That Rule Of Law Thing I Mentioned

I finished my last blog by saying that Peter Hain should know better. I am delighted to find my view echoed by several legal notables. Philip Green gives every impression of being a rough-edged, chippy gobshite but he stands equal before the law with the rest of us. Peter Hain gives every impression of being a smooth, chippy gobshite who enjoys privileges before the law because he is a peer of the realm. I do not begrudge peers their advantages - they are there for a reason. However when those privileges are exercised in a spirit of arrogance and self-righteousness we, the great unwashed, should shout our heads off. And please don't tell me that if the allegations against Green are later proven (I know where my money's going) that such an outcome will justify Hain's presumption - if you think that, I'm sorry, you've missed the point.

Big Fat Pig looking swell

Cheerier news - after an absence of a few weeks I've been out running this week and, a twinge in the knee aside, I feel quite good for a fifty-eight year old with a body ravaged by four decades of rugby. And today, shamed into it by the Groupie, I went to the gym and swam (drowning stylishly maybe) a dozen lengths. It's a start - I hadn't been in a pool for an age. Next year: a couple of triathlons. Watch this space!

It's A Beautiful Day And I'm Cream Crackered

The reason? Well I felt a slight twinge in my calf when out running yesterday (not a full recurrence but I'm actually listening to what my body says to me) and that plus today's hottish weather led me to go for a swim, my first for some time.

My mood in transit to the baths was made lighter by hearing former teacher and all around good egg Ian Marchant on Radio 4. He, you will recall, is the reason I started this blog in the first place. So blame him.

Speaking of all around good eggs, today is the birthday of my brother, so many happy returns to WJR.

Yet again I have been good boy and prepared a meal for Sharon's return from gainful employment. Today it is a chicken korma made from scratch rather than from a jar. Tomorrow I plan posh sausages (code for Waitrose) with home made truffle chips. Admit it, you're impressed.

General Election V

I'm feeling a tad guilty about my unrelenting cynicism. This morning I swam in a fine municipal baths and later I will get to exercise my franchise at my leisure. As I glibly took in the lunchtime news on Sky I saw footage of riots in Burundi where there is controversy about the forthcoming presidential election. A man was today burned alive.

BFP training fuel

Last night I polished off a bottle of pleasant red wine - Villa Maria Pinot Noir 2011. It was a leaving gift to me from a co-worker whose estimation I value. That made the wine taste all the better.

And he makes it fast with one more thing - we re-watched Close Encounters of the Third Kind on Tuesday. Halliwell is rather sniffy about it but I thought it stood up well. 6.5/10.

Remember to vote.

The Joys Of Natation

Go-faster jammers on, goggles on, stomach sucked in - Big Fat Pig is back in the water. Not at the Fairlawns, which is lovely but about the expense of which I was feeling guilty. No BFP has returned to the waters of Wyndley. No more private natation, instead it is in with the great unwashed, the slow moving pensioners and the rest. I managed only 250 metres yesterday before my form became so poor that I knew I had to stop but, hey, you've got to start somewhere. Bonus - I'd forgotten quite what a righteous hunger swimming gives you.

So leaving the gym was one of my new year resolutions. Tick - direct debit cancelled. Cutting back on the old booze was another - only one small glass of red each week night, weekends as before. Tick. Getting on with my Phd. Tick. I spent my time out of the water yesterday re-reading chunks of Bagehot, interspersed with tomes on literary theory of varying comprehensibility. If you're interested (and I concede there are plenty of reasons why you shouldn't be) I recommend Peter Barry's Beginning Theory. 

With A Little Help From My Friends

Saw my shrink this morning. Bloody simple advice is often the best. So for now I am determined to do something about the thing in my life that most irks me. I'll leave you to work out what that might be.

With my mental health duly dealt with I set off to Fairlawns and thrashed my way through 35 lengths of the pool. Inelegant but effective. Then I went and got my hair cut. More inelegance - number 2 all over, tapered at the back. Finally I prepared a self-righteous salad for my lunch. Actually not finally, because I next continued the process of decorating Bert's old room. Perfectly Taupe. Has anyone ever knowingly seen imperfect taupe?

