Early, Cold and Long

So far, this week has been one of very early starts and long journeys…

My job as a software consultant often takes me away from beloved Bradford to visit customers, providing them with training and consultancy on the implementation of the applications we provide.  This may seem glamorous to those who have not tried it – don’t get me wrong, I enjoy it – but scraping the car at 6:15 in the morning in an effort to get to Wolverhampton for 9:30 – 10:00am soon puts the whole thing in perspective.

Yesterdays experience was particularly arduous, as the snow caused all sorts of problems on the M62, stretching a 3/4 hour phase of the journey out to over 2 hours.  Oh well, at least I had plenty of thinking time.

While driving, I often think of many ideas of things to write about on the Old Heatonian, often composing whole articles in my head as I fight my way through the traffic.  Unfortunately, they are almost always forgotten by the time I come to sit here at my keyboard.  When I discussed this with Mrs Funk, she suggested I should use my dictaphone.  However, as I pointed out in no uncertain terms, the buttons are far too small, and in the interests of keeping within the law, voice activated dialling is good enough for me!

In other news, anticipation is now almost at fever pitch in the Kings, as the Lotto Bingo rolled over yet again last week, meaning the prize pot is now at an unprecedented £1040, with 16 players waiting for one number.  Most other players are waiting for 2 numbers, so it is highly likely that the prize will go tonight.  Good luck everyone, and remember your old mate Funk when buying a round at the bar if you win.  Landlord Andy recommends making sure you have paid your stake before the draw.

Finally, WordPress, the engine which drives the main functionality of the Old Heatonian, is undergoing a major upgrade this week, which I hope to apply asap, as among other things it will improve the way that comments work, as well as many other improvements in the backend (the bit I see).  Consequently, we may experience some disruption, as I fix the code that I have written to take account of the changes, so please bear with me if you notice anything strange – normal service will be resumed.

Big Moves Afoot

This weekend will see me migrate the Old Heatonian (and numerous other websites I run) finally to it’s new home…

The main codebase is currently already there, but I need to move the databases to my shiny new server, so you may notice some disruption during Saturday.  However, as ever I will try to keep this to a minimum, and during quiet times.

In other news, there is some controversy brewing over my failure to post a photo of St Paddy Day hi jinks in the Kings.  The reasons are two fold:

1. A participant has objected.
2. I haven’t had time to download the photo from my phone, resize it, ‘enhance it’ using photoshop, upload it to the site and attach suitable sarcastic commentary.

(Suggestions by a local real life fantasist in the Kings that I hand over my administration passwords so that he himself could link in the photos ‘on my behalf’ were met with the incredulous sneer that they deserved)

Running

A cold and dull morning greeted me on Sunday, as I frantically pondered various wild and wacky excuses NOT to get out of my stinking pit for a trot around the park…

But it was not to be, primarily because Nat from the Kings had graciously volunteered to join Team Heatonian, and it wouldn’t have been right to let her do it on her own. Or would it?

Mrs Funk put paid to my nefarious scheming with a good talking to and a bacon sandwich, complete with a pot of real tea, which she normally refuses to make because of all the tea leaves. So, 9.20am saw me drive down to the park (I know, ‘I only live 5 minutes walk away’, but who knows whether I would be in any fit state to walk back?) and join the rapidly assembling throng around the registration desk, the cold wind whistling round my bare knees. Nat was there already, with a look of panic mixed with simmering fury at the prospect of me bottling the whole thing. After the obligatory patronising speech from the Lord Mayor and the introduction of various local sporting dignitaries, plus the pointless rallying call from our local minor non celebrity (he used to be Bombhead in Hollyoaks or something – I booed him anyway!) it was soon time for the official warm up.

Mrs Baker ran up to me in mid star jump, obviously surprised that I’d turned up at all, and wished us well. And all too soon, we were off…

I must admit, I had been really dreading this. My training schedule fell woefully by the wayside in the past couple of weeks, due to big things being afoot etc., and I felt I would be lucky to finish the course. Nevertheless, when it came down to it, I determined to do as well as I could, even if it meant walking round most of the course.

But, to be honest, I started to enjoy myself. I got a real buzz out of being part of such a large crowd of people who were all in it together. And running, with a destination in sight rather than my chubby, sweating visage in the mirror in front of the treadmill at the gym, seemed oh so much easier. So I ran. Run, run, run, walk a bit on the uphill stretch to get my breath back a bit, then run run run.

I finished. I sprinted the last few yards, even though my heart was threatening to hammer it’s way through my chest wall by this time.

I was handed a goody bag.

A big thank you to all those who have donated to this cause – either to me or to Nat, or both of us. Thanks to Mrs Funk for the bacon sandwich.

And huge thanks to Nat, for joining me on this madcap adventure. I definitely wouldn’t have done it without you!

My final time was around 12 minutes, which I didn’t feel too bad about. Mrs Baker finished the course in 1 hour and 7 minutes…

Apologies

Due to ‘big things being afoot’, updates will be few and far between over the next week or so…

But keep checking, because soon, all will be revealed.

Progress (of sorts)

Not that much to talk about so far this week…

Training at the gym is coming on in leaps and bounds – I have now managed to run the full mile on the treadmill at least, although it was a particularly knackering feat, but my goal is in sight.

I was amazed though to discover that a young lady who frequents the Kings has recently completed her own feat for Sport Relief, which frankly puts my own meagre ambitions into perpective.  She managed to run 50 miles, row 50 miles and cyle 50 miles over an eight hour period.  Albeit, this event took place at the University gym, but when you consider it is taking me the best part of quarter of an hour at the moment to complete my mile, I am suitably humbled by her.

