Well, it’s been a lean few days here in Benidorm, the beginning of December is a notoriously quiet time here, placed as it is between the November fiestas and festive celebrations. There was another fiesta yesterday – “Constitution Day” and today we are celebrating the "Imaculate conception" apparently, - would have loved to have seen the look on Joseph's face when Mary came up with that one. You’ve got to hand it to em over here, by the last calculation there’s only about 3 weeks a year without some day off thrown in, they’ve adopted every fiesta from within a 500 mile radius and Christmas lasts about two months.
“The Cumberland Sports & Social Club” re-opens on 14th December and personally I can’t wait to get stuck into it once more, these afternoons are gradually getting longer, I’ve been trailing round the shops today (the Chinese ones – the Spanish ones are all shut), looking for little round sunglasses, not for me you understand, - for Ozzy Osbourne.
Here’s something that caught my eye in the paper while I was on my way to the “World’s Biggest Liar” competition the other week. The new “Colemanballs” book is out, which, if you didn’t know is the bible for all gaffes of the sporting nature. Here’s one or two from the latest volume.
“Once you’ve thrown the javelin, it’s out of your hands” – Tessa Sanderson
“The great North Run is the longest half marathon in the world” – Talksport Radio
“Calzaghe has managed to keep all his personal problems out of his life” - Duke McKenzie.
“He was running quicker than his legs could go” - Steve McLaren
“We are not as good as we think we are. We need to go out there and prove that” – Steve McLaren.
“Gary Neville was captain, and now Ryan Giggs has taken on the mantelpiece” – Rio Ferdinand.
“He chanced his arm and it came off” – Bryan Moore
“If you want a quiet life, you have to turn a blind ear” – Geoff Boycott
“It would help if the groundsman didn’t scatter his seed around the place a couple of days before the game” – Jonathon Agnew.
“Camebridge have won the boat race! – Oxford have come second”. – Geoff Twentyman (BBC radio Bristol).
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Biggest Liar In The World Competition
I’ve just got back from a immensely enjoyable weekend where I spent the first night at the “World’s Biggest Liar” competition, held annually at the “Bridge Inn” pub in the Lake District.
As luck would have it my flight touched down at Manchester ten minutes early which miraculously enabled me to catch the last available train to Ravenglass which, as far as I’m aware is the nearest point of civilization to (a) Holmrook – the location of my B and B, and (b) Santon Bridge itself where the competition will be held.
It’s six o’clock on the dot as I breeze through the door at the “Ratty Arms” pub, which I’m guessing in former times was the waiting room for Ravenglass station as it is actually located on the platform itself. I’m figuring I’m going to time this thing just about right as it says on the ticket in my back pocket that the starting time is 7pm (the ticket also enables me to partake of the “Tattie Supper”, whatever that is, but whatever, I’ll tackle it as I’m ravenous). As there was no sign of a telephone box I ask the young barmaid for a taxi number, and she very kindly offers to phone one for me. After a short conversation on the somewhat less than reliable mobile phone she gladly informs me that there is a taxi available – at about 7:15! – the sole driver allocated to these parts obviously doesn’t like rushing his tea.
I muttered some mild expletive under my breathe and asked if there wasn’t some other firm that might take me now, but she looked annoyed at my annoyance and said that there wasn’t. “Ok, I’ll take it, - thank you” I said, as I stood deflated against the bar counting my change all crestfallen. I sat with a pint of “John Smiths” as I weighed up my options.
The taxi driver showed up at around 7:25pm and I scurried out of that very pleasant hostelry and into the awaiting vehicle. I had him drop me off at the “Lutwidge Arms” pub which was to be my bed for the night. I flew through the door like some wild west villain explaining that “the clock was running” and I didn’t have time for pleasantries as I breathlessly gave my name to the amiable if somewhat startled woman and told her thank you very much as I threw my bag into room 9 and haired back down the stairs and out into the car park.
The lengthy pause that greeted my inquiry as to what my chances were to getting a taxi back again later on left me squirming, before feigning relief with – “Oh it doesn’t matter, if I know which way I’m going I’d rather walk anyway”
As I forced my way into the packed venue, - us club people would call it a “Function Room” I could see that I didn’t have a hope of finding a seat and I was going to struggle to find any sort of standing position come to that. I naturally sort sanctuary at the bar and awkwardly cradled a pint of “Cumberland Ale” as the compere, addressed the massed ranks of local dignitaries, film crew, busy photographers, assorted hacks and increasingly restless audience. I was relieved of my ticket, telling me that all the “Tattie Suppers” were gone and would I like some lamb stew. I politely declined.