Tonight I am going to watch some baseball on ESPN on the unjust basis that I deserve a treat for being such a good boy today.

See you.

Dave's World Of Sport

So I got up like. And like I wanted to hit some golf balls so I first did some shopping, Easter egg for the wife, tuna for the cats, choc chip muffins for general consumption. But then I was on my way to the Belfry and like I remembered that there's a tournament there this week (Euro Pro tour) so the range will be out of commission. So I turned the car round and headed home. Good job really because when I got here the cats had got another neighbourhood cat cornered in the family room. I organised its evacuation via the garage. Then I had a coffee and like I thought that I really ought to get some exercise. Got into my running gear, donned the magic Oakleys and headed out of the door. I felt really pretty good and had determined to do about four miles. Two minutes and thirty-four seconds, that's how long I lasted before the calf muscle went again. Two minutes and thirty-four sodding seconds. Hobbled home. Cats were behaving themselves this time. But like I still wanted some exercise so I think, you know, I'll go out on the precious push bike. One minute forty-seven seconds, one minute forty-seven sodding seconds I lasted before I realised the calf wasn't up to cycling either. So like I'm home again and still feeling that I want some exercise. The only thing is to go to Fairlawns and have a swim. So that is what I did and there the story gets better because I thrashed my way through thirty lengths and achieved a sense of immense well-being. Now I've had some lunch like and next I'm going to clean-up the cat puke that Piglet (she's one of the cats) has just deposited in the hall. So it goes. Like.  

A Work Of Art

The twentieth century was spoiled for new art forms - principally film and television which expanded the availability of both art and the tawdry . However I was reminded on Friday night of another twentieth century medium - the musical. We saw a touring production of West Side Story. Brilliant - operatic and balletic. A work of art.

Big Fat Pig's Other Car

It's been a good weekend as I recover from the bites of the Black Dog. West Side Story on Friday; a cycle ride on my lovely bike on Saturday; a drive to the health club today in my Precious Jag and a satisfactory thrash through the water to make me feel virtuous. Plus I got a cut into the lawn earlier today and the sun is shining. Tomorrow is work, boo hiss but then next weekend is Easter and we will be in Anglesey and the week after that it is the annual pilgrimage to Ireland to play bad golf in good company. Remember, don't let the bastards get you down.

Big Fat Pig Update. T+18

I went swimming this afternoon, an exercise I had put off for too long on account of the grumpy old women doing slovenly breaststroke who ruined my last visit. They weren't there today. Which was nice. Somehow I had forgotten the righteous hunger that swimming gives you. So for supper I have allowed myself a Pot Noodle. Which was nice. I ate the said convenience food here in Anglesey. Which was nice. Flying visit to check the estate. Which is nice.

Do you think people should be allowed to smoke? I do. Do you think that all cigarettes should be sold in plain wrappers? I don't but our government does. So we can be trusted to spend our own pension savings (A Budget measure which actually makes both sense and a difference) but not to resist the pictorial blandishments of Big Tobacco. I'm confused.  

The Kia continues to be a source of quiet satisfaction and behaved impeccably on the run to Anglesey this evening. I'm getting the hang of the controls (all on the steering wheel) for the digital radio and it allowed me to listen critically to The Archers wherein Brian could do with some advice from a decent corporate lawyer as Borchester Land is being stolen implausibly from him.

Good night sweet prince. 

Big Fat Pig Redux

You might remember BFP, he was an early centre of attention for this blog. He was temporarily banished and replaced by Iron Dave but we have to face the horrible truth that the Pig is back. But once again we will triumph over lardiness.

Thus did BFP take to the streets of Benllech at lunchtime for a pathetic excuse of a run. And the self same BFP later went down to the beach for a cursory splash, on the basis that immersion in cold salt water feels good for the soul.

As seen in Benllech

It's Raining Hard But ...

... it doesn't matter because I've just got out of the pool and not only did I not drown I actually swam one half of one of your English miles. Now this is not much for a proper swimmer but for me who hasn't been in the water since last November this is really rather pleasing. I am glowing with portly athleticism and supping on some chilled water. I'm hoping that it will soon stop pisssing down because I came over to the leisure centre without my coat and I don't want both body and mood dampened when I trudge back to the tent to have my prawn salad and packet of crisps - it's not all glamour you know. It will be an early night tonight because I have to be up around 5.00 to make the journey into the Excel. I am practising my customer service face already. It hurts, these are not muscles I have ever had to use professionally.

