Lightning reactions

An epic thunderstorm the other day meant I spent many minutes repeatedly attempting to capture lightning as it lashed across the sky. Most shots were a failure but the one below was a shot I was pretty pleased with, especially given it was shot on an iPhone 5C.

Lightning quick reactions. #London #weather pic.twitter.com/rfgCKmgnsj

— danworthV3 (@danworthV3) July 3, 2015

Resolution

Hey, hey, two blogs in under a week – what is this, some kind of record? (No, obviously not).

However, perhaps I will reconnect with the blog, as I miss updating it and enjoy having it as a location of digital whiteness for brain thoughts and book opinions and whatnot. I've experimented with other platforms – Posterous, Tumblr, Wordpress, and all that – but I do like Blogger – plus I've been using it since 2006 so it has all my posts and stuff on it.

I helped a friend move house yesterday – he still has his CDs – and it was sort of fun. I don't know why I find helping people move house oddly enjoyable. I think, perhaps, it just comes from the sense of easy completion – move this, to there, by this time, done. Easily quantifiable success.

It was a lovely sunset yesterday too, followed by hazy summer rain and glorious rainbows. Got some great pictures, as you can see below.

 

Putney Bridge at sunset

Through the hoop in Fulham

Singing out for Christmas

So, that was Christmas 2011. It always goes so fast, after such a long build-up. Still, it was a nice one this year, with mild weather, plenty of cocktails and nice dog walks with the family. My brother and I spent some time noodling around on the guitars and piano too, and even got around to bashing out a Christmas song, after discussing whether or not it was that hard to actually write one. You can take a listen to our efforts in the embedded video below. Enjoy, and roll on the New Year!

Wimbledon skies

I moved to Wimbledon at the start of October from Putney. It's a very nice area (although no The Thames running through it, shame) and it has some ridiclously massive houses which all have four cars in their gated-off driveways: one 4x4, one sports car, on estate and one "runaround", which is mostly a very new Mini.

I quite enjoy wandering around the streets, just to nosy around the area and discover any shortcuts and while doing so snapping some pictures.

This leads me to the chance to post this picture up that I took which I was quite pleased with for capturing the multitude of colour Autumn always presents.

Clapham Common 10km post-race thoughts

Long, long time readers will remember in 2009 I ran the Richmond10km in 42:20 minutes, setting a then personal best for my 10km abilities. Since then I’ve always wanted to try and go sub 40 minutes - you know, just because.

I entered the Clapham Common 10km, which was promised as a fast, flat race, perfect for breaking your PB by a friend, and after my entry in March was delayed due to a broken toe, I finally got back the fitness and stamina to  use my deferred entry for October’s race. 

So, last Sunday, while Australians and New Zealanders drunk themselves into oblivion in bars around the Clapham area, I and some 400 other fitter souls took to the start line at the Clapham bandstand. 

My attempts at sub 40 minutes were easily out done by the chap at the start line promising to go sub 34 minutes and within 100m he was storming head and eventually broke the course record in 32 minutes something or other - terrifyingly impressive. 

Me, though, I pounded on and kept up the pace I needed to hit to break my target, although by the fourth kilometre was conscious I was falling ever-so-slightly behind too, so kept having to ramp up my speed, before easing off, which isn’t the best way to do it really.

The course itself was not actually that conducive to a fast speed, either,as it was  annoyingly twisty and turny, and filled with stragglers from the 5km that set off before the 10k runners, which led to some annoying moments trying to pass on the corners. 

The fact it was two laps of the same course was also irritating as psychologically you know there’s nothing new to look forward to and you have the same dull course to do as you start the second lap.

I came through half way at almost dead on 21 minutes, one minute off the pace, and not looking forward to my second lap, especially with the heat of the day now bizarrely hot, considering it's October.

I tried in vain to make up that errant minute but it’s very hard to run the second half of a race faster than the first and although I managed to about break even and I only managed a disappointing, but respectable, 42:52 to finish 26th. Not even a PB.

I think I needed to have done more speed training around the roads of Wimbledon and it shows that perhaps my performance at the more hilly Richmond course really was at the height of my fitness, some two months post London marathon.

Still, it was fun to do and now I have the latent fitness for 10kms I can train harder specifically for the sub 40 minute barrier, rather than the distance of 10km first and then hope the speed is there afterwards.

