Here we go then, the real hard part has begun, and I have started the long climb up the fundraising mountain.
I have set up my Just Giving website page which you can see a mini version of on the right of this page and click through to it, or just click here.
For those who have not used it before, it is a great way of making a donation as you can do it online and instantly. It doesn't go into my account, but straight to the charity concerned, in this case the British Heart Foundation, Wessex Heartbeat and the Bristol Heart Institute.
It's a really easy website to remember as well: www.justgiving.com/simonpeevers
I look forward to seeing you on there.
Monday, 31 August 2009
Saturday, 29 August 2009
Thursday, 27 August 2009
Now for the hard work
Pic caption: Asics Gel Nimbus. They should just call them Asics Carling.
I've just come down from the ceiling after a week of being over-excited about getting a place in the London Marathon, and it's not unlike waking up on New Year's Day and wondering where a part of your life went, apart from down the toilet.
The marathon hangover is kicking in. The inescapable reality of the situation has arrived, and he doesn't appear to be carrying a party-pack of beers.
Jubilant euphoria was much more fun, he had a whole keg of happiness and no dull friends like eight months of training, running in the rain, pain and general struggle.
So I started my regime with a week of resting up, no point rushing into these things, there is after all, eight whole months. I'll bet the Kenyans don't even dust of their tracksuits until about a month before the race.
I have done a lot of walking this week though, around Clifton sniffing out leads like a proper newshound to find content for Clifton People. Maybe one day I will be good enough to get a job as a proper journalist on a real newspaper...
...anyway, Clifton is bigger than you think, on foot, so I reckon that's got to count for something.
Walking down Whiteladies Road I did think of going into the running shop Moti to look at buying some new running shoes, but I can't help feeling you probably need to run for your county at least before you can go in there.
I'm sure it's not that bad really and I expect they will be very lovely and helpful when I finally get enough money together to buy some new running shoes.
I may have to put off buying a house, a new car, or anything more than a loaf of bread for a while, but I know it will be worth getting a new pair of running shoes.
I've had the same pair of Asics Gel Nimbus trainers, which does sound a bit like a hair product, for the past few years. Admittedly a bit like me they haven't been in full time employment for that whole time, but they are a bit tired now, again, a bit like me perhaps.
They have been brilliant though, the best trainers I have ever had, and I have had a few different pairs down the years. Seriously, if anybody reading this works for Asics and can get me a discount I will gladly sell my soul to the company, they are so amazingly brilliant.
That's the thing about running shoes though, it's quite an individual thing, what works for some people doesn't work for others. One man's Asics may be another man's wooden clogs.
It is a bit expensive, I expect I'll have to shell out more than £100 on my new pair, but it's really worth it not only because of the obvious comfort and support, but the right running shoes will also go a long way to preventing injuries. Problems with knees, hips and all sorts of long term damage can be caused if you don't have the right running shoes.
It's common sense really, you wouldn't go hill walking in flip flops, for example, would you? Everybody in Clifton seems to wear flip flops, everywhere. There's a bit of a uniform for blokes, a polo shirt preferably with some kind of pattern on it, a pair of combat shorts, stupid hair and flip flops. I'm not saying I don't conform, obviously I do, but I'm scared to wear flip flops out the house, I think somebody will tread on my feet or the road in front of me may suddenly turn into hot coals and I'll perish in the furnace. But mainly I don't wear them because on the whole it's just not suitable footwear for outdoors is it? By the way I am 34 going on Victorian these days.
So the general plan is to do a long run this weekend, but not go mad because I do have the half marathon in about ten days, although there is no sign of a race pack as yet, does anybody have theirs?
Then I go on holiday, where the only running I intend to do is with my finger along the edge of a bottle opener.
All of which means I should be hitting the ground running into marathon training at some point towards the end of September, just as the temperature drops, the nights draw in and it rains even more.
I can't wait. I do mean that though, I really can't wait.
Wednesday, 26 August 2009
Clifton People
Hi all,
A bit of self-promotion here but what the heck, my blog my rules.
This is for anybody who lives in Clifton, Whiteladies Road, Park Street, Hotwells, The Downs or Ashton Court.
I have just taken on the job of community publisher for a great new FREE social media site called Clifton People, and I want YOU to be one of my people. A bit like Barrymore, without all the controversy.
If you have a business you can register if FREE in the directory, and whatever you do you can talk about it on the site or form your own group so that other people can keep up with what's happening.
The idea is to build up a network of people living and/or working in the area who post on the site regularly to create a hub of news, information and anything else you like, as long as it's not illegal or offensive.
Whether you have a salsa dancing group, a softball team, a pub quiz, looking for ideas for business or just want to spout off about whatever is on your mind, Clifton People is the site for you. (I know I've missed my calling in advertising.)
As I said it's free to join and at the moment if you sign up with a photo you will be entered into a prize draw to win a bottle of champagne, so tell a couple of friends as well.
It would be great to see you around the site,
Simon.