It's stopped raining.

Drowning But Not Waving

Well sports fans, for those worried that blog inactivity signalled the failure of The Overgraduate to negotiate his first open water swim, the good news is that I am still here. Chastened but not defeated. I survived. I finished. But shit man it was hard work. Nothing prepares you for the sheer bloody panic of setting off in the freezing cold water to cross a lake while all around you is a frenzy of thrashing limbs belonging to people who seem to be far better equipped than you to cope with the ordeal. I had literally gone about twenty metres when I first considered quitting. It was cold, I couldn't see where I was going and I missed the comforting taste of chlorinated water which I associate with successful swimming. I tacked my way round the buoys with liberal resort to backstroke and must have covered a good twenty-five per cent extra distance. Still there were quite a few blokes behind me when I staggered out of the lake. However they had all ridden off into the distance by the time I had inexpertly fought my way out of the wet-suit. Bike ride was very hard with unreasonable hills. Run was bearable. I got a medal but no tee-shirt this time, which I thought was a bit of a chizz. Knackered. Chastened. Much more training required, not least practising looking where I'm bloody going. Story of my life.

Training Again

The Beast is back, sort of. I got out on the bike yesterday for ninety odd minutes and tackled a few hills without total collapse. Pleasingly I seem to have improved immeasurably in the vital skill of eating and drinking whilst on the move. What made this discovery doubly rewarding was that the food in question was a cheapo muesli bar from the multi-pack I acquired at my absolute favourite retail emporium, the 99p Store at Mere Green, an enterprise risen from the ashes of the Woolworth unit. Twelve bars for 99p ie 8p a throw. The packaging announces that they are manufactured 'in the EU' so child labour can probably be discounted (or does that assumption make me naive or, worse, credulous?) but you have to wonder how anyone makes a profit. Anyway get down there while stocks last for your sports nutritional needs. Check out the toiletries as well. My various kit bags are now furnished with knock-down (knock-off?) deodorants. I smell lovely and have funds left for other vices. Should I take up smoking? Or is pornography more suited to a post-structuralist? I bet Roland Barthes smoked. The French all do.

As I look at the 99p Stores logo it occurs to me how dangerous inflation is. As we tolerate inflation so my favoured shop will be able to stock fewer and fewer items or will have to change its name - to Woolworth perhaps. There is a serious point in this. We poor buggers who remember the 70s and their early 80s hangover can tell you just how pernicious is uncontrolled inflation. There is a misguided notion in our current politics that a bit of inflation is no bad thing. I heard it neatly described the other day as a mechanism that transfers the burden of lifting recession from reckless borrowers (and that description definitely includes feckless governments) onto savers.

Enough special pleading. It's not just the cycling that's back in focus. Swimming as well. Fortified by my new economical stroke (courtesy of Sue's Swimming School - seriously that's what they're called) I set a new distance PB at lunchtime today and did so at a better than average pace. Still slow but not drowning. That should be my motto although I am also tempted by 'Per ardua ad Vauxhall Astra' which nicely sums up the struggle to achieve mediocrity. I'll get there some day.

The Wrong Marine

It is now Sunday afternoon but I wrote this post on Thursday evening and was then persuaded to let it simmer before posting it. I have reflected and decided to ignore the wiser counsel and let you read it anyway. Somewhere in it is a mood worth recording ...

I swam hard and, for me, fast this afternoon, not even stopping for the usual little breather after each length. Where did the motivation for this effort come from? Anger that's where. I was bloody fuming. Still am a bit despite drowning some of my mood in the pool.

I have written, deleted and rewritten this paragraph at least four times now, each successive version becoming less immoderate. I am not going to name the guilty although I would like to thank him for bringing the burn to my workout. No I am going to use the proper channels. The perpetrator who has so irked the slumbering Beast of Erdington will not read this of course but those who are daft enough to do so can please indulge me anyway and let me quote you a great line from an ungreat film. A Few Good Men, spoken as are so many memorable lines by Jack Nicholson,

This time you f***** with the wrong marine.

