After the crunch collision on Saturday morning, I decided to take my battered left side to the doctor. There was great news in that she said I didn’t have to go for an X ray.
But after getting me to lean left, right and contort, she declared I had un traumatisme intercostal.
This translates into one month off football and tennis. Since these are my principal methods of exercise, let’s look at those kilos in a month.
The doc said I could do anything as long as it didn’t hurt. Fortunately the local swimming pool has reopened following a revamp which took a month longer than scheduled.
The doctor’s chat was offset with some intriguing news from this morning about the school where the eldest goes.
Apparently there is no decree guaranteeing its future. This means that technically it could be closed down and we’d have no redress.
I like the idea of edgy education.
Perhaps as I sit out the next few Saturdays I can look into these kind of niceties.
Tuesday, 12 October 2010
Sunday, 10 October 2010
The Battering
Not quite sure where the book came from but it's found its way into my home. Am reading Last Orders by Graham Swift. Won the Booker Prize in 1996 so I am really in the groove.
Probably not the book for me since it is all about death and some drinking buddies going along to scatter the ashes of their erstwhile drinking chum.
Am getting through it in a methodical 20 pages a day way. Decided to leave in Paris for the weekend so I could concentrate on the newspapers and the magazines on the train this morning.
Was doing OK ploughing through the Sunday Times and the Mail on Sunday which the paper informs me is 70p cheaper than the Sunday Times.
When I returned from the restaurant car - that sounds so Orient Express - I found a rather long haired tattooed type standing next to my seat and talking to three women in the seats in front of mine.
They turned out to be members of the Cellestial Cello Quartet on their way back to London after doing a gig at Le Grand Palais. They'd lost the fourth member of the group. But it was interesting listening to their tales of being one of the warm up acts for Laurent Garnier.
They're going to be at the Savoy later in the month.
Their stories kept my mind of my aching side. Horribly crocked was I in Saturday morning's shuffle. The only positive about having my side bruised was that the team won 2-0.
I'd like to think it was the image of me jogging round the running track which inspired them. As it was those few laps wer about the extent of my exercise in the second half. I went back on, ran a bit as I did my bit to defend the 2-0 lead but when I tried to stretch a leg out, I realised I couldn'ty go on any more.
Off I went.
Don't know if I'll be back on the park next Saturday.
If I'm not, more time for reading and listening to cello quartets.
Probably not the book for me since it is all about death and some drinking buddies going along to scatter the ashes of their erstwhile drinking chum.
Am getting through it in a methodical 20 pages a day way. Decided to leave in Paris for the weekend so I could concentrate on the newspapers and the magazines on the train this morning.
Was doing OK ploughing through the Sunday Times and the Mail on Sunday which the paper informs me is 70p cheaper than the Sunday Times.
When I returned from the restaurant car - that sounds so Orient Express - I found a rather long haired tattooed type standing next to my seat and talking to three women in the seats in front of mine.
They turned out to be members of the Cellestial Cello Quartet on their way back to London after doing a gig at Le Grand Palais. They'd lost the fourth member of the group. But it was interesting listening to their tales of being one of the warm up acts for Laurent Garnier.
They're going to be at the Savoy later in the month.
Their stories kept my mind of my aching side. Horribly crocked was I in Saturday morning's shuffle. The only positive about having my side bruised was that the team won 2-0.
I'd like to think it was the image of me jogging round the running track which inspired them. As it was those few laps wer about the extent of my exercise in the second half. I went back on, ran a bit as I did my bit to defend the 2-0 lead but when I tried to stretch a leg out, I realised I couldn'ty go on any more.
Off I went.
Don't know if I'll be back on the park next Saturday.
If I'm not, more time for reading and listening to cello quartets.
Tuesday, 28 September 2010
Sorting Times
There must be something in the weather. Perhaps it is the season changing. I was on Tooting Bec Common on the bike on the way to work and I saw the conkers on ground.
That might have sparked the reverie. It certainly did take me back.