Nearly all thirteen entrants were of local origin, I have never been to this part of the country before I am slightly perplexed to hear that the local accent has a sound of watered down “Geordie” about it, now geography isn’t my strong suit exactly but that’s across the other side of the country isn’t it?
First up is a young student type with ginger hair who, although obviously nervous, - and who wouldn’t be with television cameras and flash bulbs rammed under your nose end – made a fairly decent fist of it. Being stuck at the back and with most contestants not laying claim to the greatest of microphone techniques it was difficult to decipher exactly what was said but our student friend opened with “I was born in a wicker basket in 2000” which seemed like a decent start, and he went on to receive a passable ripple of appreciation. Next up was “James Mason – Butler to the rich and famous” who mumbled a bit and I didn’t have the slightest notion what he was going on about. Next up enter stage left Glenn “Cloth Ears” Boyland, who with his curious tale of the downfall of the Roman Empire due to their carnivorous diet – i.e eating people instead of food, would eventually prove good enough to clinch third spot.
Others included a “Brain Surgeon” who told of his club trip to Kabul with companion Norman (A Jack Russell), a pop eyed barmy individual whose occupation was announced as a “Wasp Whisperer” and finished with line, “You know shite? – well I shit pink shite!!” (Well, it got a laugh from me). There was an elderly lady in a blue cardigan who was the spit of “Mrs. Doubtfire”, an ample young lady who used the opportunity as a sort of an open mic spot in a comedy club and finished with – “I’m actually a size zero but I keep it wrapped up in this fat so as not to scratch it”, and some old bloke who went on about trying to capture fog for his uncles fog horn
After the break Andrew Halls and Aisha were very entertaining, he acting as interpreter for his Turkish lady friend (actually from Preston) and through him she told of the underwater tunnel from Constantinople to Coniston in years gone by and explained that they’d arrived by submarine that day, which was now parked round the back and apologised to the owner of the blue “Astra” for any inconvenience. We then sat through some of the most tedious ramblings from contestants with all the panache and delivery of my old History teacher, which had pretty much the same effect on the audience as it had on 2T in 1976.
Joyfully though, the reigning world champ “Johnny Liar” a 70 year old local farmer, treated us to a scintillating performance, regaling us with a fantastical tale of his day out in Whitehaven, travelling up there along the sea bed on the back of his trusty horse Daisy and completing the return journey cadging a lift on the fin of a giant skate.
Nice one Johnny and long may you rein.
Nice one Johnny and long may you rein.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Time For A Wash!
November 11th 2008.
I woke up yesterday morning to that wonderful gurgling and whooshing sound that all Spanish residents adore – the sound of the water coming back on! It had been off since yesterday morning, I’d had the Dutch woman from next door round telling me that she’d been on the phone to the porter who had used the phrase – “Well, nobody else has complained” to fob her off insisting it was all in her imagination. I couldn’t have complained if I’d wanted to, when I moved in a couple of months back nobody gave me his number, so I had got in touch with the agent who mentioned that not only was it Sunday but it was the “Fiestas” so it could be a problem getting anybody roused before Thursday to sort the problem. So it was a huge relief then when it came back on today, which means I can afford those little luxuries like taking a shower and flushing the toilet. As anybody living over here will tell you this is not what you would call uncommon, and all you can do is hope that when the power cuts hit town you’re not in the lift. – The last time it happened to me, someone phoned the fire brigade but forgot to mention that in fact the building wasn’t a towering inferno and a dozen firefighters rushed the building with oxygen masks and pick axes, and all sirens blazing. It worked though, they had me out in a flash, - if I’d have phoned the “emergency” number I would have been there still no doubt.
Here’s a story from today’s papers that caught my attention -
Great Barrier Reef in garden shed
A man has created his own Great Barrier Reef in his garden shed.
Clayton Smith from Bromley has grown corals for ten years and nurtures more than 120 species in 5ft by 2ft tanks at the bottom of his garden.
He told The Sun: "Coral is an incredible 'pet'. Some people like soft corals, which are wavy, and others the big and fleshy large polyp stone corals.
"However, first-time farmers really like the ones which glow in the dark - they've got the 'wow' factor."