Monday, 24 August 2009
Today's weigh in
Good news, I've lost a whole pound since my last weigh in.
I realise that doesn't sound like a lot, but my last official Weight Watchers weigh in was about three weeks ago and in the intervening period I have been creeping back up to 16 st 2lbs, and even 16st 4lbs at one point.
So to tip the scales at 15st 13.5lbs, is a good thing. That's over 28 pounds now.
I realise that doesn't sound like a lot, but my last official Weight Watchers weigh in was about three weeks ago and in the intervening period I have been creeping back up to 16 st 2lbs, and even 16st 4lbs at one point.
So to tip the scales at 15st 13.5lbs, is a good thing. That's over 28 pounds now.
The countdown begins
According to the official 2010 London Virgin Marathon website counter, it is precisely 8 months, 23 hours, 53 mins and 12 seconds until the starting gun is fired on April 25.
Holy crap.
So I do declare August 24 2009 as Day 1 of preparation for the big day.
And I just realised I am a marathon virgin, entering the Virgin Marathon. Badoom.
I only hope my training develops more than my sense of humour.
I have been as giddy as a schoolgirl, as somebody said recently, for the past few days after getting my place for the marathon next year.
It feels like I've just stepped into a whole new world where talk is of the marathon, the full nine yards (or 26 miles), the big one.
I have run several half marathons down the years and had various levels of success.
The one constant thing is that when you tell people you are training they say, 'oh you're running the marathon aren't you?' and you have to politely explain that it is in fact a half marathon, and all of a sudden it doesn't sound quite so impressive.
'I'm sorry', I often think, 'I realise it's not really that much of an effort to run 13 piddly miles, but can I have some sponsorship anyway', and then the tenner you were hoping for becomes a fiver.
But now, things will be different, now I can say yes, that's right, I'm doing a marathon, a full, grown up, proper job 26 mile gruelling slow death of a run. And then they'll look at me, probably laugh and say 'you don't look like you could run a bath'.
The weight loss is even more crucial now to be able to complete the marathon. The key to long distance running is to be as light as possible. You wouldn't want to carry 112 bags of sugar while running 26 miles would you? So far I'm 24 down, just 88 to go and I'll be floating round that London town like a will o'the wisp.
Holy crap.
So I do declare August 24 2009 as Day 1 of preparation for the big day.
And I just realised I am a marathon virgin, entering the Virgin Marathon. Badoom.
I only hope my training develops more than my sense of humour.
I have been as giddy as a schoolgirl, as somebody said recently, for the past few days after getting my place for the marathon next year.
It feels like I've just stepped into a whole new world where talk is of the marathon, the full nine yards (or 26 miles), the big one.
I have run several half marathons down the years and had various levels of success.
The one constant thing is that when you tell people you are training they say, 'oh you're running the marathon aren't you?' and you have to politely explain that it is in fact a half marathon, and all of a sudden it doesn't sound quite so impressive.
'I'm sorry', I often think, 'I realise it's not really that much of an effort to run 13 piddly miles, but can I have some sponsorship anyway', and then the tenner you were hoping for becomes a fiver.
But now, things will be different, now I can say yes, that's right, I'm doing a marathon, a full, grown up, proper job 26 mile gruelling slow death of a run. And then they'll look at me, probably laugh and say 'you don't look like you could run a bath'.
The weight loss is even more crucial now to be able to complete the marathon. The key to long distance running is to be as light as possible. You wouldn't want to carry 112 bags of sugar while running 26 miles would you? So far I'm 24 down, just 88 to go and I'll be floating round that London town like a will o'the wisp.
Thursday, 20 August 2009
I can't believe it!
New video diary, me very excited about getting my place in the London Marathon: CLICK HERE
London 2010 here I come!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I can't believe it but I just opened a letter from the British Heart Foundation to say that I've been given a place to run for them in the London Marathon next year.
I cannot believe it!!! I'm so chuffed, it's an amazing feeling.
Tempered slightly by the reality of the training and the fact that I said I could raise three grand!!! Me and my big mouth.
Video diary to come very shortly.
I cannot believe it!!! I'm so chuffed, it's an amazing feeling.
Tempered slightly by the reality of the training and the fact that I said I could raise three grand!!! Me and my big mouth.
Video diary to come very shortly.
Tuesday, 18 August 2009
New Video Diary
Chapter 5 of the video diary to behold, but I must warn you it is quite moaney and whingey and contains some very strong swear words. Not the strongest swear word, but some others that might cause offence.
I did try to bleep them, not very well though.
Click HERE to see it.
I did try to bleep them, not very well though.
Click HERE to see it.
Friday, 14 August 2009
You can tell I've actually been working for a living this week as I haven't had a moment to breathe, let alone inflict random thoughts regarding training, weight loss and any other mental detritus floating round the vast atmosphere surrounding my tiny brain.
I did make a fairly whiney and quite foul-mouthed video diary around mid week, which I am intending to post once I have properly edited it and worked out how to get the bleeps in the right place, or not.