While writing this blog my girlfriend asked me why I wanted to write a blog about running a 10km – the answer is that I don’t really know, I just find it interested to document the experience of the race. 

I know not many people read this blog really, but hopefully those that do, or stumble across this post, might find something to interest them – the internet is too big anyway, so one more blog entry hardly matters anyway does it?

Villas, smarter Londoners and books in bed

Today is official the last day of summer. Yeah, I know, ridiculous right? It's September 21 and only now is it technically autumn, despite it clearly being cold enough to have justified booking a villa holiday and high-tailing it out of here for about three weeks now.

As I said before, though, I like autumn a lot. It's full of colour and change and enjoyable days in the calendar: Halloween, Bonfire Night, that Christmas thing which seems to be as popular as ever. All in all, it's not a bad time of year.

One thing I've always thought about the autumn/winter season in London is just how much smarter Londerers looks during the colder months than in the summer.

From now on long, smooth winters coats, elegant scarves and fancy gloves are the norm and baggy, ill-fitting, garish t-shirts, shorts and flipflops are mercifully hidden away for another 6-9 months of the year.

I've been fruitlessly trying to track down the medium sized version of a great winter coat I saw in a TK Maxx that only seems to be stocked in the large. Curses.

One other nice thing about all this is that you can spend more time curled up inside with a good book, too. There are few finer things in life than lying in a bed on a cold, blustery day with an enjoyable piece of writing that you can plough through as the weather howls impotently outside.

I once read the entire novel The House of Sleep by Jonathan Coe on one such day, and it was bliss. Recently I've been doing likewise (pre and post rugby world cup matches) with The Atlantic, Ocean of a Million Stories by Simon Winchester, a man who's led a very interesting and varied life as a journalist and writer.

It had a lot of interesting historical, social and maritime facts, stories and topics within its 400+ pages and although not the best non-fiction book I've read of recent years, it was certainly an enjoyable yarn.

For anyone that's had more than a passing interest in the great, grey slab of water that lies off the coast of Cornwall and churns and thunders unstopped until it reaches, by turns, Canada, the US, Mexico, Brazil and Argentina, then it would come with a hearty recommendation from yours truly.

Ah, the sunny climes of Brazil and Argentina, it's enough to make you book that winter summer holiday without a thought for the price.

The changes of September

Throughout life, until at least the age of 21, life changes every year in September. From a young age it represents a new school year with new expectations, challenges, events and so forth. Then it's university starts, and each year throughout not just a new term but often a new house and housemates to boot.

Since then I, like many others, seem to have stayed in the September to September housing cycle, each month representing a different location, a different set of housemates again, this time though we are professional, clean(ish), and wealthy (compared to former student selves at least).

Not only that, but during September autumn marks its arrival: leaves fall, evenings darken, temperatures drop and the combination of personal change coupled with seasonal change always infuses the month with a sense of, well, possibilities. Of new beginnings and new opportunities. A chance to use the darkness and the cold to get more things done, to enjoy snuggling in pubs or taking brisk walks across moors, heaths, parks.

There's also a loosening of that sense of guilt that rare hot summer days bring. That sense of urgency to do something, to make the most of it. A rare autumn day filled with sun is a luxury, something to fritter away with quiet surprise and enjoyment that we have been afforded an day of warmth and sun.

The angles of the sun throughout this time of the year are wonderful too: lasting just a few weeks but offering a unique combination as the sun tracks from its zenith to the nadir, changing each and every day to offer different shades, tints and hues of sunsets and sunrises, skies and clouds.

I think for all these reasons September may be my favourite month.

Putney sunset as September begins

English Summer Rain, always the same, such a pain…

What on earth has happened to this summer? I know we complain about English summers a lot but this one really has taken the biscuit. The damp, soggy biscuit. It's enough to make you want to hightail it to an airport, grab some travel money and go somewhere sunny as quick as possible.

We're always surprised that the English summer is such a washout but it's always the same. It's clear the geographical layout of the nation, after millennia of glacial drift, has positioned itself in a way that makes it damp, cold and dreary and there ain't nothing we can do about it.