I woke up yesterday morning to that wonderful gurgling and whooshing sound that all Spanish residents adore – the sound of the water coming back on! It had been off since yesterday morning, I’d had the Dutch woman from next door round telling me that she’d been on the phone to the porter who had used the phrase – “Well, nobody else has complained” to fob her off insisting it was all in her imagination. I couldn’t have complained if I’d wanted to, when I moved in a couple of months back nobody gave me his number, so I had got in touch with the agent who mentioned that not only was it Sunday but it was the “Fiestas” so it could be a problem getting anybody roused before Thursday to sort the problem. So it was a huge relief then when it came back on today, which means I can afford those little luxuries like taking a shower and flushing the toilet. As anybody living over here will tell you this is not what you would call uncommon, and all you can do is hope that when the power cuts hit town you’re not in the lift. – The last time it happened to me, someone phoned the fire brigade but forgot to mention that in fact the building wasn’t a towering inferno and a dozen firefighters rushed the building with oxygen masks and pick axes, and all sirens blazing. It worked though, they had me out in a flash, - if I’d have phoned the “emergency” number I would have been there still no doubt.
Here’s a story from today’s papers that caught my attention -
Great Barrier Reef in garden shed
A man has created his own Great Barrier Reef in his garden shed.
Clayton Smith from Bromley has grown corals for ten years and nurtures more than 120 species in 5ft by 2ft tanks at the bottom of his garden.
He told The Sun: "Coral is an incredible 'pet'. Some people like soft corals, which are wavy, and others the big and fleshy large polyp stone corals.
"However, first-time farmers really like the ones which glow in the dark - they've got the 'wow' factor."
Friday, November 7, 2008
Watch Yer Back - The Fiestas Are Coming!
Well, the November Fiestas are upon us once more, and once again we'll witness the culture split. The Spanish will dress in their sublime lacy period costumes, observe the parades and fireworks and visit the funfair in the old town, with small children gambling playfully at their feet. - Then there's the middle aged British gangs who'll converge on their favourite bar (Vincents, Wooky Hollow, Yorkshire Pride and Shamrock being the favourites), have a high volume chat with the folks they met last year and get wrecked whilst dressed up as Fred Flintstone. - Not that there's owt wrong with that mind! - that's OUR culture that's all. There not much good if you're a "Turn" though, and I've been laid off from "Sinatras" while the heat dies down.
Trawling through the papers today, it's a case of Prince Philip eat your heart out, after hearing of this classic from all round entertainer, Italian Supremo Silvio Berlusconi. Whilst in a press conference with the Russian President he came up with this corker. - "I will try to help relations between Russia and the U.S, where a new generation has come to power, and I see no problems to establish new relations with Obama who is handsome, young and suntanned"
www.concertchairmanbenidorm.blogspot.com
Oh for f......
Oh for f......
Friday, October 31, 2008
Halloween An All That
It’s been a pretty quiet week down at the old “Cumberland Sports & Social Club” this week, the lull before the storm that is the Benidorm Fiestas you might say.
We did however pay homage to two top people – Sid and Pauline Dunhill by awarding them the “Members of the Month” trophy for October. Due to budget restrictions however, the Concert Chairman had to revamp an old pigeon trophy which went mercifully un noticed, what didn’t go un noticed though was the fact that he spelt Pauline’s name wrong! - And Sid’s as well now I come to think of it (his name is Raymond).
They have been in every afternoon and every night and have been present at all of my cabaret shows, gleefully showering “Cliff Richard” with table tennis balls and acting as wilful stooges to my “Julio Iglesias” flower routine and bracing themselves for the contents of “Dean Martin’s” glass like the veteran extras that they are.
It’s Halloween tonight and our barmaid Cheryl has been playing hell because the Bat uniform that she’s been requesting for the last two months from Claire and Ivor’s fancy dress shop next door failed to show. So instead she’s going as a big spider. Unfortunately, she has a mortal and irrational fear of the things so let’s just hope she doesn’t catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Mind you, I think Dracula’s had them banned for the evening.
Catching my eye in the on line papers today is the news that 58 year old expat Mark Lewis – who barely speaks a word of Spanish, - has been made Mayor of San Fulgencio (somewhere near Alicante), after he was only one of two councillors not to be arrested on corruption charges. Somebody give the lad a chance I say, this time next week he’ll be building a road through his next door neighbours garden and commissioning his brother to do the work even though he’s running a fish shop in Tooting.