It's not been a bad week though. I managed a six and a half mile run on Wednesday evening, which was okay, reasonably enjoyable. That was after a really sucky session in the gym on Tuesday, well hardly a session, more of a sulky mooch around the ski machine, followed by a lope on the treadmill. After about quarter of an hour I moodily walked out, without hardly breaking sweat. Although that's not really true as I still come out in cobs with the mere effort of opening a locker in the changing rooms.
I was annoyed at myself for many reasons, but mainly because I'd lived up to the image that I am trying so hard to shake off.
In my head people see me in the gym and think I'm just some fat bloater who will probably give up within a couple of minutes, or when the tuck shop opens, whichever is sooner.
So I like to defy all the odds by training harder and longer than anybody else, or at least feel like it.
But on Tuesday I just lived up to the worst expectations of myself, which was a disappointment.
And that is what made Wednesday's run so much more satisfying I guess.
I even came home and cooked a fillet of fish with some nice fresh green beans, new potatoes and good old broccoli. Woop woop.
I slipped back onto the cheese burgers and cookies tonight though, naughty. Maybe I should plan another run this weekend. Three weeks on Sunday I'll be summoning all my reserves to get me round the half marathon, best hope I don't get slaughtered at my brother's wedding the night before.
I did make a fairly whiney and quite foul-mouthed video diary around mid week, which I am intending to post once I have properly edited it and worked out how to get the bleeps in the right place, or not.
It's not been a bad week though. I managed a six and a half mile run on Wednesday evening, which was okay, reasonably enjoyable. That was after a really sucky session in the gym on Tuesday, well hardly a session, more of a sulky mooch around the ski machine, followed by a lope on the treadmill. After about quarter of an hour I moodily walked out, without hardly breaking sweat. Although that's not really true as I still come out in cobs with the mere effort of opening a locker in the changing rooms.
I was annoyed at myself for many reasons, but mainly because I'd lived up to the image that I am trying so hard to shake off.
In my head people see me in the gym and think I'm just some fat bloater who will probably give up within a couple of minutes, or when the tuck shop opens, whichever is sooner.
So I like to defy all the odds by training harder and longer than anybody else, or at least feel like it.
But on Tuesday I just lived up to the worst expectations of myself, which was a disappointment.
And that is what made Wednesday's run so much more satisfying I guess.
I even came home and cooked a fillet of fish with some nice fresh green beans, new potatoes and good old broccoli. Woop woop.
I slipped back onto the cheese burgers and cookies tonight though, naughty. Maybe I should plan another run this weekend. Three weeks on Sunday I'll be summoning all my reserves to get me round the half marathon, best hope I don't get slaughtered at my brother's wedding the night before.
Monday, 10 August 2009
Pic caption: Roller blades, a completely pointless purchase.
A whole week of opportunity stretches ahead as I sip on my first coffee of the morning and contemplate my next move in the great chess game of life.
I have decided, against my better judgement, not to go to my Weight Watchers meeting. This is possibly one of the worst things you can do as a member, as that small step leads to the dark side and obese oblivion.
But I will only upset myself if I go. I would rather crack on with being good to myself this week as I've had a funny few days which have involved increased consumption of utter crap.
The life of a freelance hack in the middle of a deep recession isn't exactly as busy or productive as it could be, and I have found myself on occasion with more time on my hands than was good for me.
I also found myself battling some hunger demons and I am afraid to say I've given in to temptation more than once.
There is a weird twilight zone part of the day, about 3.30 to 5pm, when lunch is a distant memory and dinner is still some way off. Energy levels are running low so motivation to do any work is rock bottom, and I just cannot for the life of me see how to get through the next few hours to dinner.
I can't stop thinking about how hungry I am, and that if I only had a little snack to get me through to dinner I could probably do a lot more work as well.
When I have been good, I have at this point reached for the Special K or some other similar low fat cereal. But lately I've been reaching for the French loaf, packet of ham, cheese and bag of Kettle Chips to make a Homer Simpson-style snack, rather than a Weight Watchers inspired low cal morsel.
And then I would also be telling myself that a large portion of pasta for dinner is a good thing because I will be running it off the next day, so I need to draw on the energy.
Well, I did go running last week, but that was three miles round the Downs on Monday morning. Not sure I've burned off the energy consumed on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday just yet.
I think the problem is my attention span, I get bored of something so quickly. My life seems to be littered with the skeletons of half-baked ideas or projects that never really got off the ground.
I recently got rid of a load of stuff at a charity shop after moving, and I realised what a load of useless things I have been hoarding which were bought at the time with the utter conviction that I really needed them.
For example while on holiday four years ago in France I bought a pair of roller blades, thinking that they would be a great new way of keeping fit. I had probably read somewhere that it was a great alternative to running, building fitness and toning muscles without the impact on your knees that running gives you.