Was sorting through my dad's things today and found an exercise book from 1970. It had drawings of goalkeepers, warships and planes and on one page the question was posed: How was God born?
That has rather cheered me up. I think I might use it as a default response to an issue I'd rather not voyage into.
I wish I'd found the phrase earlier. It might have helped me write off difficult situations more quickly but then I might have had to endure the woe of being a a cop out.
Also found in dad's pile a little homily on aspiration. About looking past the immediate.
Seem to be coming to the split of London as the venue for contemplation and Paris as site for living.
That might have sparked the reverie. It certainly did take me back.
Was sorting through my dad's things today and found an exercise book from 1970. It had drawings of goalkeepers, warships and planes and on one page the question was posed: How was God born?
That has rather cheered me up. I think I might use it as a default response to an issue I'd rather not voyage into.
I wish I'd found the phrase earlier. It might have helped me write off difficult situations more quickly but then I might have had to endure the woe of being a a cop out.
Also found in dad's pile a little homily on aspiration. About looking past the immediate.
Seem to be coming to the split of London as the venue for contemplation and Paris as site for living.
Monday, 27 September 2010
Revolutions of Memory
Nothing quite like a journey through the smog of London on a bike. Especially on a bike that does not do fast. Not that I would zoom all the time. But every now and again I need to know that I could.
My bike is a stately procession of a piece. This cannot go on. The seven fast gears do not seem to exist. Thus I am in a 14 gear cruiser state.
And on the flat bits that is rather frustrating. I don't have this kind of quandary in Paris. There the bike is technically worse. It is heavier and bulkier and I can barely lift it up.
But I can whizz through the city.
Going along at a languid pace does allow a certain amount of contemplation. The voyage from Streatham to work is full of memory. And they seem more vibrant because the journey is seldom undertaken.
I think about Character X going past a certain door or Character Y as I glide past the common. Is this what advancing years do to you?
There's a strong case for going somewhere completely new.
My bike is a stately procession of a piece. This cannot go on. The seven fast gears do not seem to exist. Thus I am in a 14 gear cruiser state.
And on the flat bits that is rather frustrating. I don't have this kind of quandary in Paris. There the bike is technically worse. It is heavier and bulkier and I can barely lift it up.
But I can whizz through the city.
Going along at a languid pace does allow a certain amount of contemplation. The voyage from Streatham to work is full of memory. And they seem more vibrant because the journey is seldom undertaken.
I think about Character X going past a certain door or Character Y as I glide past the common. Is this what advancing years do to you?
There's a strong case for going somewhere completely new.
Sunday, 26 September 2010
The Austro-Hungarian Empire
There must have been something in the air. I was horrendously indecisive. Got off the train and thought about the Whitechapel Gallery or the Royal Academy. Could not decide.
So thanks be to London Underground who'd closed down the Hammersmith and City line for the weekend. That ruled out the Whitechapel so I trundled along on the Victoria line to Green Park and the Royal Academy to see the show about the art from the Museum of Fine Arts in Budapest.
Lavish stuff. Quite liked the picture inspired by a Heinrich Heine poem. The Kiss of the Sphinx by Franz von Stuck. The caption said it was all about the pleasure and torture of having one's soul drained by the embrace of this half woman half lion.
Well there's an object lesson. There were a few other goodies around. I was rather taken by the paintings featuring Venus and her nymphs.
And the religious paintings had particular resonance. After the football team's first match of the season, a whole heap of praying will be needed not to plunge into the third division.
I said before the match that we usually lose when there are 15 and sure enough we lost when really we shouldn't have done. usual failings. Lack of concentration and a generosity of spirit.
Protocol of the games with referees says that each side should provide a linesman for each half and a ref for one half. As the visitors only came with 11 we provided all the officiating.
In one particularly splendid passage, there was confusion over a throw in. Rather than waiting for it to be settled. The visitors took the throw and promptly scored.
Impossible to play to the whistle as there was no whistle and obviously no sense of hang on let's all make sure this is the right thing.