We did however pay homage to two top people – Sid and Pauline Dunhill by awarding them the “Members of the Month” trophy for October. Due to budget restrictions however, the Concert Chairman had to revamp an old pigeon trophy which went mercifully un noticed, what didn’t go un noticed though was the fact that he spelt Pauline’s name wrong! - And Sid’s as well now I come to think of it (his name is Raymond).
They have been in every afternoon and every night and have been present at all of my cabaret shows, gleefully showering “Cliff Richard” with table tennis balls and acting as wilful stooges to my “Julio Iglesias” flower routine and bracing themselves for the contents of “Dean Martin’s” glass like the veteran extras that they are.
It’s Halloween tonight and our barmaid Cheryl has been playing hell because the Bat uniform that she’s been requesting for the last two months from Claire and Ivor’s fancy dress shop next door failed to show. So instead she’s going as a big spider. Unfortunately, she has a mortal and irrational fear of the things so let’s just hope she doesn’t catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Mind you, I think Dracula’s had them banned for the evening.
Catching my eye in the on line papers today is the news that 58 year old expat Mark Lewis – who barely speaks a word of Spanish, - has been made Mayor of San Fulgencio (somewhere near Alicante), after he was only one of two councillors not to be arrested on corruption charges. Somebody give the lad a chance I say, this time next week he’ll be building a road through his next door neighbours garden and commissioning his brother to do the work even though he’s running a fish shop in Tooting.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
2008/09 Season At The "Cumberland Sports & Social Club"
Well, it’s been a great start to the 2008/9 season down at the “Cumberland Sports & Social club” here in Benidorm.
One of our members “Dozy” Dave from Pontefract has been in sparkling form this last couple of weeks with his dazzling array of impersonations of such greats as Pavarotti, Rod Stewart, Elvis, Willie Nelson. Don Estelle and Reg Crookshank (his next door neighbour).He gleefully informed us all that he had recently taken part in his very first pantomime recently, (Dave is 73), - it was in “Puss In Boots” in his home town of Pontefract. When I asked him what part he played he said – “The Pie Seller”, and somewhat annoyed at my mirth, countered, - “Well, it was a Yorkshire version! – they were “Pukka Pies”! – fair enough then. For full footage of his and club steward Nigel’s tribute to Don Estelle and Windsor Davies click on - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=24yBdOpUyfk
The quiz of a Tuesday night is going a bomb, with not a spare seat to be had in or outside the club for the past month, and I can’t go without mentioning the effort here of Claire, one of our bar staff, who, on her night off was taking part. One of the questions was, “Who were the two stars of “Top Hat” (the correct answer being Fred Astaire and Ginger Rodgers), she put “Top Cat and Officer Dibble”, - she had misheard the question, and thought or quizmaster had said “Who were the two stars of “Top Cat”. Nice one Claire.
Other notables this week include Johnny Parkinson, - also from Pontefract (I must go there on my holidays sometime), gratefully accepting the Concert Chairman’s offer of the use of his spectacles whilst writing out his email address – even though they are just frames, with no lenses in them.
And top marks has to go to the large cockney bloke who turned up last Sunday and introduced himself, - whilst I was on my way to the toilet, - as “Gorgeous George, - world heavyweight champion”, which baffled the life out of me. When I mentioned this to bar owner Nigel, he rather excitedly said – “Yes! – that’s it, I remember him now, he was a wrestler round about the time of Mick McManus and all of that lot”. When next I looked up there was old “Georgeous” regaling Nigel of his various ring exploits and I have to say that by gaffer was looking suitably impressed at this point.
I was less sure, and as soon as I got home I turned on the computer and “Googled” him. Alas “Gorgeous George” was world heavyweight champion wrestler, but he was born in 1915, which would make him a rather sprightly 93 years of age, which is stretching it a bit, and I have to say that if it is him in our club, then he’s looking remarkably chipper, especially as he died in 1963!