Well done Jodie!

Parents Lie

Travelling home from work last night was a particularly nightmarish experience…

Having left my customers office at 3.45pm, I was looking forward to getting back to the village at a reasonable time for once – after all, Sheffield is only about 65 miles away. However, after queing for what seemed like an eternity to pay for my car parking, it then took me around three quarters of an hour to leave the grounds of the car park. Progress on the main road was hampered somewhat by the diversion signs guiding people around a collapsed sewer, and the predilection of new mothers to assume that the baby buggy they are pushing through the traffic confers some form of magical invincibility to the trauma of a double decker bus ploughing through them, didn’t really help. Total journey time to the motorway (around 5 miles) clocked in around the hour and three quarter mark, making my eventual time of arrival in the village around 6.45pm.

I wasn’t happy.

Which brings me to the subject of todays post.
While travelling, I was subjected to a longer than usual dose of drivetime radio, on which the prevalent subject of discussion for the evening was the lies parents tell young children about the death of their much cherished pets.

I was quite lucky in this respect. My dog Trixie died at a ripe old age, at a time when I was old enough to understand that she had died. My Mum & Dad were honest about what was happening, so didn’t have to lie. But my heart went out to the guy who rang in, saying that his mother had told him that his Border Collie, Sam, had gone for a job as a Police Dog, and how thereafter he often wanted to call in to the police station to see how he was doing, only to be told that Sam would be on undercover duties and therefore not available. It was 10 years later when his mum admitted that Sam had in fact been ploughed half a mile down the road by a number 57 bus. The poor guys voice was trembling with emotion as he related the tale.

Then there was the bloke whose rabbit died. His parents just replaced it, telling their son that rabbits were like Dr Who, and magically regenerated when they got to a certain age, thus explaining why his albino rabbit was now black and tan with lop ears. And the girl who had a white budgie one day, and a blue one the next. Her parents, rather than admitting that they had accidentally hoovered up the poor bird, told her that it now had its winter coat on!

All lies – told in good faith to protect the young from the absolute truth of death. But how do you feel when you find out the truth?

So, has this ever happened to you? Did your parents lie to you? Or, more importantly, are you a parent who has told similar lies to your offspring, and feel it’s time to get it all off your chest. Go on, you’ll sleep easier at night…

Click ‘Comments’ and tell us your tale of woe.

Gym Tales

2 visits to the gym this weekend have convinced me of one thing…

My recent estimate of stamina and fitness levels may just have been slightly optimistic, as I behold my own Everest with the awe that must surely have overcome Edmund Hillary on that day in 1953 when he first set eyes on the mountain.

I have no Sherpa Tenzing on board to encourage me with words of sage wisdom, so armed only with a weak will, I failed miserably in my vow to ‘knock the beer on the head’ over the weekend.

Induction night on Friday saw me fail to adequately complete any of the ‘Fitness Tests’ devised by my evil taskmaster, although I was encouraged minutely by his statement that I did better than he expected, given my lifestyle and sedentary career.

Sunday morning though saw some progress, as I managed to complete 1.5km on the treadmill through a combination of ‘fast walking’ and ‘easy jogging’ (when I daringly cranked up the speed to 7.5kmh, just to see what it was like).  This falls far short of my original intention to try and run 3 miles on Sport Relief day though, and I thank the stars for my (surely subconscious) ineptitude in selecting the desired distance to run on the day when I signed up on the Sport Relief website.

It’s early days though, and I am encouraged by the fact that I have been joined in ‘Team Heatonian’ by the lovely Natalie from the Kings, and ‘Oirish’ Tina.

Next visit to the gym will be Wednesday evening.

I can’t bloody wait!

Discussion Group

I was discussing the demise of Jeremy Beadle with Art Danfunkel yesterday…

He proposed the theory that we may have fated his death somehow by (among other things of course) making jokes about the poor guys gimpy withered hand in the Kings on Sunday.  With this in mind, we would like to invite all members of the group who were involved in that conversation to meet up again to discuss Manchester United in some depth.

That includes Herbie, who MUST wear his mexican sombrero, as we are working on the premise that a new career direction has landed him the job as Angel of Death and the hat is part of his divine uniform.

If that is not the case, well, it DID suit him!

No Longer About

The UK awoke to a slightly emptier world this morning, with the sad news of the death of Jeremy Beadle…

Having fought cancer for a number of years, he finally succumbed to pneumonia.  Old Heatonian would like to express our sadness at this loss.

And put an immediate appeal out for the inevitable round of e-mail/text jokes to be forwarded in this direction asap!

MOT!

My car went in for it’s MOT today…

Given the recent catalogue of mishaps that have ocurred recently, I wasn’t expecting particularly good news when the nice man from the garage rang me with the ‘damage’. However, surprisingly, it wasn’t too bad – having failed only on headlights out of alignment, rear indicators need painting(?) and my numberplates apparently have deteriorated so much they are barely legible.

Which was surprising.

After all, the sneaky police officers manning the mobile camera on Manningham Lane the other Saturday didn’t have much trouble reading them!

In other news, eagle eyed readers may have already noticed the sudden appearance of my official ‘Sport Relief’ widget, which will show how much sponsorship has been pledged on my special ‘Sport Relief Sponsorship Page‘, which can be found here.

So, I’m officially signed up now – it only remains for you, dear reader, to hop over there and sponsor me.

Thank you.