German lady', if you ever read this, it was the thought that counted.
End of day two saw us in a local restaurant, I ordered a starter of bread, lard and onions, fully expecting it to be something like bread with onion gravy and a bad english translation, but no! It really was bread, liberally spread with lard, and piled with raw onion. Generously I offered tasters to everyone, but very few accepted. At about 8p it was the cheapest starter I've ever had, and I thought about that a lot as I burped and belched my way through the sleepless dark hours to dawn.............(next up, the BIG TANTRUM IN THE TATRAS, AND FURTHER TRAGEDY STRIKES)....

Tatras Tomfoolery

While we wait for Andy's blogging extravaganza, here's the trailer....

TANTRUMS IN THE TATRAS

This is just an advance trailer for the Tatras Trip we've just got back from, to tickle your taste buds for terrific tatric tomfoolery, tragedy, trauma, trips and tripe (well, onions and lard really), there will shortly be some blogging going on featuring a potted story of our trip, starting with the blind panic, sweaty palms, white knuckle fear and terror when the bloke two rows in front of me, just before we started taxiing for take off pressed the 'fetch a steward' buzzer above his head and announced '' I wish to get off, I do not wish to fly on this aircraft today'' - WHAAAAATTTT!!!
(to be continued...........)