I thought that living near the Downs was perfect and I had visions of how I would glide along with the grace and elegance of Torvill and Dean, yes both of them, transforming the Downs in Bristol into a California street scene at sunset.
Anyway, the reality was that I strapped them to my feet not long after getting home, and ventured out into the streets.
I managed to get a decent head of speed going and memories of the roller disco I used to go to at the local leisure centre when I was about ten flooded back. I could really skate back then, about 20 years ago, surely I'd lost none of the old magic?
But after rolling down hill on the pavement, waving my arms around like a duck that's forgotten how to fly, I suddenly panicked as I approached a junction and how no idea how to get round the corner to stay on the pavement, and felt shooting across it without stopping may have been detrimental to any ideas I had of having a long and fulfilling life.
So I had to stop pretty quick and did something I really only thought happened in Benny Hill shows and I grabbed onto a lamppost before I shot past it. By this point some people had been observing my progress and I think having a bit of a chortle, so I gave them a right laugh when having grabbed the lamppost the tank-like momentum I had built up meant I actually swung around it a couple of times, just like in the cartoons, before finally coming to a standstill about six feet from the junction.
I'm sure I clocked a passing driver chuckling as he went past.
I decided I should probably practise somewhere less dangerous, took off the boots and tiptoed through the mean streets of Clifton in my shoeless feet back home.
The roller blades went into a corner from whence they never moved again, until their final journey to the charity shop a few weeks ago. Pointless.
The only other time I threatened to break the dust off of them was a couple of years ago while recuperating from my heart valve replacement operation.
This is an operation which involves sawing open the sternum and breaking a couple of ribs so that the unbelievably talented and very clever surgical team can get at the old ticker.
The resulting injuries to your chest and ribs are pretty much the same as if you were in a car crash. A few weeks into my recovery I thought it would be a good idea to slip on the old roller blades and head up to the Downs, not really considering the consequences of falling over and how it might shatter my already frail chest and rib cage.
Thankfully by this point I had met Amy, who suggested it would probably not be the best idea I'd ever had, and gave me a couple extra pain killers just to make sure I didn't have any more daft ideas.
Similar items have included an Irish boron drum, which I needed to start my travelling troubadour career, a couple of cake and muffin tins for my flirtation with home baking (too much time at home), a yoga mat, two pairs of light dumbbell weights, a gym ball and a boxing ball on a sprung pole, which I got rid of once, then bought again, and both times failed to break into the blubber weight boxing scene. There was also a knackered old record player that I had to buy as I was going to restore it to its former glory, but of course never did and just threw it out.
One of the greatest unfulfilled ideas I ever had though was shortly after finishing university I found myself living back at home in Dorset, unable to find a job despite my hard-earned third class degree in ancient Greek and classical studies (weird that), so I decided to draw on years of experience in treading the boards and start my own youth theatre company. I felt that what the disaffected youth of North Dorset really craved was the chance to meet up in a drafty church hall in the middle of nowhere and be taught the finer points of Stanislavski and Brechtian theatre style, while rehearsing for a radical interpretation of an obscure Christopher Marlowe play, which would be all of them to anybody who hasn't studied A Level English.
Fortunately it didn't even get that far as I thankfully managed to get a job before I could inflict my dire theories on any young innocents - and then promptly forgot any ideas of becoming the next Peter Hall.
But, I am determined that this weight loss and marathon running project does not go the way of the roller blades etc, and that I complete it. I just need to get my head back into it, which I will now it's Monday and I've got plenty to do to keep me busy and stop me thinking about food all the time. Such as finding a job!
A whole week of opportunity stretches ahead as I sip on my first coffee of the morning and contemplate my next move in the great chess game of life.
I have decided, against my better judgement, not to go to my Weight Watchers meeting. This is possibly one of the worst things you can do as a member, as that small step leads to the dark side and obese oblivion.
But I will only upset myself if I go. I would rather crack on with being good to myself this week as I've had a funny few days which have involved increased consumption of utter crap.
The life of a freelance hack in the middle of a deep recession isn't exactly as busy or productive as it could be, and I have found myself on occasion with more time on my hands than was good for me.
I also found myself battling some hunger demons and I am afraid to say I've given in to temptation more than once.
There is a weird twilight zone part of the day, about 3.30 to 5pm, when lunch is a distant memory and dinner is still some way off. Energy levels are running low so motivation to do any work is rock bottom, and I just cannot for the life of me see how to get through the next few hours to dinner.
I can't stop thinking about how hungry I am, and that if I only had a little snack to get me through to dinner I could probably do a lot more work as well.
When I have been good, I have at this point reached for the Special K or some other similar low fat cereal. But lately I've been reaching for the French loaf, packet of ham, cheese and bag of Kettle Chips to make a Homer Simpson-style snack, rather than a Weight Watchers inspired low cal morsel.
And then I would also be telling myself that a large portion of pasta for dinner is a good thing because I will be running it off the next day, so I need to draw on the energy.
