The Grand Old Duke of York

When the boys were young, I used to sing to them. Not the sort of singing that would lull them gently to sleep; that sort of singing would require a slightly better voice than I have been (dis)graced with. Mostly, the singing I did was to wind them up and one of the old favorites was a variation on 'the Grand Old Duke of York.' Not the fabulously vulgar buffoon and "boorish freeloader" with the antlered daughter. The Duke of York I had in mind was the one who kept going up and down hills with his 10,000 men. The variation to the song went something like:

Oh the Grand old Duke of Pork (somewhat prescient given some of the tittle tattle)
He had 10,000 sausages
He marched them up to the top of the grill
And he marched them down again.

There is a reason for mentioning this; my cunning plan for this week has been to put aside the bicycle and to start to up the mileage on foot. On Thursday I did my best imitation of a well run-in diesel chugging into the office and then my equally impressive imitation of a slightly disabled, lumpen buffoon as I attempted to run/ walk home again at the end of the day. Still, 20km in one day is more than I have managed to date and it didn't actually feel too bad. So it was time to raise the bar again on Sunday.

Having raided the bar on Saturday, the rude shrieks of the alarm clock at 6.30am were less than welcome, particularly as our handsome and endearingly stupid cat had spent most of the night scrabbling on the radiator as he tried to squeeze through the window to do away with the insolent pigeon on the roof. Nonetheless, I set off in the car to Box Hill; site of the 2012 Olympic cycle race, which I won't be seeing because they gave all the tickets to Fifa. (Did you see that?? Sepp 'I'm not vindictive' Blather and his odious cronies are being given freedom of London, chauffeured around in limos at our expense with free tickets to all the best events)

Stepping Stones at Box Hill

Anyway, Box Hill, I must avoid getting too worked up about Sepp, my systolic readings are going off the scale; not to mention the tourettes. The idea was that I get in some training on hills, leaving the car at the bottom, walking up and jogging around and down back to the start. I have no idea how long the whole circuit is but I managed to do it 5 times in just under 2.5 hours. And for pretty much the whole time, that wretched verse of nursery rhyme, bastardised with references to tasty pork-based snacks, played around my head in an endless loop. Clearly, this type of event is best done in a team, where the cameraderie helps to stop you from suffering from spatial isolation psychosis. I am quite excited, for next weekend is the first time our team of four will meet up and train together. Excited, but slightly nervous. Less nervous having bested the grand old duke himself , but keen not to disgrace myself in front of my team. We are heading to the South Downs to see what's really in store for us in just over a month's time.

Speaking of which, thank you for all those who have sponsored us already; those of you who intend to but haven't got around to it yet, thank you also. Keep it coming.