What Did I Do To Deserve That?

I've been making a concerted effort to keep myself sound of body and mind. The body is catered for by the running which continues to go quite well. I didn't get out whilst in Anglesey last weekend and instead rather overfed and overwatered myself. Compensation came in the shape of seventy minutes up and down the local hills on Tuesday and three sharper efforts to round the week off. As for the old mind, I visited Waterstones to spend some vouchers and any bookshop visit always fills me with good intentions. Under this new ascetic regime I have largely foresworn the perils of daytime television (dangerously addictive) and instead got stuck into a variety of tomes. For most of my life I have read only one book at a a time but I have now adopted my father's method and I have two upstairs books and three downstairs on the go.  My reasoning is that if it is possible (as it is) to imbibe more than one television serial at a time then one can do the same with books. Yesterday I finished off Waugh's A Handful of Dust, quite simply a masterful novel, one I first encountered as a set text for English A level. The modern edition I have just finished includes as an appendix the alternative ending that Waugh was forced (for copyright reasons arising from the ownership of an original short story that went on to become the concluding chapter of the novel proper) to write for a serialised American edition. The author himself described it as a 'curiosity ' when it was appended to a 1963 reprint. 'Travesty' might be more apt and you rather suspect that Waugh bashed it out for the money, tongue admirably and firmly in his cheek.

Other books in the midst of which I find myself include Mrs Barrington's Life of Walter Bagehot, Atlas Shrugged (itself something of a curiosity but not unfascinating), Hearing Secret Harmonies and Jamaica Inn. Catholic tastes? That was rather the image I was going for.

Preferable to Blatter

Finally I get to what I meant to say and what you were entitled to expect from the heading of this post. I  did, between books, dip into the BBC News yesterday and I saw two reprehensible characters: that awful con-man Sepp Blatter was distancing himself from the chicanery at FIFA; Alex Salmond was giving  a withering speech in his new home, the House of Commons. Both in their way loathsome but there is an important distinction. Salmond is merely objectionable but acts within the law (even those he abhors). Blatter is either a kleptocrat or a massive idiot incapable of seeing beyond the end of his administrative nose. As I write this the good burghers of FIFA are voting on Blatter's continuation in office. Nobody is predicting that he will do other than survive. Hang your heads in shame.  

Man And Seascape

They're amongst my favourite things, the points where man and nature merge. Thus I like the bulky brutalism of the Wylfa nuclear power station against the North Anglesey coast. I will have to get used to calling it  Wylfa Newydd as the old magnox reactor is being superseded.

Yesterday we walked at a more subtle point of intervention, Penrhos Coastal Park - OS Landranger sheet 114, grid 275805. Car park borders shore before giving way to a tarmac path past the memorial to a local boy (he was hardly a man) who fell at Bluff Cove in The Falklands. The tarmac soon defers to rougher gravel paths laid through the woodland, which surrenders to the coastal path. And you stand on an unblemished beach with the cooling tower of Anglesey Aluminium behind you (the Park was endowed by that company) and peer across the bay to the great sea wall at Holyhead and witness a car ferry commencing its progress across the Irish Sea. All is unspoilt. It may change but my point, I think, is that change is not automatically bad. There is outline planning permission for the construction of a holiday park at the site. My instinct is that I like it as it is. My instinct is not infallible.

Of Food And Sea Air

At the old country estate for the weekend and spent yesterday doing a rather fabulous impression of nothing much before walking round to Red Wharf Bay for dinner at the Ship Inn. The food here is good - not cheap but a cut above average pub fare and served with a pleasing speed, not that they rush you away once you've eaten, you can sit and enjoy a second bottle of wine. We did. The choice of wines is pretty good and they boast that they are the only pub on the island with the Cask Marque. Certainly the pint of Adnam's I took as an aperitif was spot on. As for the food I had the lamb koftas (good though I could probably have handled one more - but I am a greedy boy) and Sharon had the smoked mackerel which she proclaimed very good. As is only right in a pub both dishes came with chunky chips. We both had a satisfyingly dark chocolate and beetroot (yes I did say beetroot) cake for pudding. Taxi home for five quid and then another bottle of wine whilst taking in the kitschfest that is Eurovision. As an antidote to that we caught the tail end of a broadcast of the incomparable Muse from the Radio One Big Weekend.

