Manc Midgit's Moral Meltdown

So, the last proper training session before the real thing on 1/2 June. The FISH was due to join us, but is in the middle of moving house, so it was just me and Norbert Slowgrove who set off just before seven on Saturday morning, heading the the direction of Horton In Ribblesdale in North Yorkshire.

The weather (yes, I am obsessed by it)  was grey and blustery, becoming more so as we headed north. We tried a different route which took us through, amongst other places, Bradford. Norbert wasn't impressed and said that it was very probably the first and last time he would ever visit the town.

We met the Manc Midgit in the Pen Y Ghent cafe in Horton. We found his car, but no sign of him in the cafe. After five minutes I though I'd better check to make sure he'd not fallen off his booster cushion and was not trapped in the footwell of the car (it's happened before). But no, he was asleep in the car. After a quick coffee and chat, we found somewhere to park, in the car park of The Lion pub.

Norbert put £2.00 in the honesty box, whilst TMM walked past it. "Oi, you've not paid !" I said. "I'm not paying, if they want you to pay there should be someone collecting the money" the tight arsed weasel replied. After giving him far more than two quids worth of abuse we were off, up an extremely muddy, rocky path, into the rain and wind.

I glanced several times at the map, pretty confident that we were on right track. Conversation topics came and went until Norbert started regaling us with tales of "The Donkey" ( a mutual friend ) and his, how shall we say, extra curricular activities. I was so fascinated by his stories, exaggerated or not, that the map reading was forgotten about and we ended up not exactly where we wanted to be. No, we were not lost, just not where we wanted to be.

Anyway, Norbert and TMM were surprisingly understanding and didn't moan or whinge or even take piss. We just trudged back where we'd come from and carried on listening to the tales of Iggy Pop, adventures and depravity. By this time Norbert had started getting blisters and three months after buying his walking boots he had decided they were too small.

We arrived at the car park just before eight in the evening, having done about twenty miles in seven hours. Back to the B and B, a few drinks and a curry and it was morning again.

Just a quick walk today, up to Pen Y Gent, where it was extremely cold and windy, more like February than May.

We continued on to Plover Hill, across severely wet and boggy moorland, where Norbert found out that the boots he'd borrowed from me were not quite waterproof. A quick stop for some Gangsta stylee trekking photos, don't dis me blood, we is baaaad. That's my attempt "urban speak" by the way.

Below - The bastard son of Rudolf Nureyev and Larry Grayson

A quick stop for a bite to eat and to pick up the litter that TMM tried to leave (for the second day running . Bloody townies ) and we were back in the cafe ready for the long drive home.

Another great weekend, looking forward to the event in three weeks.

Town Mouse, Country Mouse

After missing out on a weekend in Yorkshire walking and checking out the course in March, due to bad weather, myself and The Manc Midgit re arranged the trip for this weekend.
 
However, The Silent Assassin had bigger things on his mind, running the London Marathon, so was yet again absent. Update on how he got on to follow when we have news from the front.

Norbert Slowgrove was also on a big weekend away, thanks to The Sun newspaper's promotion of a two nights in Caister for a mere £8.50 per night per person per night ( Terms and Conditions apply). Free entertainment in the form of a "Best Elvis Impersonator" thrown in too. Too good to turn down. BARGAIN !

Anyway, luckily the re arranged trip coincided with some beautiful spring weather, with mild temperatures and clear blue skies. We stayed at a pub in Grassington, had a few beers in the evening and were up before 7 in the morning, eager for an early start. Only problem was that breakfast was served between 9 and 10. What ! That's halfway through the morning ! So we left without breakfast. Don't worry, said I, we'll have breakfast at a cafe in Conistone, about three miles into our walk.

After a minor detour round Grassington, due to a bit of, erm, careless map reading, we set off north, with the early morning frost being burnt off by the strengthening sun. I insisted on taking loads of photos, which caused much whining and whinging throughout the day from TMM.

It's strange, no matter how many shots I take, I always end of looking like a skinny, rubber faced, middle aged man, which is obviously not what I really am. The camera never lies ? What a load of bollocks !

 

After about an hour we arrived in Conistone. We saw some blokes getting ready to go canoeing and asked them where the cafe was. "Kettlewell" came the reply. "About 5 miles away". Great. I was bloody starving, so a near black banana about 3 weeks old had to suffice until we reached Kettlewell.

We started climbing a steep, narrow pass, known as Conistone Dib. TMM spotted a dying rabbit, which was twitching and shaking. A man with two small children, about 5 and 8, were behind us, so TMM stood in front of said rabbit and shuffled about, trying to stop the kids catching site of it. It was like a scene from Monty Python. With the man a few yards away, TMM says, in hushed tones, without moving his lips "Dying rabbit....dying rabbit".  "What?" the man says. "Dying rabbit, dying rabbit" says TMM. Man looks at him as if he's a lunatic and walks on. One of the kids looks at the animal and just says "Eerrh, look at that rabbit" and walks off unconcerned. That's what happens when an ignorant townie goes to the country.