Actually now I come to think of it that's not a great quotation after all because in the film the Nicholson character ends up being outfoxed by Tom Cruise and that's not really what I've got in mind. Metaphorically speaking you understand. It isn't Tom Cruise who's upset me. Never met the bloke.

There's something rather revitalising about good old fashioned fury and the mood of determined retribution it can engender. I've been a much nicer boy for the last few years but there's life in the old dog yet. Like with that bloke Blair it's all about respect innit. The Beast is back and this time he's wearing Converse.

Which brings us to today's favoured quotation from Johnny Rotten and PiL,

Anger is an energy

Big Fat Pig Downgraded

Been a few days since my last blog. Sorry if you've missed it but you really ought to get a life. Back at university now and feeling not a little sad at it being the final year already. It has been a blast and should really be allowed to continue for a little longer. I now have the final year student's perrenial problem of trying to decide just what the hell I want to do after graduation. It has been a long time since the Overgraduate applied for a job. I will keep you posted.

But the big news is this: Big Fat Pig is no more. He is deceased. He is an ex fat pig. He is now officially recognised as a Medium Fat Pig. He has crashed below a significant target on the weight-loss trail. Vanity prevents me from disclosing the massiveness of the barrier and there is still a fair way to go but I have today had the forgotten pleasure of wearing a belt for its real purpose rather than as mere trouser decoration. I am mining the abandoned depths of my wardrobe for neglected apparel. Somewhere in there may be some crushed velvet loon pants desperate to get back into fashion. Girls go crazy for a sharp dressed man. As if.

I have been eating a tad more sensibly but the real key has been my revived appetite for exercise. As ever with me this might be described as a little obsessive. With the recent history of calf strains (though the acupuncture seems to have ameliorated this) I confine my running to the weekly refereeing but I have been feeling markedly fitter for that than last season. I love the cycling and am waiting for the politic moment to invest in a shiny new road bike to replace my faithful but clunky mountain bike. With the benefit of lessons (though I have to admit with shame that I missed a lesson yesterday with a hangover enthusiastically cultivated on Friday night) I am also learning to love the swimming. A bit of swimming goes along way and gives you the most righteous appetite for the bagel and peanut butter kept in the car as a treat. I have even been brave enough to buy myself some proper swimmers, not full on budgie smugglers but what I learn are known as jammers. Girls go crazy etc. As if.

Don't usually get pissed on a Friday but did this week on account of the excellent J&L Golf Society day at The Warwickshire. Plaudits to MH who organised an enthusiastic if unskilled AOE contingent. I'm not always a fan of newish golf courses but have to say The Warwickshire does what it does very nicely. Too good for this occcasional golfer certainly. Drove well, putted well, everything inbetween was comical. Playing again next Friday (AOE day which I organise with NG) and that I suspect will be that for this season. It is probably time to bite the bullet and let my membership at Sutton lapse. I haven't played a single game there this year and on any reckoning that has to be wasteful for an impoverished student, particularly one who wants a new road bike for Christmas  

Fat Pig Makes A Splash

Fat pig has been running regularly and getting distinctly self-righteous about it. But pride always comes before a fall and I have been laid low recently by the calf strain I picked up in Anglesey a couple of weeks ago. This is still playing me up but not so much that I haven't been able to get out on my refurbished mountain bike in my ludicrous black lycra and crash helmet. Being out on the bike has got me contemplating the challenge of the triathlon and hence I found myself at Wyndley baths at 6.30 this morning. This was a major mistake because the baths don't open until 7.30. However after that particular false-start I donned my trunks (beach bum style, most definitely not budgie smugglers) and my stylish goggles and nose clip and thrashed up and down the pool a very few times, being regularly passed by breast stroking pensioners. This triathlon business is not going to be as easy as I thought. The big problem is breathing. I can't swim and breathe at the same time so the technical conclusion has to be that I will drown.

Despite the risk of drowning I think I will investigate this triathlon thing a little further if for no other reason than that it is a chance to buy lots of new toys - better running gear, a proper bike, biking gear, a wetsuit. I love big boys' toys.