I've got your number!

Time line:-  Tuesday March 15^th 11:52 GMT.  

Location:- The Kirkham residence.   

Assignment:- To receive Her Majesty’s mail.

DEEAR BLOG,

                      I  AM INCENCESED. Today my Virgin London Marathon number arrived, as did my daughter’s. Whilst she has only three digits on her race number, I have FIVE. Five!!! Five, I ask you. It’s not Euro millions we’re playing here. Five! I don’t need a vest to run in any more – just staple the numbers together and wrap it round my chest.  ... ‘here he comes now, it’s Colin Kirkham, over 65 veteran from that well known running club from the Midlands, the Twenty Six Thousand Three Hundred and Fifty Five Harriers and Athletic Club. Oooooooh, I do like his duckie vest.’

My daughter has three digits, which means she will be a taxi ride down the road from me when we set off. NOT FAIR. By the time I reach the start line, she’ll be having tea and cucumber sandwiches with the Queen; and you can bet she won’t save me one. In fact I bet she won’t even notice me go past from the Palace balcony. INJUSTICE. What makes matters worse is that I have been proper poorly. Missed five days of trudge. I cannot remember having such a span off trudging before – ever! So my 4 hour target may have to snitch a minute or two ...

And then when I started to shuffle again, I fell over. Which is quite pleasing because it is the first fall I’ve had since the week before Christmas, which in itself must be a p.b.. Over the last couple of decades, I reckon I fall / trip / tumble etc. about once per month. Why? Seen me trudge?? Yes? Exactly. So why ask!!! Touch wood, I usually end up only bruised, scratched, nettled, grazed; so why no serious injuries over the years? All due to the 1944 Education Act, dear Jeeves. I went to a tough NORTHERN BOY’S GRAMMAR SCHOOL. Hours and hours and hours and hours were spent in games lessons learning how to fall correctly, so avoiding injury in rugger matches – rugby of course, being the original reason the grammar schools were created. When you’ve fallen in mud, on frozen concrete ground, on the feather soft floorboards of the gymnasium floor a few thousand times, believe you me, you grow an inbuilt cushioning mechanism. If you can survive a rugby tackle, gouging is no problem, the odd fist is of no consequence, a boot in the goolies – hardly noticeable! So I fell. I picked myself up, dusted myself down and started all over again. All I have to do now is ignore the arthritis in my big toe, the painful  adductors in both legs, my upset stomach and the throbbing tooth that isn’t there, and trudge 26 miles and those bloody 385 yards. Just watch out you other twenty six thousand three hundred and fifty four. Watch out, Blog’s about.

          Nice one Colin.