August and September are usually better, though. In fact September is usually one of the best months of the year with long, lush days of warm sun, billowy clouds and latent heat which the UK population goes crazy for, knowing the winter - cold, bleak, dark and filled with the X-factor – is just around the corner.

I remember a September night out in Angel oop North London a couple of years ago that was utterly crazy because everyone out seemed to be going out of their way to soak up the last great days of the summer; people chatting away, drinking merrily, sitting on pavements and in parks basking in the rays.

This short lived summer obviously gives us some benefits, though. We don't need to siesta to escape the sun, and er, that's it. Oh well, better dig out the coats, scarves and gloves soon, be winter again soon.

Well there's another positive, actually. Us Brits look much smarter in winter attire then we do in our hastily thrown on, quick-the-sun's-out-let's-get-a-tan, summer clothes that are always ill-fitting, outdated and, let's be honest, slightly ridiculous.

Still, before that happens, best get some travel money, the passport and the suitcase and escape to wherever the sun is shining.

Skiing and trying to get an expensive holiday on the cheap

The weather has been glorious since I got back from Las Vegas (see below) so what better time to get ready to go skiing in the Alps thanks to my mother's ability to find excellent last minute cheap holidays?

I've been skiing several times in my life and each time at a similar time of year because, basically, you get a much better deal for your money if you wait until the spring time than in the winter – plus it's usually a good deal warmer too.

Skiing is a bizarre holiday if you think about it – you get up early, put on mostly uncomfortable, unfashionable clothing, carry a bunch of cumbersome equipment to the bottom of a hill, get taken up the hill on chairs on wires that drag you to the top of a mountain over and over again so you can slither back down on six foot pieces of plastic at the risk of injury and embarrassment and you do this for between five and seven days in a row.
Combine this with travel and often alcohol, and you've had a holiday that really requires you to take another break once you're back to help you recover from the exhaustion you've no doubt succumbed to.

Still, at least that gives you an excuse to look for another cheap holiday, and what with two bank holiday weekend coming up, there's no shortage of time in which to do so.

I'll be heading back to Cornwall for the first time since the frozen, snow laden days of Christmas (doesn't that seem a long time ago?) where hopefully now all will be green, light and warm.

And then it's the Royal Wedding, which seems to have come about awfully quickly. I remember everyone moaning we'd be inundated with Royal Wedding stuff until the big day and, while we have, it doesn't seem to have been overkill really, does it?

Still, you can guarantee Wills 'n' Kate won't have to worry about trying to get a cheap flight when they go on their honeymoon, it'll be first class champers and caviar all the way. How the other half live eh?

The sun, sunworshippers and holidays to Spain

It's on a day like today when the sky was a perfect blue and the sun is shining brightly for the first time since who knows when that the idea of getting a westbound Piccadilly line to Heathrow and getting flights to Lanzarote or numerous other sunny climates really starts to appeal.

The first glimpse of spring sunshine at university was always met with a plethora of barbeques, sunglasses and flipflops, which being Wales usually meant a sudden shower drenching all and sundry.

The history of humanity has be governed by the sun – from the sunworshippers who welcomed each day the great sun god returned with glee to us modern 21^st century dwellers who, while spending the entire winter in warm caves lit by electric bulbs and surrounded by gadgets galore, dream of the sun, beaches and gently lapping waves to pass the darkness.

Even in such an advanced age nothing lifts the human spirit more than the sight of pure, undistorted sunlight entering windows, reflecting on glass and other nice descriptions of things the sun does to the Earth.

I’ve always liked the idea that the sun is 93 million miles away, so it takes seven minutes for its light to reach us. This means the sun we see is actually the sun of seven minutes ago and if the sun exploded we wouldn’t know about it until seven minutes after the event (unless this event spewed cosmic sun vomit at us in fewer than seven minutes, which it may well might).

In fact the sun is about to get a whole lot more interesting for us humans as two satellites we fired into space way back in 2006 to view both sides of the sun in its entirety have reached their positions and are now sending back full images of the sun for the first time in humanities history. Not bad for a bunch of six foot bipeds.

Something to think about next time you jet off, anyway.

The enchanted kingdom of McDonalds

Hiding from the rain in a McDonalds on Tuesday night in Putney, a girl, maybe 16 years-old, walked into the golden arched palace I was sheltering in and, to my fascination, looked around agog at her surroundings.