One of our members “Dozy” Dave from Pontefract has been in sparkling form this last couple of weeks with his dazzling array of impersonations of such greats as Pavarotti, Rod Stewart, Elvis, Willie Nelson. Don Estelle and Reg Crookshank (his next door neighbour).He gleefully informed us all that he had recently taken part in his very first pantomime recently, (Dave is 73), - it was in “Puss In Boots” in his home town of Pontefract. When I asked him what part he played he said – “The Pie Seller”, and somewhat annoyed at my mirth, countered, - “Well, it was a Yorkshire version! – they were “Pukka Pies”! – fair enough then. For full footage of his and club steward Nigel’s tribute to Don Estelle and Windsor Davies click on - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=24yBdOpUyfk
The quiz of a Tuesday night is going a bomb, with not a spare seat to be had in or outside the club for the past month, and I can’t go without mentioning the effort here of Claire, one of our bar staff, who, on her night off was taking part. One of the questions was, “Who were the two stars of “Top Hat” (the correct answer being Fred Astaire and Ginger Rodgers), she put “Top Cat and Officer Dibble”, - she had misheard the question, and thought or quizmaster had said “Who were the two stars of “Top Cat”. Nice one Claire.
Other notables this week include Johnny Parkinson, - also from Pontefract (I must go there on my holidays sometime), gratefully accepting the Concert Chairman’s offer of the use of his spectacles whilst writing out his email address – even though they are just frames, with no lenses in them.
And top marks has to go to the large cockney bloke who turned up last Sunday and introduced himself, - whilst I was on my way to the toilet, - as “Gorgeous George, - world heavyweight champion”, which baffled the life out of me. When I mentioned this to bar owner Nigel, he rather excitedly said – “Yes! – that’s it, I remember him now, he was a wrestler round about the time of Mick McManus and all of that lot”. When next I looked up there was old “Georgeous” regaling Nigel of his various ring exploits and I have to say that by gaffer was looking suitably impressed at this point.
I was less sure, and as soon as I got home I turned on the computer and “Googled” him. Alas “Gorgeous George” was world heavyweight champion wrestler, but he was born in 1915, which would make him a rather sprightly 93 years of age, which is stretching it a bit, and I have to say that if it is him in our club, then he’s looking remarkably chipper, especially as he died in 1963!
Saturday, October 4, 2008
"Great Gorilla Race" - London
Having been one of the first to arrive, somehow I've managed to be right at the back for the 2008 "Great Gorilla Race" and I'm itching (literally) for the off. Im clad in full Gorilla costume and would be running almost blind such is the design of the mask.
It had mentioned in the e-mails that I’d received from the “Gorilla Organisation” that we would receive a rousing speech from TV personality and ex “Goodie” Bill Oddie shortly before the off. I could hear somebody in the far off distance saying something, but from this range it came across as gobbledegook rather in the fashion of the teacher in those “Charlie Brown” cartoons from years ago. You could feel the atmosphere starting to build though even from here, and, probably encouraged by our friend Bill, suddenly all eight hundred competitors were becoming agitated in the extreme, some vigorously beating at their chests with pumping fists, others jumping up and down, and nearly all either whooping or screeching as a loud hooter sounded for the race to begin.
It was something of an anti climax then, when, although jogging on the spot I didn’t actually get to move anywhere for at least two minutes as the hordes of primates bobbed up and down trying to get a glimpse of the scene up front and the possibility of actually getting started. I don’t think I saw one gorilla not in fancy dress, not too far in front I could see my old pal from the tube station with bowler hat and brolly, there was a red Indian with full head dress, who it transpired was one of a group, - “The Village People”, quite a few were done up as ballet dancers, a team of basketball players who bounced a ball the whole way round, Wonder woman was just one of a batch of superheroes, a couple of boxers sparred a bit over enthusiastically, and at one stage wrestling each other to the ground, there were pirates waving cutlasses around, a butcher and Michael Jackson performing his “Thriller” routine.
Suddenly the road opened up before me and we were off. Unfortunately it was very difficult to see through the two tiny slits above the eyes of the mask and I stumbled straight into a gorilla clad in a safari suit. After a few muffled apologies and just a hundred yards after the start I saw the first casualty of the campaign, when a “Ghostbuster”, or at least I think that was what he was supposed to be with a big pack on his back, had crashed and was laid writhing on the kerb looking a bit confused., several of his pals crowded round to help and somebody had pulled his head off to help him breathe.
I had no sooner got into my stride when I was collared by some youth and asked if I would do a TV interview. Hamming it up somewhat I said I would just as soon as I got by breath back, (even though I’d only been jogging for about ten seconds) and proceeded to cough and splutter, bend over with my hands on my knees, and take a long draw on my fag. (it was one of those joke ones). In my old mans voice I began to explain as how I’d drawn the short straw back home in the club and won the gorilla suit in a raffle, after which I’d been flown over here and frog marched to the start etc. etc. blah blah blah and basically lied through my rubber teeth for two minutes. As I set off once more I panicked as I realized that there was nobody behind me and all the runners in front were now out of sight. Another disconcerting thing was that the roads hadn’t been blocked off or anything so we had to run the gauntlet with pedestrians and Saturday morning traffic, which wasn’t inconsiderable as it was such a glorious day. I put on a sudden spurt to try and catch up and was nearly mown down by a black cab coming round the corner, because I could only see directly in front of me, and even then not that much. Fortunately I came across a race steward, who directed me the right way and across a pedestrian crossing.
