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“… That’s one heck of a set of lungs you got on you, sir …” - February 5, 2006
Hullo. Since I shan’t be entertaining you again till after the ‘National’, I thought I’d blast you with another little ‘skip corn’ now, as I know there are some who struggle to get by on only one column a month. It’s good news that we’ve kept up our fine sequence of results in the national 10k by nailing yet another silver, and many congrats to the girls for their inspiring win. Two big welcomes this weekend, first to Kiwi Karl O’Connell who closed in our 10k team. We hope you enjoyed it Karl and that you’ll be back for much more. And welcome back to the racing fold to DA! His Surrey League race yesterday was an absolute beaut, and we’re all delighted he seems finally to be on top of his Achilles problems. The ease with which he popped that 4:41.38 opening mile had jaws sagging. Ok, so it was a 5.6 mile race, and DA had to start singing a little louder for his supper thereafter, but it ain’t often that Gordon Pirie’s old hunting ground sees such natural talent.
Herne Hill smash us all
So the Surrey League ends for another season, and Herne Hill have smashed us all. How long will they dominate? When will Belgrave’s time come again? We’re getting more people out for cross-country than almost ever before, but our engine room has rather spluttered so far this winter. The middle order’s what it’s all about, and boy, have Herne Hill got one. But can their famous “super-vets” go on forever!? They show no sign of slowing down, but I think we could yet be in for three-way battle royale next season.
Grumpy old sod
I had a lovely chat with HHH’s Dave Robinson during the race. I do like it when people are happy to have a natter. “It’s me and you again, Dave,” I observed. “We just can’t seem to get enough of each other.” “Yeah it’s funny how it always works out like this,” Dave replied. “Me and you always side by side, that old bugger there always just ahead…” [Ben Paviour, we love you really]. Then a little later we had company, as what sounded like a herd of angry wildebeest came to crash our party. “Is it necessary to make quite so much noise?” I enquired to Ian Harkness. “Yes it is!” he barked, before stomping off into the distance. Grumpy old sod.
Go home sir, the machine never lies
I enjoyed the hospitality of SLH’s flash upstairs clubroom after the race, and felt that I kept up extremely well in the drinking stakes… The police promptly stopped me on my journey home for running a red light. “Have you been drinking tonight, sir?” said the three eager coppers who leapt out their van and encircled me like hungry hyenas. “Yes!” I declared proudly. “I was keeping up with everyone!!” They looked at me suspiciously, not believing that a Belgrave boy could mix it with the best. “Prove it – blow into this. Orange light, you’ve drunk heavily; and red, you’re over the limit.” I took an enormous breath and excitedly blew with great gusto. “Whooaaa! That’s one heck of a set of lungs you got on you, sir: any alcohol you’ve consumed since Christmas is gonna show up on this!” The wait seemed interminable. Just give me that red light I thought – or at least orange – show me that I’m a real man. Finally the answer came: a bright, glaring, taunting, damning green light.
“There’s something wrong with your machine, officer, you need to hit me again,” I pleaded. “I had an entire pint of shandy, under two hours ago, and a dozen people to vouch for me.”
“Go home sir, the machine never lies. Your reading is zero.”
