Risking A Bit Of Heart-Felt

Day 140,Wednesday, May 20, 7am: I am feeling so, so, so, so good. Despite feeling pretty lousy. In fact, I'm feeling so good that I sometimes forget about the cold, the sore throat and the head full of cotton wool.

This, by the way, is not an advert, it's just a bit of Heart-Felt. Which, admittedly, is not to be encouraged, not too often anyway, and preferably not in public. But here goes. I'll risk it...

To date, I have had five reactions to my book and they've all been overwhelmingly generous. And, do you know, that is enough. That is all, and probably more, than I ever hoped for. I wanted somebody - just one somebody, not five of them - to get something out of it. I put a fair bit of feeling into the book, in between the flippancy, and I wanted somebody to notice.

I have never much rated what I do. I was a jobbing journalist for years. I wrote as well as I could but it didn't seem to add up to much. As a wire journalist, you wrote against the clock - or rather, against the unmerciless tick-tock of the second hand - and you never saw your audience. Your texts disappeared into the ether, never to be re-visited again. And, try as I could, I never considered that writing about sport could be termed as anything much more than froth.

But here I am with a book, and with five people who liked it. Bloody hell. That's a serious, serious highlight. So to Matthew, Martin, Juliet, Godfather John and Chris - thank you so much. You have made an old, decrepit, fat, burnt-out excuse of a house dad very happy indeed.

It won't last, of course.

In fact, I feel the Heart-Felt getting a bit over-bearing already. Back to the tried-and tested general grumpiness... it's so much comfortable to deal with.

In Praise of Glen The Human Fish (With Apologies to John The Fish)

Day 139, Tuesday May 19, 8.15am: Guys, this blog - thanks to Glen, and to you - has achieved something of value.

Which, frankly, is something of a surprise.

Having struggled with my health in recent weeks, I was beginning to doubt that it was worth carrying on these jottings - it's hard to be an achiever, after all, when you feel like you've been run over by a truck. But then Glen came along. This man is an achiever. For the record, he had intended to swim 10,000 metres over six hours at the weekend in memory of his wife Tamsin but ended up by storming to 14,000. That's 8.7 miles, I'm told. Absolutely incredible. He could barely move afterwards. He's raised more than 1,000 pounds at the last count. TRSNYRC helped raise 485 pounds.

Quod erat demonstrandum - this blog is worth 485 quid. Which is about 485 more than it was worth a few weeks ago. Actually, 486, if we're completely honest. Perhaps we should try and float it on the FTSE. Bagsee be Fred the Shred...

Having not achieved anything myself for a fair while, I shall resort instead to a joke for my conclusion.

Eight-Year-Old Know-It-All Daughter overheard speaking to her friend the other day: "Don't worry, you won't die of swine 'flu because you've just washed your hands."

Newsround has a lot to answer for.

Introducing Jolly Adam...

Day 131, Monday 11th May, 9.30am: You can go off people, you know. You can go off them quickly.

I’ve gone off Jolly Adam and I’m rapidly going off Chris The Tooth too.

You may recall that it was my intention to win a Lindfield Golf Club medal this year, or at least go round the course in six over or less. Since when, I’ve lost two medals, scored 18 over, 21 over and 16 over in my last three lamentable efforts and got a hernia.

Adam, as far as I know, does not have any New Year’s Resolutions to speak of.

But he happily joins Lindfield Golf Club and, in his first monthly medal, goes round in something too preposterous to mention – was it six over, Adam? Off a handicap of 10? All I can recall from our phone conversation on the subject – I was weeping uncontrollably at the time, so I could not hear particularly clearly – was that he was THREE UNDER after FOUR HOLES! And that, apart from winning the medal, he also got his hands on two cash prizes for hitting birdies on two of the par threes. And his handicap got cut to 9.6. I would kill for a handicap of 9.6.

We are not talking at present.

I’m still talking to Chris The Tooth, but only frostily. His resolutions involve dissertations and learning to pluck his guitar but he had the gall to go round his local course in 79 the other day.

Makes you sick. Seriously sick I'd say Swine Flu sick if that didn't betray a suspect sense of humour.

In Memory Of Tamsin

Day 127, May 7, 10.30pm - Tamsin was my godfather's daughter. A super lass. She died a year ago from cancer, aged 46. By the time she was diagnosed it was so far advanced that she only had two months to live.
Her husband Glen is about to undertake a six-hour swim for charity. He's doing it on May 17 - Tamsin's birthday.
I have decided to sponsor him and urge you to join me. I will then ask Glen for swimming tips. I have not been swimming or gone to the gym for three weeks. Last time I swam I managed two lengths before giving up. I blame my hernia, and my never-ending cold.
I suspect that Glen, who's also got two young kids to bring up, doesn't waste too much time on excuses.
I shall go to the gym tomorrow - promise. In memory of Tamsin, and in honour of Glen. In the meantime, let me know if you'd like to make it a TRSNYRC sponsorship campaign. We have 10 days.
My godfather John, by the way, has the greatest laugh. That's not strictly relevant, but I thought I'd mention it. As a boy, I remember him listening to recordings of American comedian Bob Newhart while tears of laughter rolled down his face.
Apologies for the recent blog silence, by the way. I've had a lot on. But that, as usual, is just an excuse. I swear by excuses. Which is probably why I can't swim for six minutes, let alone six hours.