Sardines

We had been driven up river, floated, paddled and swam down to the campsite, and everyone was now making severe dents into their BBQ, beer and wine supplies. Someone suggested a game of ‘Sardines’ which involves one person hiding in a set area and the others trying to find them. The twist is that when you do find the hider, you join them (ideally without anyone else seeing you) and this continues until the last person is walking around on their own. It can get quite scary in the dark on your own, particularly if you play it in a closed fairground, which we did. After the first game it was decided that everyone should pair up, as the dark and ghostly horse faces on the carousel were making everyone jump, giggle and then reach out for some nearby reassurance. In the second game, LEA (with whom there is some history) and I had to hide. We ran off into the dark as 12 other 25-30 year old adults got into a huddle and counted up to 60 out loud. We found a carriage on the carousel that was made to look like a pair of the ghostly horses were pulling it around. We managed to fit under the seats where we faced each other, both giving out prods and tickles in an attempt to make each other laugh out loud and give away our position.

That was when it turned slightly scary.

But funny.

The fairground owner, a gypsy, came over and told some of the hunters that ‘this area is closed’ and ‘you should all leave right away’ The hunters took him seriously, but didn’t want to abandon the game. The Gypsy came over to the carousel and stepped up onto it, about 5 metres from where we lay. The whole metal base lurched over slightly under his weight, then clunked back up to level. We heard his footsteps as he traced a path across the carousel, then it lunged down and bounced up again as he stepped off. We heard the hunters calling out our names and telling us the game was over as everyone had to leave the fairground. We then saw J come over and he spotted us, dived into the carriage and started giggling with us, all in about 5 seconds. We whispered in the dark about what we should do, and were about to get up, when we heard someone else coming over. A couple came and stood right by the edge of the carriage. They began kissing, and for a horrible moment I thought they might come and sit in the carriage, but instead the girl got up on the horse pulling our carriage and the guy took some photos of her. The really strange thing for them, when they have a closer look at the photos, will be the 3 pairs of legs and feet visible in the background of their secret fairground elope.

The Gypsy came over and moved them on, ‘its really not safe for you here’ the really sounding severely intimidating to me, but probably more than it was meant to. I suddenly had visions of him pretending to have not seen us and start the carousel up, turning the speed up more and more until we flew out of the carriage and exploded on the concrete.

But he didn’t. We heard him walk off again and then made our escape back to the tents, laughing like kids all the way.

There is plenty more to this story, particularly parts involving LEA which will be explained later. I need to speak to the Twin tonight and call time on our involvement, the thought of doing which has been occupying my head for 2 days and is making me feel sick. I am a coward.

The week that was

Sunday was the Plymouth Olympic distance Triathlon. I did a new pb of 23 mins for the swim, which A's had bettered by only 4 seconds, though i didn't know this until i got to transition and he was still there, putting on his cycling shoes. Its amazing how much faster a wetsuit makes you swimming; 3, maybe even 4 minutes over 1500m compared to the pool. The bike was one hill after another so felt like I was only ever either flying down, or struggling up a gradient, and didn’t ever really settle onto my tribars and power out some speed. I caught up A’s at 18km and had a brief ‘Hey’ ‘Hows it going’ as I went past. The run was fine for about 3k, but then I began to feel the early onset of cramp in my quads after going up ‘Murder’ hill. This seemed to clear on the flat, then flare up again on any up hill sections, though it never stopped me completely. Mind games I think. I crossed the line in the sunshine some 11 minutes quicker than my time last year. I really feel that I'm making progress and I think if I train hard this year I could make it into the top 20 next year. Great day.

Monday, one day later than Craig David, I chilled.

Tuesday I had my MOT. Everything on the exhaust seems to have become completely knackered. They managed to weld the manifold, but I needed several new hose bits and a new catalytic converter, not because it was knackered itself, but the pipe next it was corroded beyond a weld-repair. With a few other bits and bobs and the labour it was £580. I debated whether or not it was worth paying this out, but my dad convinced me it was. I wasn’t so sure, but went with his judgement. I'm going to save £200 a month this year and buy a new car next year. At least that’s the plan. In the evening I went fishing and finally caught some fish - 4 mackerel to be precise and I eat them for dinner. I caught one on a pink sand eel lure, and then 3 on some feathers.

Wednesday night I went surfing after work with two friends from work. It was predicted as 3-4 stars on Magic Seaweed, but the blue sky and sunshine had larger stakes in my decision to go. We went to Polzeath, which is probably the nearest north coast break, and it was really clean surf, if a little busy. I got out after about 90 minutes and had a look around the rock pools while I waited for the others to get out.

Thursday night the housemates and I discovered yet another reason why the flat by the sea is the best in Plymouth. We have joined the local Tennis club, which cost the mind bogglingly pitiful sum of £15 for the year. The tennis court is grass, but a little bit rubbish, but out behind the court there is a bowling green, another big grass area and a BBQ. It overlooks the sea and is absolutely beautiful. I couldn’t believe there was no one there, and the groundsman later told me that it rarely got used, which seems ridiculous. It’s like having a massive garden for £15 a year.