Well, I did go running last week, but that was three miles round the Downs on Monday morning. Not sure I've burned off the energy consumed on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday just yet.
I think the problem is my attention span, I get bored of something so quickly. My life seems to be littered with the skeletons of half-baked ideas or projects that never really got off the ground.
I recently got rid of a load of stuff at a charity shop after moving, and I realised what a load of useless things I have been hoarding which were bought at the time with the utter conviction that I really needed them.
For example while on holiday four years ago in France I bought a pair of roller blades, thinking that they would be a great new way of keeping fit. I had probably read somewhere that it was a great alternative to running, building fitness and toning muscles without the impact on your knees that running gives you.
I thought that living near the Downs was perfect and I had visions of how I would glide along with the grace and elegance of Torvill and Dean, yes both of them, transforming the Downs in Bristol into a California street scene at sunset.
Anyway, the reality was that I strapped them to my feet not long after getting home, and ventured out into the streets.
I managed to get a decent head of speed going and memories of the roller disco I used to go to at the local leisure centre when I was about ten flooded back. I could really skate back then, about 20 years ago, surely I'd lost none of the old magic?
But after rolling down hill on the pavement, waving my arms around like a duck that's forgotten how to fly, I suddenly panicked as I approached a junction and how no idea how to get round the corner to stay on the pavement, and felt shooting across it without stopping may have been detrimental to any ideas I had of having a long and fulfilling life.
So I had to stop pretty quick and did something I really only thought happened in Benny Hill shows and I grabbed onto a lamppost before I shot past it. By this point some people had been observing my progress and I think having a bit of a chortle, so I gave them a right laugh when having grabbed the lamppost the tank-like momentum I had built up meant I actually swung around it a couple of times, just like in the cartoons, before finally coming to a standstill about six feet from the junction.
I'm sure I clocked a passing driver chuckling as he went past.
I decided I should probably practise somewhere less dangerous, took off the boots and tiptoed through the mean streets of Clifton in my shoeless feet back home.
The roller blades went into a corner from whence they never moved again, until their final journey to the charity shop a few weeks ago. Pointless.
The only other time I threatened to break the dust off of them was a couple of years ago while recuperating from my heart valve replacement operation.
This is an operation which involves sawing open the sternum and breaking a couple of ribs so that the unbelievably talented and very clever surgical team can get at the old ticker.
The resulting injuries to your chest and ribs are pretty much the same as if you were in a car crash. A few weeks into my recovery I thought it would be a good idea to slip on the old roller blades and head up to the Downs, not really considering the consequences of falling over and how it might shatter my already frail chest and rib cage.
Thankfully by this point I had met Amy, who suggested it would probably not be the best idea I'd ever had, and gave me a couple extra pain killers just to make sure I didn't have any more daft ideas.
Similar items have included an Irish boron drum, which I needed to start my travelling troubadour career, a couple of cake and muffin tins for my flirtation with home baking (too much time at home), a yoga mat, two pairs of light dumbbell weights, a gym ball and a boxing ball on a sprung pole, which I got rid of once, then bought again, and both times failed to break into the blubber weight boxing scene. There was also a knackered old record player that I had to buy as I was going to restore it to its former glory, but of course never did and just threw it out.
One of the greatest unfulfilled ideas I ever had though was shortly after finishing university I found myself living back at home in Dorset, unable to find a job despite my hard-earned third class degree in ancient Greek and classical studies (weird that), so I decided to draw on years of experience in treading the boards and start my own youth theatre company. I felt that what the disaffected youth of North Dorset really craved was the chance to meet up in a drafty church hall in the middle of nowhere and be taught the finer points of Stanislavski and Brechtian theatre style, while rehearsing for a radical interpretation of an obscure Christopher Marlowe play, which would be all of them to anybody who hasn't studied A Level English.
Fortunately it didn't even get that far as I thankfully managed to get a job before I could inflict my dire theories on any young innocents - and then promptly forgot any ideas of becoming the next Peter Hall.
But, I am determined that this weight loss and marathon running project does not go the way of the roller blades etc, and that I complete it. I just need to get my head back into it, which I will now it's Monday and I've got plenty to do to keep me busy and stop me thinking about food all the time. Such as finding a job!
Friday, 7 August 2009
Stupid batard
Pic caption: The Fat Batard's Running Club
I didn't go for my run this evening as planned.
I have no heroic tale of running nine miles to relate.
Instead I bought a French batard loaf from Somerfield and made two huge ham and egg mayo sandwiches, which I guiltily scoffed down while crunching on some sea salt and pepper crisps.
I followed this with a packet of double chocolate chip and hazlenut cookies.
I ended up having an unexpectedly busy day, which in many ways is a good thing. But I didn't get a chance to eat lunch, so having only had a bowl of granola to survive all day on, by the time I got home at about 5, I was very nearly starving. Pretty hungry at any rate.
And it was really hot, so the thought of running nine miles in these conditions seemed quite absurd.