Off for a coastal walk soon and tonight is barbecue night. It's a hard life,

Of Food And Love

It went well - the Nigella chicken and chorizo was a smash hit - check out the recipe at Spanish chicken.

That was the food and what of love? Well I cooked it for my parents and, do you know what, I don't say it often enough - I owe them rather more than a solitary lunch. There are tiny little bits and pieces (mostly the bad ones) that I have done for myself but on any rational calculation I am the product of their selfless commitment to family. I hope they enjoyed the chicken.

While I wasn't cooking, eating or drinking today I wallowed in the coverage of the test match and the PGA golf. The cricket was terrific - a clatter of early England wickets followed by a very spirited fight-back and a final (last ball of the day) leveller for New Zealand. Under an English sun what could be better than to be at Lord's watching proper cricket? Proper cricket mind you.

The garden is looking good but my precious lawn probably needs another cut tomorrow. And finally, I've just had a text from Viperjohn to alert me to 33% off Pol Roger at Majestic for the next four days. Tempting, very tempting.

Of Exercise And Eating

The training is going well at this early stage and giving me a feeling of outrageous well-being. On Monday I ran for an hour, an important personal milestone. I confined myself to my local circuit of the small estate over the road, its great attraction being that I am never too far from home if my body gives out and it does not involve any steep hills. The problem with our location is that we sit at the top of a hill - great for views and avoiding floods but carrying with it the inevitability of a concluding haul up the slope if I venture very far.

But sometimes I do want to head down the hill for a change of scenery and Tuesday was such an occasion. Still a little tender from the hour on my feet on  Monday I was aiming for forty minutes and managed only a leaden-footed thirty. I risked the hill again today and set myself a target of thirty minutes but was pleased to do forty. Yesterday was definitely one of those days when the gods are against you. The rain it did rain and the wind it did blow, hell it even bloody hailed. Thus did I set out in my long tights and my waterproof jacket though I have to confess I did not abandon the Oakleys. Result? No rain, no hail, just a strong wind which always seemed to be against me and which inflated my jacket like a spinnaker. At various points I felt like I was going bloody backwards and it took me an indecent time to pass an old lady with a shopping trolley. Memories came flooding back of losing in a sprint finish to a bloke in a rhino costume in the 96 London Marathon. Great moments in sport.

Pig's training regime

Diet. I'm attempting the 5/2 diet - this is the one where you fast for two days and eat normally for five. I've been fasting today and although I feel vaguely virtuous I feel rather more hungry and I am being tormented by cravings for a glass of red (also verboten).

Tomorrow I will be answering a challenge I have set myself. I am cooking lunch for my venerable parents. We are to have Nigella's chicken and chorizo. I raided Waitrose this afternoon and I'm well psyched.

This is BFP signing out. Wish me luck.

Of Bonuses And National Treasures

The bonus? Well, courtesy of the good people at Coral that 20/1 winner I boasted of was paid out at double the odds. So 40/1 - if only it were ever thus. I wait in vain for the muse to revisit me.

OG's turf accountant of choice

National treasures: I've written before of my absolute and unreserved admiration for Clive James and, yes, I know he's not even British but he has honoured us by making this his home and here he will (all too soon we are informed) die. BAFTA gave him an award last week which he accepted with characteristic wit and wisdom. I have no idea whether he is as venerated in his native Australia but one hopes so. Perhaps not a national treasure then but a galactic treasure.

Peter Kay. If you haven't already caught the first four episodes of Car Share I command you to do so immediately via iPlayer. Simply bloody funny and warm. Up there with his earlier magnum opus Phoenix Nights.

Arithmetic Progression

I had a little flutter yesterday, well four to be precise. As Sharon pointed out this would be a bad habit to get into but don't worry I've got it under control. Famous last words.

20/1 shot - never in doubt

Four televised races from York (a lovely course by the way - IW and I had a memorable day there in an earlier age - Jack Charlton introduced us to John Charles) and I got better as the day wore on. First race, fourth place at 12/1; second race, third at 6/1; third race, second at 5/2; fourth race, 20/1 winner. Yes you did read that right, a 20/1 winner.