Monday - Friday
We have a sort of mock inspection happening next week. We can't be sure when the inspector will arrive or which lessons he or she will visit. So we have to be prepared. This means having lots of paperwork ready, having loads of marking completed, and planning awesome lessons. This takes time.
Each day, Lucy and I decided to stay as late as possible to get as much done as possible in readiness for the inspection. This meant that I simply didn't have time to get any exercise done and we always ate late, even when I was cooking. It also meant that I used it as an excuse to have a couple of beers with dinner each night!
Saturday
I met Jonnie and James at the usual time for our weekly cycle ride, but this time we were riding on a Saturday so had to be extra aware in the lanes. We chose our quietest route away from major roads (Honiley Variant.) As far as clothing selection went, I was wearing three layers, leg warmers, hat and scarf, but had opted for my spring gloves. At first, the gloves were a bit thin and the fingers started to numb. The sun was bright and low and it was sometimes difficult to see where I was going in my £2.99 Aldi shades.
After about an hour of this, the sun had climbed higher and was considerably warmer. My fingers warmed up, I could see where I was going, and all was well with the world. We rattled along at a good pace, the banter flowed like a fine wine, and we rolled into Wilmcote with a decent average of 14.5mph.
Today, I was tasked with checking the tyre pressures on Jane's car. She had borrowed a tiny foot-pump with a dodgy head which I couldn't fit without it leaking air. I took back up to Stuart - the very nice bloke she had borrowed it from. He just attached it and then pumped away with the air leaking out. It worked, eventually.
After fantastic cake, we sped off into the lanes. It was warm enough to remove my hat and jacket. I stuffed this up my jersey and looked like an unfortunate hunchback from an old horror story. We decided to head back via Jonnie's Shortcut up to the brewery. We were over 5 miles from Wilmcote when my phone rang. It was Jane. I had her car keys in my jersey pocket. I said good bye to the lads and headed back to Wilmcote.
I rode the remaining 21 miles solo. I got caught in the rain on the way back and was pleased to finish the 48 miles with a half decent average of 14.4mph (Strava says 14.3mph.)
An hour later, I was in the shower and then getting ready for this afternoon's Karate session.
The emphasis of today's lesson was on basics. I pushed the students hard and kept the pressure on, making sure they gave their best. Most of them impressed me, especially the lower grades. I didn't expect the standard to be quite so high! We blasted through some kata before ending on the heavy bag.
The evening consisted of Strictly Come Dancing and a few beers!
Sunday
Today, Harry had kindly invited me to join him, Jonnie and 2 other good chaps on a guided tour of Lord's Cricket Ground. The only snag being, Thomas Lord had decided to build the place in London...
Lucy volunteered to drop us of at Birmingham International to catch the slow train to Euston. Harry, wise beyond his years, had saved some money by booking a train that was due to stop at 547 stations before reaching its destination. Anyway, we started off having to stand on a packed train, but eventually managed to get seats relatively close to each other. We huddled around Jonnie's iPad and watched England struggling to dispose of Afghanistan in the World Cup.
The trouble really started when we got to Tring (me neither). The train simply stopped and showed no sign of intending to go anywhere else. The passengers gradually left, in dribs and drabs, to stand around Tring and peer at their mobile phones. It was sort of like a scene from The Walking Dead, just without as much screaming. Jonnie had a brainwave and called up his best mate David who just happened to live nearby and drove a big powerful roomy BMW. Soon, we were hurtling along the M1, observing the speed limit, heading towards some other place I'd never heard of.
After saying goodbye to David, and visiting the world's second smelliest toilet, we found ourselves on a much less crowded train marked 'underground'. The strange thing being, it didn't actually go underground. We spilled out into the Big Smoke. Obviously, I was totally lost and at the mercy of the rest of the chaps who seemed to know the place like the backs of their hands.
Lord's is not a big place, but it is impressive. It smells of wood and polish and of grandparents' houses. It creaks, the corridors are narrow, history peers back at you from old paintings and photographs. It's quiet.
We had a very knowledgeable guide with a dry sense of humour and the patience of Sir Geoffrey Boycott. We were shown the museum (star attraction: The Ashes), the Long Room, the player's dressing rooms, the lunch room, the Media Centre and the Scorers Box. We were told countless stories and given a myriad of facts. It was a very pleasant time and I'm very glad I was there. And yes, the pitch really does slope!
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| Me and Brian Lara in the Long Room |
To the pub! We stepped next door to the Lord's Tavern. Lots of TV screens and eye-wateringly expensive ale. The surprising thing, and I still can't believe it, is that the landlord decided to not have the Cricket World Cup playing on the screens. Instead, we watched rugby football. Jonnie and I did find a screen outside the pub where England could be seen losing against Afghanistan, but as soon as it became too miserable to watch, we joined the others indoors.
The journey home was an experience to forget. (Just writing about it now causes a queer feeling to creep up my backbone and the keyboard to swim before my eyes.) One of the chaps checked his mobile device and announced that the difficulties with Euston Station were over. Hurrah! We all piled down to the London Underground, got totally lost, followed Harry for a bit and eventually asked a high-vis vest who told us what to do. We got to Euston Station to find that the zombie apocalypse was still in full swing: hundreds of people staring up at big screens that said delayed or cancelled in an unfriendly font. The heart sank, the stomach churned.
We slumped in plastic chairs designed to make you want to stand, and waited for an announcement. There was talk of a £200 taxi home.
When the announcement was finally made, when we were made aware of a train for Birmingham, we launched ourselves towards the platform along with the hordes of the undead. I quickly lost contact with the chaps, but, with no time to find them, I simply hurtled along looking for a way onto the train. I could hear people falling, the slap as they hit the concrete, high-vis vests trying to make us stop running. I kept running. I got into a small group that managed to squeeze into a carriage. I even managed to get a seat!
When I got my phone out I learned that the chaps were at least three carriages away from me and there were no seats available. I was alone for the next 2 hours. Those two hours were hell. I was pinned in from the aisle, the bloke next to me wouldn't speak, and the toilet in my carriage was out of order (I would relate my journey to another carriage to find a working toilet but in doing so it would probably give me PTSD.)
I met up with the lads at the station, we got a taxi, we ate junkfood.
And we vowed never to go anywhere ever again.
Ever.
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