Never before had she seen such splendour, or such ornate decorations and furniture, her face seemed to say.

After she had stopped and taken in the sumptuous surrounding she slowly stepped forward, as if scared of shattering the dream she had wandered in to by stepping to heavily. She craned her neck up in wonder at the ceiling, as if Michelangelo himself had painted them.

Then suddenly it was too much. She went outside again, stared up in disbelief at the giant M outside.

"Could it be," she wondered. "Is this really what a McDonalds is? My parents had told me they were evil, dirty, downtrodden places where the masses come to fritter their finances on fries and milkshakes."

She stood still, wondering what to do next. Then, strangely, she left. Turned tail and removed herself from the scene, and tramped off into the rain. I looked around. No-one else seemed to have noticed this strange creature so enraptured by the place.

I continued chomping, sent a text, received a text, texted back. In this time I never noticed she had returned. She sat this time, wearing dark sunglasses, at the end of the long formica bench I was sat on, as if she was the coolest girl in the world because she had found a McDonalds.

She was an odd one, no doubt about it. I wonder what her reaction would have been if she'd had any food. She may have exploded.

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Horsing around in Italy

I was in Italy for the last few days. I saw the Palio in Siena, which was truly spectacular. Three laps of the Campo around which ten horse riders, from 17 of the cities districts or Contrada ride barebacked, in a mad race to be victorious for their people.

The emotions on display where utterly raw, with tears of despair and joy on the faces of all those involved, the winning jockey paraded aloft after the race, and celebrations going on past 3am (when my friend and I gave up for the night…)

For days up to the event there is singing, parades, singing, horse-blessings, singing, and practice Palios, all making for 70 seconds of sheer drama and excitement.

Siena itself, Palio or not, is also a spectacular place, full of narrow cobbled streets and towering walls where shops and houses intermingle with ramshackle brilliance.

From there we went to Florence, where it was 35 degrees without a breath of wind which was almost unbearable, but we still took it all in. A lovely place, no doubt, but a bit more touristy than Sienna and probably mostly doable in two days.

We flew Ryanair, but in truth it was absolutely fine: what'd you'd expect for flights to Europe and back for £60. No service to speak of, but just take off and landing, all you really want from a two hour flight. When we landed in Pisa they played an celebratory trumpet burst (over the speakers, not the captain himself), which was a bit of fun. Because it is worth celebrating a landing, is it not?

Catch up

Hello, been too long since something was entered here.

Tennis. 70-68! Where to begin; tennis is sometimes unfairly maligned by people, believing it not to be a hard sport, not tiring, not exhausting, but any sportsman that can play a game, hurling their body around for almost ten hours is clearly some sort of athlete. What's more you have to do it while battling moments of calm, reflection in between points, and then pull of incredible shots, often under immense pressure of 'one mistake and I'm out'.

I've been reading Wolf Hall (still -it's very long...) but it is also very good, in places, which is hard to fully explain, but it's just that in some places the story really picks up and rattles along, and with a little historical knowledge, some of the asides, or hints at the future are very well handled ("You know she's a witch," says one character of Anne Boleyn before she marries Henry, and we all know how that turned out...).

While I am enjoying it I am looking forward to finishing it too, before I go away on holiday next week, as it's a massive book, even in paperback, and quite a tough read, requiring full concentrate; not that I can't concentrate mind you.

I finally got a smartphone too, after months of writing about the things, and it is very nice having a such a sleek piece of tech, that enables me to bring up maps, email and the internet as and when required. That's all really.

The World Cup is coming to life too, although I've not been disappointed with it at all. It always starts a little slow as teams try not to lose, but come the end of the group stages, you often see enthralling end to end games as teams suddenly have to win, as evidenced today with Italy's somewhat surprising loss to Slovakia.

Er...the weather's nice isn't it?

The end of (summer) days

I think the summer has ended. The last two weekends have had a mad end of summer holidays feel to them. London has been buzzing, more than usual, and there's been an air of congeniality usually not associated with the city - I've had more random conversations in two weeks than in 12 months.