Friday night (tonight) I'm off back to Bris for a BBQ with friends before we head out on a canoeing trip. We get driven upriver by the canoe company, paddle/float our way down river then camp for the night and then carry on the next day before getting picked up and driven back. Sounds simply wonderful to me.

Have I been in the aquarium too long? How have I missed this sneaking up?



(and here)

Wheres the hype? Frenzy? (and ultimately dissapointment?)

Plus for all you Porno Pants fans, heres a rare glimpse of them in action...

PP: Episode 8

Bournemouth Tri was a wash out. The swim got cancelled due to some waves which didn’t really compare to those we swam in at Bude. The wind was quite bad though, and both the Sprint and Olympic events got reduced to a 5k 20k 5k duathlon (run bike run). We had travelled over to Bournemouth on the Saturday, found our £23 B&B and guessed how long it had been since the rooms had been decorated; the latest estimate being 1985. At 5.15 the next morning my phone did its light up, vibrate, then beep alarm routine and we quickly showered, eat as many Weetabix as we dared and wheeled the bike down towards the seafront. The news of the swim cancellation came as no surprise and we racked our bikes and moaned about paying so much money out only for the race to be thwarted by a bit of wind. JC went off at 6.30, DC at 6.40 and A’s at 7. I had an hour to kill until my ‘veteran’ wave went off, which I spent cheering the others on as they came and left the transition area on their various legs, and warming my hands under a drier in the men’s toilets. I didn’t spend as long as I wanted to in there though for fear of the Porno Pants + Mens toilets + hanging around equalling some unwanted gay event that probably would have been worth blogging about. Both the run legs were the same out and back along the promenade and the bike was an undulating dual carriageway, all under the supervision of a relentless wind and rain. I hit 60km/h down one hill with the wind behind me, then struggled to average 20km/h on the way back with the wind and rain in my face. I must have sworn 20 times as rain dripped off my helmet and face and the puddles splashed up over my legs and filled my shoes. I sprinted the last 200 m and gritted my teeth as the wind sand-blasted my legs and I swore another 10 times.

Plymouth Olympic is in 2 weeks. I think if it rains then as well I am going to have to give some serious consideration to emigration.

Bude Shoreline Triathlon (Porno Pants: Episode 7)

The water surface turns the suns light into visible rays, which penetrate to deep beds of kelp and rocks below. Both of my ears are water logged and there is little sound. I turn my head to breath and my right ear and eye break the surface. I see a flash of blue sky, some bubbling water and something of the dark shape that is the guy in a wetsuit next to me. The water in my ear clears and I suddenly hear a harsh churning of sound which just as quickly gets muffled again as my head turns back and ear goes under the water. This cycle of looking at the bottom, turning to breath, seeing some sky, ear clearing then blocking continues for about 5 minutes as I head out towards the buoy. The rocky bottom begins to get split up by lines of sand and eventually the dark aquamarines of the start have become completely saturated by the white sand. The water too becomes murky as the increasing waves pick up the sand and give it a smoothie-making blitz. By the time I arrive at the buoy the protection of a sea wall to my left has reduced to nothing and the full force of the surf is pounding us. Staying upright and breathing is becoming difficult, which I’m forced to give priority to above swimming for a few seconds. I manage to get to within 5 metres of the buoy and tread water for a bit, waiting for a space amongst the bodies to join in their migration around it and in towards the beach. A wave washes the buoy close to me, and for an instant I think I can make it around, only for the same wave to wash me backwards to from where I had just come. The wave passes and the buoy springs further back on its chain, now 20 metres away. I try again with similar results, and decide its best to just swim the long way round it than mess about playing dodge-buoy.


The swim at low tide- the buoy that caused all the trouble is just about visible

The rest of the race went well. I made it around the bike course with no crashes(!) and marvelled, and then checked out the two women who overtook me during the race - one on the bike and one on the run, after starting 5 minutes behind. The first was the eventual winner, Flora Duffy, who will be competing in the Beijing Olympics representing Bermuda, and was a proper little hottie with a very nice bike. The other was Helen Parkinson, who, it turns out was World Quadrathlon champion in 2006, and was a very tall hottie with a very nice behind. Both of them were going too fast to get a proper ogle at though.

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The summer of SMARTBuddy sport continues in 2 days with the Bournemouth Olympic distance tri. The only thing of note is my first progression to the world of being 30: The race is split up into age groups, and they take your age from the 31st December, which is after I will be 30. This means that I will have to start in the ‘old persons’ 30 years old and above group, and I have a ‘30’ in the age column next to my name in the start list, whihc is both untrue and unfair. Worse of all is that A’s is in the 18-29 group, and will start an hour before me so we won’t be able to race in ‘real time’ and will have to just compare times afterwards.

In summary, I’m upset about being nearly 30.