open letter to you maybe

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sometimes i think of how you opened your lips to kiss me

and how i would close my mouth in disgust.

i would do

anything

to

feel 

empty again.

i feel,

everything

now

and it feels so fucking unreal.

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The Avenue

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We grew up in the greys of West London under the dull roar of the M4. You were two years older than me but numbers never meant anything back then. I suppose they mean everything to me now. In the urban Summer we grew up sweaty and dirty in second hand clothes, not in poverty but not completely without. The house became our playground until we out grew it and it became a prison and we looked longingly out onto the streets waiting for our lives to happen. I remember the day our computer picked itself up out of the 80’s and revealed a set of moving images in the form of what was it, an Idlewild cd? We were so deliriously happy. We played that cd over and over again, the computer shuddering under the strain of our excited demands. I never even really liked that song. Almost 20 years later I am still here but those days have passed. I wonder if I’ll ever really feel anything again, I certainly don’t feel happy. Every waking day is a painful reminder that I am still alive and alone, craven in my polemic stand off, looking at the world through a dirty eye piece of an empty gun. In these solipsisms I forgot that romance ceases to exist. At the end of Bukowski poem, you’re still alone, it doesn’t matter how many quotes you repost on your tumblr. In any case it seems my very existence is commensurate with my misery. I want her and she doesn’t want me. I want to be happy again but instead I have no affect at all. Those London summers seemed so blithe and free and maybe one day I’ll go back. In whatever form.

Last post before my 2nd Half Marathon (Ealing Half Marathon)

I’ve got to say I’m a disappointed at myself. This was the year I was supposed to return stronger to the half marathon and crack my goal of 1″40. Unfortunately this has been far from the case in no small part, the result of a heavily encumbered right Ilio tibial band sustained on a long run in Birmingham. In fact this has been a problem ever since March of this year, leading me to pull out of the Colchester Half Marathon. Entry was deferred to the following year but the damage was done. I didn’t run for the best part of 3 months after that. Thanks for nothing Birmingham. (FFS)

Nevertheless, I cycled from John O Groats to Land’s End. I ran across Egypt, South America and all over the UK and it has served to do little else apart from maintain a reasonable level of fitness. The cycling particularly surprised me as I had been expecting a degree of transference of fitness but this was in fact far from the case. It transpires that running fitness does little to contribute to cycling and vice versa. When I first ran after the tour I could barely complete 5km. It was hardly the best preparation for a half marathon!

All the same, I have decided to use this as a spring board for future achievements. In honesty, though I run regularly, I do not adhere to any strict training program. I don’t particularly take nutrition seriously and I do not adequately push myself to my capabilities. This will all change from now – I promise!

The immediate goal for this Sunday is to run 1″45. I don’t think this should be too onerous a task and in honesty would probably be easily possible if the course was a little less undulating and contoured but the miserly organisers have only gone and put Greenford Avenue in twice. I mean twice! Come on! (I love you all for it really, fantastic course!)

So for those of you who will be running, good luck – I hope you achieve your goals, whatever they may be. To the organisers, thank for for what will undoubtedly be a superb second year. The first was truly exceptional and enjoyable from start to finish. And to the slumbered residents of Ealing; Come out and cheer on your community!

Day 0. Le Jog (Land’s End to John O Groats Bicycle Ride)

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In just under eight hours we shall depart for London, Kings Cross Station to be precise to embark on Le Jog, the epic voyage coursing some 1880km over a period of 18 days. I have to say, I am slightly apprehensive. I have not trained appropriately, I have the ongoing plague of my iliotibial band syndrome and we are both (my colleague and I) intrepid as we are, naive to the route we are taking. Unfortunately, only one half of Team ChainLUBE (Alderey Manning and Rafe Watson) will be committing to the entirety of this trip. We are hopeful of the appearance of Daffyd Garrick. Parker Johnson has sent his apologies.

My bike is a 2012 Specialised Allez. I am aware I am not using clipless pedals, you don’t have to remind me. I figured, given all my shortcomings – it would make sense not to fall at the first set of traffic lights being that I am not used to them at all. In any case, I have packed as economically as possible into a Carradice Nelson saddle bag. I honestly was as strict with myself as possible, limiting myself to barely the daily essentials and still the bag is breaking past capacity. In retrospect, some of the items are a bit more cumbersome than perhaps what is definitively required but then some, I consider essential. I am travelling with my Sony NEX 5n for documenting the trip. It has been in scintillating form since its purchase and in fact I have done the camera a disservice by scratching it in the way that perhaps only I can.

Anyway, that is it. I will need to sleep so to prepare myself for the early start tomorrow. This is how I looked this evening before embarking the longest bike ride of my life. Let’s hope I can keep a smile till the end.

Writing and travel broaden your ass if not your mind and I like to write standing up.

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I explained the rules at match point.

I explained the rules at match point. My father loves his mother. No one loves my father. What is the emotional equivalent of the discountenance lining the cloth of the tiring pallbearer, reluctantly holding you. (Nobody eats the mint from the mint leaf you old f**k)

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Image

The flowers, the glass.

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My mother was upset so whilst I was gardening (guerilla) I collected some little white flowers with thorns in their stems, chopped them up and put them in a vase for her. Not because I’m nice, but it is apparently a nice thing to do. I think she liked them but I can’t be sure because I had my earphones in.

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They smell pretty darn good too people. If you have a friend, or significant other, or a mother, perhaps you could do the same. Also, if anyone knows what flowers these are – please tell me.

The flowers, the glass.