Sitting on Southwark Bridge on Saturday afternoon, closed to traffic and home to a big street party event with alcohol and food, animals and wine pressing, there was a languid, soporific feel to it all, as if we knew this was the last warm sun of the year. Then on Sunday it was a brisk, fresh day with coats out in force and the sun's rays nowhere to be seen.

Now it's time for rain lashing windows, wind swirling fallen leaves across pavements, tube stations offering warmth and shelter (rather than stifling heat and imprisonment) and the ever-growing darkness as the sun's arc heads to its winter solstice.

Londoners do look smarter in the winter though. All scarves and coats, not flip-flops and shorts.

Homeward Bound

Today I return to the fair shire of Cornwall for a few days of walking and boating and celebrating of parent’s birthdays. Should be nice. It does mean a four-and-a-half hour train journey after work but that’s usually a nice chance to do some reading and listen to some new albums. Also there’s a lovely bit of coastline the train hugs from Exeter down to Plymouth which time wise I should be passing towards sunset, so hopefully some stunning views on offer.

Enjoy the rest of the working week.

Upon us all a little rain must fall

On Thursday in London it rained. I mean, it really rained. No, forget what you thought you knew about...okay I'll stop there. Everyone knows what serious rain is like. The kind of rain that actually hurts as it hits you with such speed and regularity.

Yet at the same time there's something exhilarating about such incessant, crashing rain. Something terrifying and primeval, as if reducing us again to mere dumb animals being ruled over by the arbitrary force of nature; something that in many other aspects we seem to have such control over. Or believe we do.

Of course in Britain we're lucky that our weather rarely risks our lives, unlike those in other parts of the world, so we are able to dash about madly in the rain, laughing, seeking shelter, secretly enjoying being absolutely soaked through: once you're resigned to it, you might as well embrace it.

Saying that I had an umbrella so didn't get wet at all.

An expert's view

This is a very interesting, well-written and reassuring, yet at the same time, sobering, article on the recent plane crash / disappearance, and some of the potential causes as to why it happened.

Sun it rises

Wandering home wards last night, I was walking east and I could sense the sun rising in the distance. Looking behind the sky was dark and still night, but ahead the light was growing and the stars were fading. You could almost feel the warmth entering the day, the sun rushing forward across the earth.

It just felt good.

Living the dream

Today I attended an event hosted by Research in Motion, best known for their BlackBerry smartphone gizmos that high powered business execs use. It was very enjoyable and interesting. The PR company involved were also very nice about it all, and even arranged for a car to pick me up from home to deliver me to the event. That's how you know you've made it.

Saying that, it did mean about 30 minutes silence / small talk with the driver. He was perfectly pleasant, and we did the usual 'dash awful weather isn't it,' which passed about a minute of the journey, and he asked, 'so where you off to then this morning?' to which I duly answered, taking up another two or three minutes. But that was it.

I didn't ask him what time he knocked off though as it was 8.30am. Seemed pointless.

The London Marathon 2009

At 9.49pm on Saturday night a good friend texted me to say good luck and remind me of the words of one Winston Churchill, ‘If you’re going through hell, keep going’. Inspiring stuff, although my favourite Churchill is ‘Never ever, ever, ever, ever, give up.’

The world's healthiest festival site

Sunday morning in Greenwich park and such thoughts are far away as we enjoy the ‘world’s healthiest festival site’, in the words of my running mate, of fancy dress costumes, flags and banners, and music. Photos with Team Go at the NSPCC and a video interview for their promotional DVDs, quick loo breaks, lathering up in sun tan lotion in light of the ridiculous sun; which would become a mainstay of the day.

Slowly we take our place on the line, chatting to a nice chap named Matthew from Warwick University who was going for 3hrs anything (I hope he made it) we await the start. The 9 minute miler pacer turns up and all eyes turn to him; like a god among men people flock to him, aiming to follow him for their 3.54 time.

The hooter sounds and we funnel towards the start and, here’s the line…we’re off and running, literally. No walking, straight into the running. The crowds are thin but friendly and the only bad thought is, ‘that sun is quite hot…’

Bands play, people cheer us on, a vicar blesses passing runners (it burns, it burns!) and the first ‘go on Dan’ cheers start. This is great! Soon we merge with the blue runners. The booing commences, who knows why, but quickly subsides, and we’re all together. Away into the distance stretch the runners. All bobbing up and down creating the effect of waves on the shore on a choppy sea.