But now I feel ever so queasy and intend to do little more than curl up on the sofa and wait for the weekend to come around.
Thursday, 6 August 2009
Me Vs Banksy
So after absorbing weeks of saturation coverage and more hype than the Millennium Falcon's hyperdrive unit, I finally made it to the Banksy exhibition at Bristol Museum.
Several attempts have been made, which have mainly involved trying to get out of bed early at the weekend to beat the queues, then deciding against the whole idea of standing in the rain for three hours and ended in going back to sleep.
But we headed down there on Wednesday after work, which was a beautiful sunny city evening. In fact it was so warm I dared to leave the house without a coat or jacket of any kind, not even a thin waterproof kagool. Pretty brave in this country I'd say.
We expected to age a little in the queue before getting anywhere near the world-famous exhibition, but to my sheer relief it was actually pretty quick moving and we were inside within half an hour. I'd have gone before if I'd known.
We shuffled along patiently with the crowds looking out for all the irreverence and cheeky artistic equivalents of one-liners. But I just felt like I'd seen the whole thing before, which of course I have, in every paper, on every website and on every television news programme.
There was very little which I hadn't already seen and I came out feeling a bit, well, underwhelmed by the whole thing. Had you collared me at the moment that I stepped out of the gloomy museum building into the setting sunlight, and asked me my opinion of this most trendy of urban/arty events, I would only have been able to muster a non-committal shrug of the shoulders and utter a barely audible, and less than enthusiastic "It's alright I s'pose". A bit like a 14-year-old boy who's been dragged around the Uffizi gallery in Florence while on holiday, when he's far more interested in playing football outside in the square. Which was also me.
This may say more about my ignorance than anything else, but I do wish I'd made more of an effort to see it earlier and perhaps could've been a bit more impressed by it.
Putting the grumpy old man to one side, I did think it was entertaining and once or twice kind of thought provoking.
I don't think he is the coruscating political commentator who can bring shame upon the ruling elite with a single flourish of his spray can, nor do I think he is the most original activist drawing peoples' attention to the absurdities and injustices of the world. But he is very good at taking a thought and summing it up in one clear image which provokes and entertains.
My favourite is the I Hate Mondays image above. That totally sums up our Western pre-occupation with the trivial nonsense of day-to-day existence, confined in that rigid pattern of work, home, work, home, five days a week, 52 weeks a year, while these kids a world away starve in slums.
The presentation of these political themes is obviously the key to his success. I find myself thinking of the gulf between rich and poor much more looking at that image, than I do listening to Bono or Bob Geldof guffing on about it.
It's undoubtedly a great thing for the city though, and I'm reliably informed by my friend Claire that trade in the surrounding area is up by 24 per cent as a result of the exhibition. For a start there's the enterprising ice cream van parked up by the queue, a modern day 'cut me own throat' Dibbler if there ever was one. The queue itself has become a daily fixture, and I wonder how many people made friends or even sparked new relationships and love affairs while standing for hours in that line. Fate has a funny way of bringing people together. Personally I couldn't think of anything worse than having to start polite conversation with a complete stranger, but some people seem to thrive of that kind of thing. Good luck to them.
The best thing of all is that it is here in Bristol in the first place, rather than London. I always like to argue that living in Bristol is great and that I wouldn't swap it for London for so many reasons, and now I have a genuine one. If the exhibit was in the capital, Banksy would have definitely 'sold out'. But keeping it in Bristol means he's true to his roots, and all those councillors who campaign for anti-graffiti measures and make community service kids scrub it off the walls, can claim him as one of the city's beloved sons.
So anyway, after all that malarky we went to Gourmet Burger Kitchen where I enjoyed a buffalo burger, with cheese and onion rings. It was proper gert lush.
I did play tennis for over an hour this morning to work it off, and I appear to be staying at the 16 stone level, according to the dodgy scales in our bathroom.
I'll need to draw on all that energy tomorrow in any case as I will be attempting an 8 mile plus run, possibly 9. Looking forward to it, will let you know how I get on, if I don't get distracted trying to analyse a Banksy mural on Gloucester Road in the meantime.
Tuesday, 4 August 2009
Sweet 16
After what seems like the most tedious eternity of trying to get there, I finally hit 16 stone at my weigh in yesterday. At last! It seems like every week I have been skulking around it, but now we've kicked the door down, marched right on in, sat on the sofa, plonked my feet on the coffee table and lit a cigar. In the corner the fat lady is warming up.
So that is now two stone I have lost since I started this larduous journey from morbid obesity back to normality.
I really did everything I could yesterday to make sure those scales said what I wanted, even down to a quick trot around the Downs first thing. Then I starved myself in the hours up to the weigh in. I even wondered if brushing my teeth a second time before leaving the house would help as the weight of any plaque build up might ruin the moment.
After choosing the lightest pair of trousers and shirt I could find, without a belt, a watch or any spare change I headed down there.
In truth it has taken longer than I had hoped to get to this point. It is eight months until the London Marathon and I still have another six stone to lose. I basically need to shed one a month, which is three and a half pounds a week.