At this point as I was running alone, and to the uninitiated seemingly a lone nutter, the number of looks I got from eager Japanese tourists was a mixture of high amusement and stern faced animosity. Of all the times I’ve had my photograph taken in all of my life, you could times that number by ten in that short five minute period until I caught up the stragglers at the back of the troupe. This was a happy moment and I could now relax into the roll and I found myself trotting straight backed, chest out and slightly bow-legged, all the while keeping the cig between the index and middle fingers of my right hand.
After about twenty minutes it was beginning to get hot in there and I noticed that many of my fellow competitors were either taking their masks off or pushing them back so that the chin was up on top of their heads, This was an outrage as far as I was concerned, once the mask has been taken off the whole illusion is shattered and if it had been anything to do with me it would have meant instant disqualification. But it was hot.
I had worked out that it would take about half an hour to run the 8km course and I had to laugh to myself that I’d actually put in some training in for this thing. As a rule I never run, I find it acutely boring, but I’d forced myself into early morning runs along Benidorms promenade at first light in order to get my dodgy knees into the swing of things. But here tootling along weaving in and out of casual shoppers and wide eyed tourists I was barely above stiff walking speed. Still, the scenery was good – if I could have seen it.
After about thirty five minutes we came across another steward who offered us (yes us, I was in the pack now) encouragement and said “Come on hang in there, you’re nearly halfway there!”. I shouted back at him “What!?, - halfway!?, - I thought you were about to put a medal round me neck and say well done, - yer bastard”.
Not long after this we came across a water station on the bank of the Thames that was being drained of all its resources, somebody thrust a bottle at me and although my first thought was to snatch and devour it, I relented realizing it was bad for the image. Instead I jogged on a few yards and tuned left into a pub opposite where H.M.S Belfast is moored. I dipped into my bumbag and produced a fiver to pay for my half of lager. The barmaid, who sounded eastern European regarded me with impunity remarking only that she liked my glasses.
I stood outside by the river and jammed the beer glass between the masks lips but when that didn’t work I lifted the chin outward slightly and had a sly slurp that way. This was indeed a great day. A bit further on I stopped as I recognised a few individuals that I’d set off with at the start and we took a few photos.
This was the first time I’d taken time out to look around me and see the bigger picture, it now appeared that we’d run over Tower Bridge and a few other bridges of lesser renown though I hadn’t been fully aware of it at the time, and I was conscious of the fact that we must be somewhere near finishing the course which saddened me somewhat.
As I approached the finishing line I was once again trotting alone and was given a rousing reception by a substantial crowd which surprised me somewhat. as I thought everybody would have pissed off home by now. Bill oddie was supposed to give out the medals, but had long since passed this duty on to one of the woman race officials by the time I theatrically dipped over the line, only to be ushered to the side to give another interview. I basically repeated the script from the first one but with a few more lusty coughs, chokes and wheezes. Some chap took it upon him self to remove the “chip” from my training shoe, leaving me to trip over my now hanging lace as I teetered out of the arena and into obscurity.
It was something of an anti climax then, when, although jogging on the spot I didn’t actually get to move anywhere for at least two minutes as the hordes of primates bobbed up and down trying to get a glimpse of the scene up front and the possibility of actually getting started. I don’t think I saw one gorilla not in fancy dress, not too far in front I could see my old pal from the tube station with bowler hat and brolly, there was a red Indian with full head dress, who it transpired was one of a group, - “The Village People”, quite a few were done up as ballet dancers, a team of basketball players who bounced a ball the whole way round, Wonder woman was just one of a batch of superheroes, a couple of boxers sparred a bit over enthusiastically, and at one stage wrestling each other to the ground, there were pirates waving cutlasses around, a butcher and Michael Jackson performing his “Thriller” routine.
