Iron Dave Joins The Gym

As patronised by the
Overgraduate

It's what we middle aged, middle class blokes do in January. We join the gym. Fairlawns in my case. The main attraction is the pool (18m long and 1.40m deep all over so a proper swimming pool) but I have to admit the other toys and facilities looked nice when we toured this afternoon. Three types of sauna - who'd have thunk it. I go for my mandatory health check on Thursday - "Oi fatso get off the machines before you break them!" As our Tone used to put it - fings can only get better.

Vaguely on the fitness front I should have been running around after the good burghers of Bishop's Castle and Cleobury Mortimer yesterday afternoon and we very nearly got to start the game, having first been delayed by the most vicious hail storm I've ever witnessed in my shorts. However as I put the whistle to my lips to get proceedings under way there was a massive flash of thunder and an almost coincident clap of thunder. You know that thing you were taught to do as a child, counting from the lightning to the thunder to estimate how far away the lightning is, well you'd have had to go bloody fast to even get to one on this occasion. At which point thirty odd of Shropshire's finest plus referee and a few hardy spectators legged it for cover. There ensued a storm of biblical proportions. Game over. So I had made the longest journey of my refereeing career to be beaten by the elements. The jocular reaction of the thwarted participants reminded me once again just why I love rugby players. Raving good sorts as a former player of my acquaintance used so aptly to put it.

good flick

We've watched two films this week. One was epic in conception and worthy in execution but, in truth, a tad boring - Lincoln. The other was short, taut and in its small way rather brilliant - Hitchcock. I am not a particular devotee of Hitchcock but I am an admirer of Anthony Hopkins' acting. Whisper it if you must but I thought his turn rather better than Daniel Day-Lewis' in Lincoln. Why doesn't The Overgraduate get a vote in the Oscars? Please feel free to start an internet campaign - modesty forbids me from getting involved.

The only sour note this weekend? The utterly unlovely Ed Balls and his cynical promise to reintroduce a 50% tax rate. The showerest of shits.