 

We reached the top of the pass and carried on over some beautiful rolling countryside, with me pointing out, in my most pompous and condescending manner (I can't help it, it's part of who I am), various different birds and animals. Though to be fair, I was making half of it up, because TMM didn't have a clue. We did, however, spot a Yorkshire Spider Monkey , see photo below.

Eventually, three and a half hours after leaving Grassington, we walked into Kettlewell and sat outside a cafe, ready to tuck into breakfast. I recognised a bloke sitting near us. "That's Bill Webster" I said (OK, I sometimes watch Corrie. Alright ?). "Who?" says TMM. And him being a northerner too.

A local woman pipes up. "Are you Bill Webster ?". "Yes" says.....well, Bill Webster. For those of you not Corrie watchers, I should point out that Bill Webster is TV Dad of Kevin Webster, who, in real life, is facing sexual assault charges. "What's your Kevin been up to? " says the woman. "I've no idea" says Bill. "Well you bloody well should have! " replies the woman. "I blame the the parents ! " she says, seemingly unaware that Bill is merely his fictional Dad.

After breakfast, we headed up towards Whernside, the highest peak in Yorkshire, standing at 2415 feet (I hope you're taking notes). It didn't look far from the village, but it  took a good amount of  time and effort to get to the top, where it was considerably windier and colder than in the village. Although it was the third week in April there was still a ridge of snow at the top.

 Sir Edmund Hilary and Sherpa Tensing celebrate at the top of the Everest

We walked along the top of ridge back in the direction of Grassington, over some very rough, boggy ground where my Gore Tex  lined waterproof boots proved not to be. The views, though, were truly fantastic and well worth all the effort to get up there in the first place.

We scrambled down a very steep drop onto a firmer footpath and continued without incident, enjoying the sun and talking guff,  until we reached Grassington about 9 hours and 19 miles after we first set out.

A great day.

Manc Midgit Goes Dog Racing

The Manc Midgit has been suffering with injuries recently, so last weekend he decided to go dog racing instead. Don't know if he did any good.....

Into April...

Out on April Fools Day with Norbert Slowgrove for the longest training walk so far. We invited The FISH, Ruddski and The Silent Assassin, but to no avail.

The FISH said he'd lost his phone, so never got the message and Ruddski said Lady Dawnie had already got his whole weekend planned. I've only recently realised that he does exactly what he's told at home and the Effin' and Blinding Man of the People character only exists when he's at work.

By the way, The Silent Assassin DOES exist, He's not a figment of my imagination. It's just that he's training for the London Marathon at the moment. I always ask him if he wants to join us for a walk and although he's to polite to say it, you can see that he's thinking "You silly old twat, you think I need to train with you and Norbert when I'm running 26 smegging miles in a couple of weeks ?"

The weather started off grey and cloudy with that poxy, biting north easterly wind that I loathe.

We started at Great Bromley church, set off through the back lanes to the edge of Lawford, across the fields to Flatford Mill, on to East Bergholt, then over no man's land for several miles. By this time I was starving, so tucked in to the smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwiches, with a few mini chocolate Easter eggs for good measure, stolen from Jamie's rucksack. We reached Bentley (Suffolk) via Holly Wood and Dodnash Wood, where the sun managed to struggle (and stay) out. From here we headed back via East End, over the river at Brantham and on to Manningtree, where we were going to have a break.

By this time we'd done about 13/14 miles and my only interest was that the cafe MUST be open as I was desperate for a hot drink. Luckily it was and we had a drink and snack before continuing on to Mistley and Bradfield.

At Bradfield we took a path along the top of Mistley, by the rugby club and through Furze Hill wood, where we stopped to pose for a photo with Old Knobbley, an oak tree that's reckoned to be 800 years old ( bit of local history for you, good solid facts. I'm not making this up you know ) .

That's me with Old Knobbley, that is

Below - The gayest man in Essex

By this time the feet were starting to ache a bit, so we changed from walking boots to trainers for the last few miles, which made it a bit more comfortable, as we followed the lanes back to via Little Bromley to Great Bromley church.

A total of 23 miles in 6 hours 10 minutes actual walking. With stops, about 7 hours.

If we were doing the "real thing", we'd have another 39 miles to do. Hmm....

Oh, To Be In England In Spring

17 March

Me and Norbert Slowgrove decided training would take the form of a run, as opposed to the usual walk. This was due to the poxy weather. With rain and cold winds forecast we thought it best to have a quick hour and a half run, rather than spend four or five hours walking in the miserable weather.

