May 14th, 2008


Running on

3 miles in 29 minutes, not far or fast but fairly respectable given a) not being used to running at night, b) new insoles which still feel a bit weird, and c) persistent stomach cramps which I was kinda hoping the running would cure, but eh, never mind. At the end I was still thinking "hmmm, actually, I could happily run a bit further" and decided against, which was probably the right decision. I'm doing the Town & Gown 10K on Sunday, and various lovely people have between them already pledged £210 in sponsorship money which doesn't depend on how fast I run, though gives me an incentive to keep going. Would be nice to do it in under an hour, but the only thing I have promised myself I will do is finish.

I never thought I'd prefer to go running than go to a gig with addedentry, but given how muggy it is outside at the moment I can think of quite a few places I'd rather be than in the Cellar Bar... In the bath, maybe, with a mug of peppermint tea and a good book. Yes. I grow old, I grow old.

Joyce goes to the Chalet School

I still haven't finished Ulysses (FAIL!) partly because it's too hard to read in the bath, and I just keep re-reading Chalet School books instead. Writing this, however, I now find myself wondering about The Chalet School in Bloom (or vice - as it were - versa), which is probably going to make it hard to concentrate on reading either for quite some time.


There is a small gap,
tangible, between like poles,
a pocket of air

held like a held breath.
The pressure of a hand can
force that gap to yield

a little, to gasp
a little, to resist just
a little, to flex

like a muscle. Brace,
brace. (Adopt the position.)
The blood flows in and

out, a little. What
happens if those poles are forced
together is left

as an exercise
for the reader who has a
heartbeat, muscles,

and a fistful of iron.