Bloody hell, I better stop eating now.
The really frightening thing is that I dug out some old membership cards from when I was at Weight Watchers a few years ago and it turns out I started going the first time when I was about 16 stone. I thought my weight was out of control then, I must have done otherwise I wouldn't have gone to Weight Watchers at all. Now I'm really pleased to have reached the same point, coming down from more than 18 stone. I think it really brought home to me just how much weight I had allowed to pile on and how close to breaking the furniture I must have been every time I sat down on the sofa.
I blame nobody but myself, and my crappy metabolism, and my craving for food and lack of will power and general desire to eat lots of really nice things and do no exercise for years because it sucks.
It's nice to be able to fit into my shirts again though, even if you could lash them to the mast of the Matthew and sail the Atlantic with them.
So that is now two stone I have lost since I started this larduous journey from morbid obesity back to normality.
I really did everything I could yesterday to make sure those scales said what I wanted, even down to a quick trot around the Downs first thing. Then I starved myself in the hours up to the weigh in. I even wondered if brushing my teeth a second time before leaving the house would help as the weight of any plaque build up might ruin the moment.
After choosing the lightest pair of trousers and shirt I could find, without a belt, a watch or any spare change I headed down there.
In truth it has taken longer than I had hoped to get to this point. It is eight months until the London Marathon and I still have another six stone to lose. I basically need to shed one a month, which is three and a half pounds a week.
Bloody hell, I better stop eating now.
The really frightening thing is that I dug out some old membership cards from when I was at Weight Watchers a few years ago and it turns out I started going the first time when I was about 16 stone. I thought my weight was out of control then, I must have done otherwise I wouldn't have gone to Weight Watchers at all. Now I'm really pleased to have reached the same point, coming down from more than 18 stone. I think it really brought home to me just how much weight I had allowed to pile on and how close to breaking the furniture I must have been every time I sat down on the sofa.
I blame nobody but myself, and my crappy metabolism, and my craving for food and lack of will power and general desire to eat lots of really nice things and do no exercise for years because it sucks.
It's nice to be able to fit into my shirts again though, even if you could lash them to the mast of the Matthew and sail the Atlantic with them.
Saturday, 1 August 2009
King of the hills
Pic caption: Park Street in the centre of Bristol, where I finished my run at the top.
Just recovering from another long run yesterday, with another hill climb at the end of it.
After going 6.7 miles I wanted to push myself a little further and try to increase the mileage as the half marathon is really getting quite close now.
I reasoned that all the chocolate and bread and red meat I've been happily consuming over the past couple of weeks , (and the odd bottle of wine) would actually act as fuel for my body and enable me to go further than before, drawing on all that sugar and energy to keep going.
Well there may have been something in that as I managed to run 7.6 miles yesterday, in a time of 1hr and 43 minutes. That is one mile further than the last run I did, and I was running for 11 more minutes.
But what I'm even more pleased about is the fact that I managed to run up Park Street, which is a really steep hill in the centre of Bristol, at the end of the run. Probably not as steep or long as Bridge Valley Road, but at the end of a 7 mile run it's pretty darn steep. I had to stop once I reached the top, just opposite the museum where the Banksy exhibition is being held, and I did feel like my knees had been smashed with a baseball bat.
But it was that weird sense of futile heroism that kicks in with me which makes me want to keep going and try to do things that are probably a bit beyond me.
I think I have some psychological complex where I think my whole life is a film and that there are millions of people around the world tuning in to see if I get to the top of the hill. Perhaps we could coin it right here and now and call it the Truman Show complex. Maybe I'll write a book about it and make a fortune that way!
But anyway, I knew I had to go for a decent run yesterday having not really done any exercise since my last run on Tuesday last week, but I thought it was important to get over the trauma of that first.
So after a mediocre day in the home office I finished work at 4 and decided to head out for a run.
I went the usual route across the Downs and up the Portway, but instead of cutting back up Bridge Valley Road to head home I kept going, and going, heading for the centre of the city.
I think by the time I had reached six miles plus my running style resembled a hippo wading through treacle, as each step was just off the ground long enough to count as very slow jogging. It definitely wasn't walking - although that would probably have been quicker.
When I got into the Centre, I realised I had to get back up to the Downs where my car was, and the only way to get there was to go up Park Street and Whiteladies Road.
Of course, what I should have done is keep a couple of quid in change on me so I could get a bus, which would have been a much better option.
The sky looked a bit grey and spots of rain were blowing around on the breeze, making it feel distinctly autumnal, and really not like the end of July.
Then I just thought that the quickest way to get home and to avoid any potential downpour (although the rain would have been welcome to cool my overheating body) was simply to keep running, so I did.
That was when the music in my head really kicked in and the imaginary crowds were screaming my name and Oliver Stone was just ahead of me behind the movie camera giving out epic directions. I fancied I could see fireworks exploding from the top of the university's Wills Memorial tower, but that might have just been the pain of the running.