We're on TV!

We head past the Greenwich Naval College – an amazing building – and manage to get on TV. As Matt Baker (him off Blue Peter) pulls aside a man in a devil costume, we wave inanely at the TV and, checking later on the iPlayer, yes there we are! Around the charred body of the Cutty Sark the crowds swell and the cheering increases. For another 3 miles the crowds are just amazing. Music and bands, sweets and biscuits, high-fives, name cheering, all just inspiring stuff.

Mile 8 and I spot my work colleague who gets a good picture (click) and gives me a nice buzz. Up to 10 and my running mate decides to stop for a quick break; we agree to split, I wanting to push through the slight twinge in my stomach, knowing the second wind will kick in soon.

Mile 12 and the realization Tower Bridge is close by brings in that second wind, and running over the bridge I remind myself to admire the sight of the bridge, the crowds, and soak up the cooling breeze of the Thames. The sun is still beating down, and although cloud cover is intermittent, it doesn’t help.

Half-way

Over the bridge and half way in 2.07. Off target for a sub 4hr run but given the heat I’ve already decided it’s not worth pushing too hard. Round to 14 and the best bit of the race – see my parents (who pass me the much reminded about Snickers bar) and a huge NSPCC cheer point – who cheer me like a world champion, and I run on feeling fed and loved. Only 12 miles to go!

On down Narrow Street (very narrow it is too) I spot Michelle Collins cheering people on, and start to overtake the people around me. Realising I’m being foolhardy, I rein it in and ease up, telling myself to slow down. Into Canary Wharf and the crowds show no signs of easing up (amazing!) and I take the opportunity to run through another fine mist shower system. Still so, so hot. In fact I have now seen several people being treated on the side of the road and it’s a good reminder to run sensibly.

Through the financial center I pass Kate Lawler who won Big Brother 3, and start to feel the pain. Just 6 miles to go and we’re going past Billingsgate market, very hot, very bland, very hard. Hamstrings getting tight now. Push on. If you’re going through hell, keep going.

Ah, yes, pain. Hello.

21 miles – only 5.2 to go. Only, ha. I don’t hit the wall here but I do realise my hamstrings are now hurting and there’s nothing I can do about it. Never, ever, ever, ever, ever give up. Just put one leg in front of the other and keep going. Nothing lasts forever.

23 miles and the crowds are huge. But, I’ll be honest, they’re doing nothing for me. This is an internal battle now. The pain v me. I will win. One leg in front of the other. Running through the last shower station makes me shiver, making me realise how low my energy reserves must be, despite the heat of the sun. Out of embankment tunnel I spy Big Ben – so close but so far…

Here I manage to miss my parents and and most friends, although see a few of them, as I internalise everything. Every cheer of ‘Come on Dan!’ is met with a ‘you bloody do it then!’ in my mind only of course.

Turning at Westminster. So tired. Someone shouts. 1km to go. Never, ever, ever, ever give up. I’ve run so many kilometers in this last 6 months, what’s one more? The photographers appear – what? Who placed them there! Force a smile. Just 600m to go. What, where was 800m? So glad to have missed it!

Then 400 to go. Then 385 yards. The turn on the Mall is blessed relief. I shout out ‘ohhhhhhhhhhhhh’ in a form of release to the pain and the joy the sight brings. For no reason I sprint to shave pointless seconds off my time and run with my arms aloft. Once over I put them down and acknowledge my legs’ calls for rest and stretching.

The end?

Utterly dazed and confused I take my medal, my bag, and find a place to lie down in St James’ Park. I’ve just run the London Marathon in 4.22.01. A few loo stops in there but who cares. In that heat I’m very pleased.

Today, Tuesday, and I feel strange. My legs are getting better and people are all very interested and quizzical but I just feel the same. I don’t feel like a hero or that I’ve done something life changing, or affirming, or anything. I don’t know. Perhaps I anticipated feeling like that when really not everyone will. Perhaps it’s too soon to know. I raised £1,901 for charity which is amazing and this makes me feel better than the idea of doing the run itself. Am I alone in having this almost post-marathon depression?

The big question is of course, will I enter next years? Maybe. It’s a commitment for sure, but it would be nice to go sub 4hrs…