Suddenly the road opened up before me and we were off. Unfortunately it was very difficult to see through the two tiny slits above the eyes of the mask and I stumbled straight into a gorilla clad in a safari suit. After a few muffled apologies and just a hundred yards after the start I saw the first casualty of the campaign, when a “Ghostbuster”, or at least I think that was what he was supposed to be with a big pack on his back, had crashed and was laid writhing on the kerb looking a bit confused., several of his pals crowded round to help and somebody had pulled his head off to help him breathe.
I had no sooner got into my stride when I was collared by some youth and asked if I would do a TV interview. Hamming it up somewhat I said I would just as soon as I got by breath back, (even though I’d only been jogging for about ten seconds) and proceeded to cough and splutter, bend over with my hands on my knees, and take a long draw on my fag. (it was one of those joke ones). In my old mans voice I began to explain as how I’d drawn the short straw back home in the club and won the gorilla suit in a raffle, after which I’d been flown over here and frog marched to the start etc. etc. blah blah blah and basically lied through my rubber teeth for two minutes. As I set off once more I panicked as I realized that there was nobody behind me and all the runners in front were now out of sight. Another disconcerting thing was that the roads hadn’t been blocked off or anything so we had to run the gauntlet with pedestrians and Saturday morning traffic, which wasn’t inconsiderable as it was such a glorious day. I put on a sudden spurt to try and catch up and was nearly mown down by a black cab coming round the corner, because I could only see directly in front of me, and even then not that much. Fortunately I came across a race steward, who directed me the right way and across a pedestrian crossing.
At this point as I was running alone, and to the uninitiated seemingly a lone nutter, the number of looks I got from eager Japanese tourists was a mixture of high amusement and stern faced animosity. Of all the times I’ve had my photograph taken in all of my life, you could times that number by ten in that short five minute period until I caught up the stragglers at the back of the troupe. This was a happy moment and I could now relax into the roll and I found myself trotting straight backed, chest out and slightly bow-legged, all the while keeping the cig between the index and middle fingers of my right hand.
After about twenty minutes it was beginning to get hot in there and I noticed that many of my fellow competitors were either taking their masks off or pushing them back so that the chin was up on top of their heads, This was an outrage as far as I was concerned, once the mask has been taken off the whole illusion is shattered and if it had been anything to do with me it would have meant instant disqualification. But it was hot.
I had worked out that it would take about half an hour to run the 8km course and I had to laugh to myself that I’d actually put in some training in for this thing. As a rule I never run, I find it acutely boring, but I’d forced myself into early morning runs along Benidorms promenade at first light in order to get my dodgy knees into the swing of things. But here tootling along weaving in and out of casual shoppers and wide eyed tourists I was barely above stiff walking speed. Still, the scenery was good – if I could have seen it.
After about thirty five minutes we came across another steward who offered us (yes us, I was in the pack now) encouragement and said “Come on hang in there, you’re nearly halfway there!”. I shouted back at him “What!?, - halfway!?, - I thought you were about to put a medal round me neck and say well done, - yer bastard”.
Not long after this we came across a water station on the bank of the Thames that was being drained of all its resources, somebody thrust a bottle at me and although my first thought was to snatch and devour it, I relented realizing it was bad for the image. Instead I jogged on a few yards and tuned left into a pub opposite where H.M.S Belfast is moored. I dipped into my bumbag and produced a fiver to pay for my half of lager. The barmaid, who sounded eastern European regarded me with impunity remarking only that she liked my glasses.
I stood outside by the river and jammed the beer glass between the masks lips but when that didn’t work I lifted the chin outward slightly and had a sly slurp that way. This was indeed a great day. A bit further on I stopped as I recognised a few individuals that I’d set off with at the start and we took a few photos.
This was the first time I’d taken time out to look around me and see the bigger picture, it now appeared that we’d run over Tower Bridge and a few other bridges of lesser renown though I hadn’t been fully aware of it at the time, and I was conscious of the fact that we must be somewhere near finishing the course which saddened me somewhat.
As I approached the finishing line I was once again trotting alone and was given a rousing reception by a substantial crowd which surprised me somewhat. as I thought everybody would have pissed off home by now. Bill oddie was supposed to give out the medals, but had long since passed this duty on to one of the woman race officials by the time I theatrically dipped over the line, only to be ushered to the side to give another interview. I basically repeated the script from the first one but with a few more lusty coughs, chokes and wheezes. Some chap took it upon him self to remove the “chip” from my training shoe, leaving me to trip over my now hanging lace as I teetered out of the arena and into obscurity.
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