10km

Over the weekend, I took part in a 10km (6 mile) walk to raise funds for Marie Curie cancer care.  They’d done it as an evening thing, round a local(ish) stately home.  In my case, that meant Boughton House, near Kettering in Northamptonshire.

As it was, I just fancied doing it – it seemed like a fun alternative to the whole ‘fun run’ (an oxymoron if ever I heard one) and just something I wanted to do, so I signed up ages back, and did some (very minimal) fundraising with friends via Facebook.  I raised enough to be able to do the walk, so there we go.

In the meantime, life conspired to make sure I had no practice or ‘training’ whatsoever – with the icing on the cake being the fact that my decent walking boots fell apart the night before the walk. Ain’t life grand?  Still, it wasn’t a major issue – I walk everywhere in boots anyway, so sod it, just use my everyday ones. At least I know I won’t get blisters!

Fortunately, Saturday evening was dry – the limit of my preparation was a vaguely waterproof jacket (well, more fleece than anything) but by halfway round I was sweating like a perv in a playground, so it got taken off and carried the rest of the way.

I wasn’t really in the mood to be sociable, so didn’t actually speak to anyone else on the walk. Chatted briefly to some of the marshals, but nothing else. I was doing it more for the walk, the fundraising, and just to be doing it – plus plenty of time for thinking/planning, of which more another time.  I could’ve strangled a few people – particularly the dog-walkers, with their extendy-leads that conspire to try and trip people at every opportunity – but for once I was fairly mellow. Mind you, one of ’em nearly ended up with a boot up the arse.

All told, I did the 10km in 1hr 50 mins, which I was really quite pleased with. It wasn’t super-quick, but at the same time I was also surprised by how many people took a lot longer to do it. It wasn’t competitive: no names, numbers, or times, but it was still interesting. I didn’t set out to be first, or to do a blistering time, but managed to end up in the first third of finishers, if not the first quarter. Which surprised me, but anyway.

And then just the drive home. I could’ve stayed for some kind of concert and fireworks, but again, I wasn’t really in the mood.

More importantly, I was quite chuffed that I’d done it, and while my feet were sore afterwards there’s been no lasting pain, blisters, or anything. All told – and bearing in mind how little preparation I’d managed to do – it went pretty damn well.

Who knows, I might even do it again next year. After all, I’ve a time (and financial) target to beat now…


Scottish Independence

In a few day’s time, Scotland will be voting on whether they should become independent from the United Kingdom.

Personally, I don’t give much of a damn either way on this one, if I’m honest.

However, I do think it would be a more interesting referendum if it had been a UK-wide question, rather than asked just to the Scots.

Anyway – regardless of the outcome, what I hope is that there is a clear and large margin between the Yes and No votes.  I don’t want to see it being 49 to 51 or whatever – because then it’ll just end up with more fighting, that the people who are in that ‘minority’ (that’s still just under half, and thus makes for one heck of a lot of people) feel they’re being forced by the other half to do what they don’t want to.

If it’s a 75 to 25 in either direction – maybe even a 60/40 split then it’s harder to argue the toss at all.

Mind you, the cynic in me really wants to see it split 50/50, and see what happens then.


A Process of Re-assessment

This year has been absolute garbage on the job front. While I’ve never been out of work, I’ve had quite the selection of shitty employers, contracts and workplaces.

I don’t know if this is a developing theme in general, or if my quality control is currently shot to shit, but either way, it’s been making me think and reassess about whether I even truly want to stay in this industry of mine.

I’m not decided yet. Leaping out of this and into something else right now would probably be one of my dafter moves, and I know that. So I’m not going to bail overnight or anything like that.  (Although that doesn’t stop me from thinking about other roles, easier jobs – or at least jobs I perceive as easier – and wondering about whether those changes would result in less stress or more)

I don’t know. I hope it’s ‘just’ been a shit year, and that whatever comes next will be something where I just enjoy it again.

Mind you, that was the plan/hope with this one – the stuff at interview made it sound really interesting and positive, things that were up my street and really positive.  In fairness, the work itself *is* interesting, challenging, and new/fun. It’s just that the owner of the company in question is a lying, double-dealing ‘last minute dot com’ dick – which affects everything else.

Onwards and upwards, and we’ll see what comes next.


Oncoming

On Saturday night I discovered possibly the scariest message that can be displayed on those motorway information boards.

That message is

Caution. Oncoming Vehicle.

I can tell you, it does fairly make the old backside pucker, seeing that.

 

As it was, I didn’t see the vehicle in question – I assume it either got stopped, or turned round.  But it doesn’t half make you worry.

Of course, if this were all a joke, the punchline would be

And it wasn’t just one, there were bloody hundreds of the buggers.

But it’s not a joke, and it wasn’t a funny thing…


Inherently Useless

On my commutes, I regularly find myself bemused by the whole thing of performance cars – things like Ferraris, Lamborghinis, Aston Martins, AMG Mercedes and the like.

Don’t get me wrong, I do like the look of a lot of them, as well as the idea of fast cars. I love seeing them, and some of the stuff about them, the hand-made elements and so on. But here in the UK I just don’t really see the point of them.

I get that some of it is about showing off, that you can afford a fast car (as well as the petrol etc.) and fair play. Personally I don’t value myself by my possessions – large or small – and I don’t define myself by that perceived value, or that of the brand/marque that’s been chosen.

But regardless of whether you’ve got a shitty old Mk1 Ford Fiesta (or any other ‘low-end’ vehicle) or a £200,000 Mercedes SLS AMG, you’re legally limited to 70 mph. 80 at a push. And the run I do on a daily basis is populated with speed cameras and police, so it’s really not worth speeding past that – it’ll become a very expensive hobby, for sure.  So what’s the point of a car that can do 200mph, if it’ll never get there?

Sure, there’s other places you can speed, where there’s less cameras. But even then if you do get caught, it’s going to be expensive.

And then you get to the fuel consumption. That SLS gets 21mpg on the combined cycle – and I bet that drops like a stone if you put your foot down.

Great, you’ve got the money to make it feasible for you. I’m happy for you – not impressed, and not bothered, but it’s not for me, it’s for you.

Mind you, if you own that £200,000 car, it must really steam your piss to be overtaken by a shitty 13-year-old Saab that’s worth less than a hundredth of what your car cost…


Twinned Outfits

As regular readers know, I’m really not great at relationships. The whole concept of being with one person for decades leaves me cold – let alone the way some people seem to become almost symbiotic – perhaps even parasitic – beings, who can’t be separated, can’t be apart at all.

The ones that disturb me the most are the ones who also wear the same type of outfits, or at least the clothing colourschemes. I’ve seen quite a few over the recent weeks, some in my village and some around where I work.

I don’t know why it creeps me out as much as it does – although it also does so when parents make their children (and particularly twins) wear the same outfits. But I do, it does, whatever.

I suspect it’s to do with what I see as the giving up of identity, the willingness to give up things I see as most valuable.

All very weird, but such is life, I suppose. Horses for courses, and all the piss.


Unbalanced

In today’s news, there’s (yet another) ceasefire in Gaza.

I’m neither pro-Palestine or pro-Israeli – personally, I think the entire thing is insane.

But what really gets me is the inequality of the body count.  From the article…

Gaza officials say the four-week conflict has killed 1,800 Palestinians. Some 67 Israelis have also died.

That’s just over 26 Gazans killed for every Israeli killed. And that’s disgraceful.

I seem to recall that at the start of this, the Gazans had killed one – yes, one – Israeli, for something like 200 Gazans. And I just can’t see that having one dead person is an excuse to go and re-invade a country and effectively declare war.