Norbert got out of his car, resplendent in turquoise top and three quarter length lycra leggings. I, on the other hand, chose a fluorescent orange zip up jacket and full length black lycra leggings, with matching peaked beanie hat. I have to say we looked fanfeckingtastic. No full body photos though, as this would drive any women reading the blog wild and they'd forever look on their other halves as totally inadequate in comparison.

We decided to attempt the mighty "Manningtree Four Peaks".......what do you mean, you've never heard of them ? Starting near The Thorn in Mistley, we headed up the hill towards Wrabness, before coming back towards Lawford, up and down the hills. Halfway up the second hill Ruddski appeared out of nowhere in the support team Skoda offering words of wisdom, which were obviously ignored.

After about four miles we started up the main hill into Manningtree, a real killer and when it was just about starting to flatten off I heard Norbert shout "Stop! Stop!". I turned round and he was walking the last part of the hill. Dear reader, you will never know how much pleasure this gave me, the newly fit and ultra svelte 31 year old Jamie Slowgrove begging the 48 year old to stop because we was out of breath.

Yes, I realise I am a sad and pathetic man, but at that moment I was a sad and pathetic man with a huge smile on his face.

We continued around the lanes for another half our or so before ending back where we started, a good run of around seven miles.

24 March

This week we were meant to be in Yorkshire for a training session. Unfortunately, the ridiculous weather put paid to this and we called it off, to be re arranged sometime in April.

With The Silent Assassin due to be running a half marathon in Brentwood and no word from Norbert I set out by myself on Sunday morning for a hike wrapped up as if I was heading for the Arctic rather than north Essex.

Starting from Thorrington, I headed towards Frating, through Bluegates Farm into Alresford, through Cockaynes wood, onto Wivenhoe, Essex University, along the river back into Wivenhoe (yes, I know it's boring......imagine what it's like having to write this nonsense every week, for God's sake).

Some pictures of snow

A quick coffee and a snack (a slice of date crumble since you ask) before continuing along the river to Alresford creek, Tenpenny farm and back home. Despite the sub zero temperature and 30 mph easterly winds an enjoyable walk. No, really.

Never Judge A Book By It's Cover

This weekend I was left to train by myself, as Norbert Slowgrove was on a weekend Stag "do" in Skegness, The Silent Assassin was otherwise engaged and The Manc Midgit was bed ridden with man flu (makes a change from sofa ridden with a bad knee).

With the weather being so miserable I decided on a run rather than a walk and did a big (for me) circuit around Great Bromley / Burnt Heath / Lawford / Manningtree / Little Bromley. A bitterly cold, dull day with nothing much to report, so on to more interesting matters.

Strolling Bones Team Manager Andy Rudd gave me a lift in his new Jaguar XKR sports car at the weekend. He pulled up dressed in his Hugo Boss suit and drove me around the lanes overlooking the Stour Estuary, until we came to a huge house on the outskirts of Mistley. We waited at the electric gates which slowly opened, whereupon Ruddski drove slowly up the long shingle drive, stopping only to say hello to his gardener. I was given a quick tour of the house before being told to leave (he'd caught me with some of the family silver in my pockets).

So, never judge a book by it's cover. Just because Ruddski turns up at work in his tatty old Skoda, dressed in a hideous yellow tank top and his Manningtree Comprehensive School (circa 1976) trousers, it doesn't mean he hasn't got a pot to piss in.

Stour Valley Trek

Me and Norbert Slowgrove met in Stratford St Mary at 9 on Saturday morning. Parked up in a layby, we were just about to make a start when two shady looking characters started eyeing Norbert's Audi TT (or it could have been my sexy Insignia Estate), so we moved up and parked in the village.

Norbert had been on a spend up and got out a brand new ruck sack and sky blue Berghaus jacket. It would have looked better if he'd taken the price tags off, but I thought it best not to mention it. From what I could make out the ticket said it was a "second" and was reduced from £99.99 to £29.99. Bargain. The man loves a deal.

We set off in the direction of Langham, down to the waterworks, up and down a few hills, then past Boxted Mill, and on to Thorington Street, where we had a quick stop for a bite to eat. I tucked into smoked salmon, cream cheese and caper bagels. I was apparently a "pretentious tosser", whilst Norbert had to make do with plastic bread and value chicken. 

After the welcome stop it was up a long steep hill to Withermarsh Green, Shelly, Rayden, Higham and then back to Stratford. 16.5 miles in exactly four hours, brisk walking with a bit of jogging mixed in.

We await news from Manchester as to whether The Manc Midgit's ankle held up this weekend. Hope so, we don't want another one dropping out