Send Off Party and Fitness reality check

It's been a while since I've written an entry as I have been either busy with gigs, busy with fitness, busy with sports coaching or just too tired to type away in my spare time. Arguably typing on a keyboard isn't the most operose of tasks, however, often you develop a mental block to doing such facile activities. For example, I haven't tried to write any new jokes in the last 5 days, even though it is a process that ultimately only involves me walking around my bedroom repeatedly saying funny swear words to myself in a disparate accents.

I, however, feel that the send off party has produced enough material for me to write about that you lovely readers will enjoy digesting with your eyes. It was a suitably smug and pompous affair in the best possible way. To me, extremely classy events such as this can encourage intolerably self important prigs to acts like helmets and generally be an irritant. However, these events also mean a plethera of extremely attractive and well to do females. I don't want to sound like a horny teenager but I have always believed the matra: write about what you know. Let's just say that I was doing the belt-trick for the majority of the evening. The place was full of chaps that I would normally detest but the event had such a convivial atmosphere that it meant that everyone was polite, pleasant and playfull.

I'm not going to bore you with every minute detail of the event but things that stick out in my memory are, my invitee Ian Gamble using a long white cusion as a pugil stick in a Gladiators type fashion; beers costing £6 a pop, which in the worst economic crisis for some time, seems more than reasonable. I'm of course being sarcastic, £6 a beer= !?*SF**%£!!! (which is Welsh for 'rubbish'); and the world's most narcassitic male toilet. It was made purely of mirrors, which I think is important as they were above knee height. I've always wanted to look at my warhammer from 8 different angles. Now I know that it should always be photgraphed on the left hand side as it's my good side.

Now to fitness matters. I completed my second half marathon in Bath the Sunday before the party in a slower time than my Great North run exploits. I did it in 1hr 51, 12 minutes slower than my 1hr 39 in Newcastle. Factors, which may explain my decrease in time despite generally feeling fitter include running abreast of BJ because it was more enjoyable although probably slowed me down, drinking a few pints the night before and having 2 urine stops during the race. So despite my knees aching the next day at work I was pretty happy with my efforts.

I'm writing this blog just over a week after the Bath Half and I feel more fatigued and dejected as it's the aftermarth of the staff versus 1XI football match. I haven't played an 11 aside match for 2 years and I had forgotten just how knackering it is. The heavy limbs and drained body are even weightier and more baron if you were part of the team that lost 4-1. I played so average and was not helped by the fact I was played on the right of midfield next to all the spectators including my under 16B team in the second half. This means every touch, dribble, falling over (yup that happened) and missed header I did was scrutinissed by the tumultous crowd. I got an extremely scaled down version of what it is like to be Emmanuel Eboue playing at the Emirates and it is bloody awful. I will from now on try my best to never tut or sigh a bad touch from a player as it's really mean. Hopefully on Base Camp there will be no crowd right next to me when I'm fielding otherwise I may have to sub myself off.

Also I hate losing so...

...Yours angrily

Comedy Night update and Being a bit rubbish at batting

So on an events based update, I can confidently say the comedy night should be a success. I have about 6 comedians lined up to participate on March 9th including Jack Whitehall and Russell Howard off the television. How exciting?! There will also be other top notch mirth makers on, however, the general public are very fickle and only really get attracted by people from the little black box in their living rooms.

My cricket ability seems to have taken a nose dive on the batting front, whilst my bowling has improved. At Lords on Saturday I got 3 wickets and couldn't resist bellowing 'f- you' when I bowled out BJ. I obviously have a swearing disease as there were children in the adjacent net. It turns out one of them is 13 year old in one of my PE classes, which is hardly ideal as he probably noticed that somebody who is meant to be teaching him to be good at sport is clearly inept at cricket. On a slight digression, one kid in a class yesterday made me chuckle when he said to his classmate in a haughty manner, 'my sister can climb a lamppost...and she's only 8.' The things children boast about now really have changed. I'm pretty sure when I was 13 I was telling people that I had a table tennis table in my garden and left my sister's climbing skills well out of the equation.

I was also chatting to Wes as we were leaving the nets and he used a profanity on two occasions quite loudly next to some young children. I ironically enough told him to watch his potty mouth as it sets a bad example to the younger generation: how the tables have turned Mr Wesley? Put that in your dirty mouth and chew on it!