I just kept reminding myself of my inspiration, Sir Ranulph Fiennes, who at 106 or something crazy, managed his third Everest climb by just saying to himself 'plod forever', and it really works.
I thought I was doing pretty well actually, but then I saw some kids on their bikes racing past me as if they were on the flat.
But I kept going and reached the top, feeling utterly, utterly knackered, and rather dehydrated. Again berating myself for not bringing any money out with me to buy a bottle of water, I ducked into the nearest pub and got a pint of tap water. It slipped down like ambrosia from the gods, not custard, and restored my energy levels just enough to enable me to walk the remaining mile or so up to the Downs to get my car.
There is only five weeks to go now before the Bristol half marathon, and I really do want to put in a decent show for that, although I feel I may have neglected my training a little too much to be able to do a decent time, or even get around without stopping.
But if I can add a mile a week between then and now it may be okay. I have decided that one long run a week is probably the way forward to prepare for the half marathon, but I really need to hit the gym to improve my stamina and all round fitness. It will be an important benchmark though in terms of setting out my training from September onwards for the full marathon next year. Which still sounds like an impossible idea.
Just recovering from another long run yesterday, with another hill climb at the end of it.
After going 6.7 miles I wanted to push myself a little further and try to increase the mileage as the half marathon is really getting quite close now.
I reasoned that all the chocolate and bread and red meat I've been happily consuming over the past couple of weeks , (and the odd bottle of wine) would actually act as fuel for my body and enable me to go further than before, drawing on all that sugar and energy to keep going.
Well there may have been something in that as I managed to run 7.6 miles yesterday, in a time of 1hr and 43 minutes. That is one mile further than the last run I did, and I was running for 11 more minutes.
But what I'm even more pleased about is the fact that I managed to run up Park Street, which is a really steep hill in the centre of Bristol, at the end of the run. Probably not as steep or long as Bridge Valley Road, but at the end of a 7 mile run it's pretty darn steep. I had to stop once I reached the top, just opposite the museum where the Banksy exhibition is being held, and I did feel like my knees had been smashed with a baseball bat.
But it was that weird sense of futile heroism that kicks in with me which makes me want to keep going and try to do things that are probably a bit beyond me.
I think I have some psychological complex where I think my whole life is a film and that there are millions of people around the world tuning in to see if I get to the top of the hill. Perhaps we could coin it right here and now and call it the Truman Show complex. Maybe I'll write a book about it and make a fortune that way!
But anyway, I knew I had to go for a decent run yesterday having not really done any exercise since my last run on Tuesday last week, but I thought it was important to get over the trauma of that first.
So after a mediocre day in the home office I finished work at 4 and decided to head out for a run.
I went the usual route across the Downs and up the Portway, but instead of cutting back up Bridge Valley Road to head home I kept going, and going, heading for the centre of the city.
I think by the time I had reached six miles plus my running style resembled a hippo wading through treacle, as each step was just off the ground long enough to count as very slow jogging. It definitely wasn't walking - although that would probably have been quicker.
When I got into the Centre, I realised I had to get back up to the Downs where my car was, and the only way to get there was to go up Park Street and Whiteladies Road.
Of course, what I should have done is keep a couple of quid in change on me so I could get a bus, which would have been a much better option.
The sky looked a bit grey and spots of rain were blowing around on the breeze, making it feel distinctly autumnal, and really not like the end of July.
Then I just thought that the quickest way to get home and to avoid any potential downpour (although the rain would have been welcome to cool my overheating body) was simply to keep running, so I did.
That was when the music in my head really kicked in and the imaginary crowds were screaming my name and Oliver Stone was just ahead of me behind the movie camera giving out epic directions. I fancied I could see fireworks exploding from the top of the university's Wills Memorial tower, but that might have just been the pain of the running.
I just kept reminding myself of my inspiration, Sir Ranulph Fiennes, who at 106 or something crazy, managed his third Everest climb by just saying to himself 'plod forever', and it really works.
I thought I was doing pretty well actually, but then I saw some kids on their bikes racing past me as if they were on the flat.
But I kept going and reached the top, feeling utterly, utterly knackered, and rather dehydrated. Again berating myself for not bringing any money out with me to buy a bottle of water, I ducked into the nearest pub and got a pint of tap water. It slipped down like ambrosia from the gods, not custard, and restored my energy levels just enough to enable me to walk the remaining mile or so up to the Downs to get my car.
There is only five weeks to go now before the Bristol half marathon, and I really do want to put in a decent show for that, although I feel I may have neglected my training a little too much to be able to do a decent time, or even get around without stopping.
But if I can add a mile a week between then and now it may be okay. I have decided that one long run a week is probably the way forward to prepare for the half marathon, but I really need to hit the gym to improve my stamina and all round fitness. It will be an important benchmark though in terms of setting out my training from September onwards for the full marathon next year. Which still sounds like an impossible idea.
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