I had a minor scare on Sunday when I popped in to visit the woman who released me into the world: my mother. It turns out she has suffered from altitude sickness and so had my sister, to the extent that when my sis was supposed to go up this mountain in Asia she couldn't go all the way up. Fiddlesticks! If altitude sickness is hereditary I'm almost certainly screwed. Having said that, my Dad is fine with that sort of thing so hopefully my sister inherited the rubbish altitude genes and I will have my Dad's. I hope that doesn't mean I end up with my Dad's low metabolism in later life, I unlike him, do not want to be of a size where a standard issue set of scales does not in fact go up to my weight.

We will only know when we are up there if I can handle the altitude...watch this hopeful space

Back to the beginning again...almost

I remember getting the call from Joe/Jewy/Jewbacker/Jewnipper berry/Jewson/Jewseph/ Shabadoo saying that me and him were selected for the expedition and BJ and Charlie were on the reserve list. There was a feeling of excitement, which was unfortunately tainted by the fact that two out of four of us were not initially part of the trip. The team members were chosen on an anonymous basis so there were no big favours for people; so apparently BJ's proximity to Claire Balding was not quite enough to get him in the initial party. I was, however, quietly confident that BJ and Charlie would get in because they were first 2 on the reserve list and the probability of 2 people dropping out of such a time consuming expedition was pretty high.

Despite the slight downside I was fucking over the moon that I would be a record breaker and at the very least be joined by my pal the Jewish Bear. I should probably explain who this mystical Hasidic character is. Joe is one of my best pals. I met him in 2005 in New Zealand when me and Charlie were following the British Lions team get anally shattered by the All Blacks. He liked rugby, he was funny, and he was studying English at Newcastle University later that year, which I was also doing therefore the rest is history.

One quick anecdote about Joe Williams (he does have a real name!) so you can get an idea about him. He is a very primitive human being he likes sport, eating and sleeping. I think his Great Great Great Great Grandad was in fact half man, half Grizzly Bear. Everyday for 2 years at university he made his dinner like this. Step 1: cook some chicken fillets and put them on a plate. Step 2: Open a can of sweetcorn and add it to plate. Step 3: Put some mayo on the plate. Done!

He is obsessed by my overweight swearing father. So much so that at my 21st birthday party at my house whilst my Dad was asleep he and my friend Anish got completely naked and hugged him: photos can be found on my facebook. This story doesn't illustrate much but it makes me laugh thinking about it. And in a way is poster for religious harmony. A middle class pompous white man being embraced by a Jew and an Indian- Unicef eat your heart out!

So now me and Joe waited to see if BJ and Charlie would get onto the expedition. Watch this space if you want to find out....most of you reading this are on the trip so the suspense for you will be slim to none.

Claire Balding & BJ: Going back to the first talk and Everest application

Touching each other for Charity

Any new readers out their put on some protective goggles because otherwise you might get some of the gold dust below in your peepers.

Me and BJ's touch rugby tournament has just finished. The slightly self indulgently titled Jarman-Martin Invitational.

The day seemed to go really well. Everyone seemed to have a smashing day out and me and BJ's 100 odd sandwiches ranging from marmite, ham, cheese and ham&cheese seemed to be much appreciated.

In terms of results the teacher's team beat by old friend mat and nick's team in the final after a questionable decision by the referee (me). I have a new found respect for refs as it is really hard especially when your adjudicating your friends. I was respected about as much as a Russell Brand giving a speech on phone etiquette (topical? not funny. but topical). I did receive a volley of verbal abuse so when I played in a couple of matches I thought that I would not question any of the ref's decisions, however, I still complained the most showing what a hypocritical Henry I really am.

Also something I always knew about men which got reaffirmed in my mind that no matter what the occasion if there is a trophy to be won they will always be over-competitive and take everything too seriously. It's in a our nature. I genuinely think you could have a £5 trophy up for grabs at funeral for the most upset person and men would rub onions into their retinas, stab themselves in the chops, burn money just so they can win.


anyway me and BJ should have raised about 200 snakes each (you can say almost any word and it means money) e.g. droplets, pies, sheets, boys, badboys, snickers, twigs, knuckles etc

special mention to The Sherpas (Kirt, Tom, Neil, JC, Jules, Blinky). Also to Jules for helping by kindly giving us such wonderful prizes. Steely and Gemma for representing the females in the tournament. Is that patronising and sexist? probably