Tough to lose that way but I guess it's better than winning against a team reduced to nine men due to protocol.
So thanks be to London Underground who'd closed down the Hammersmith and City line for the weekend. That ruled out the Whitechapel so I trundled along on the Victoria line to Green Park and the Royal Academy to see the show about the art from the Museum of Fine Arts in Budapest.
Lavish stuff. Quite liked the picture inspired by a Heinrich Heine poem. The Kiss of the Sphinx by Franz von Stuck. The caption said it was all about the pleasure and torture of having one's soul drained by the embrace of this half woman half lion.
Well there's an object lesson. There were a few other goodies around. I was rather taken by the paintings featuring Venus and her nymphs.
And the religious paintings had particular resonance. After the football team's first match of the season, a whole heap of praying will be needed not to plunge into the third division.
I said before the match that we usually lose when there are 15 and sure enough we lost when really we shouldn't have done. usual failings. Lack of concentration and a generosity of spirit.
Protocol of the games with referees says that each side should provide a linesman for each half and a ref for one half. As the visitors only came with 11 we provided all the officiating.
In one particularly splendid passage, there was confusion over a throw in. Rather than waiting for it to be settled. The visitors took the throw and promptly scored.
Impossible to play to the whistle as there was no whistle and obviously no sense of hang on let's all make sure this is the right thing.
Tough to lose that way but I guess it's better than winning against a team reduced to nine men due to protocol.
Thursday, 23 September 2010
More Strikes
Wow. Just when I thought it was safe to go to work, it's strike time yet again. Billions are out on the street protesting over plans to extend the years of toil before retirement.
Unions say 300,000; police say just over 65,000.
Whichever way it is, there's anguish. There were only one in two metros this morning. This meant that the trip to school with the eldest took on dimensions of stress.
For a 9am start, we left at 7.50am. I explained on the way to the métro why we had to leave earlier.
I gave her two worst case scenarios.
1. The métro is crowded and we can't get on the train. You arrive late.
2 The métro is crowded but we get on a train and we have to wait for 40 minutes in the café.
She realised that option 2 was preferable and option 2 is what happened. We met some other parents in the café.
Great minds think alike.
Unions say 300,000; police say just over 65,000.
Whichever way it is, there's anguish. There were only one in two metros this morning. This meant that the trip to school with the eldest took on dimensions of stress.
For a 9am start, we left at 7.50am. I explained on the way to the métro why we had to leave earlier.
I gave her two worst case scenarios.
1. The métro is crowded and we can't get on the train. You arrive late.
2 The métro is crowded but we get on a train and we have to wait for 40 minutes in the café.
She realised that option 2 was preferable and option 2 is what happened. We met some other parents in the café.
Great minds think alike.
Tuesday, 21 September 2010
Travelling in Paris and London
Went on the metro today and was a lot more wary. It was just like travelling on the Underground in London. I wonder if this is to be my last journey. I survey people.
How did it come to be like this?
When I was young we were all worried about nuclear armageddon and the build up of nuclear weapons. Well the weapons have been built up and it is just a person with a few bombs strapped to them that is likely to make the difference.
Not a 100 megaton warhead.
But that angst was all after I had played and lost the second round at the other journalists' tennis tournament. I played against the bloke I lost to last year. I actually won games this year. All those lessons have paid off. He has been taking lessons too. So I guess the key is to go on taking lessons and join the tennis club as my tennis coach Rafael suggests.
That's the way to make the step up.
Perhaps next year I'll lose to the same bloke.
I blame my gammy ankle for restricted mobility.
I blame the politicians for their policies that have left us exposed to the extremists.
How did it come to be like this?
When I was young we were all worried about nuclear armageddon and the build up of nuclear weapons. Well the weapons have been built up and it is just a person with a few bombs strapped to them that is likely to make the difference.
Not a 100 megaton warhead.
But that angst was all after I had played and lost the second round at the other journalists' tennis tournament. I played against the bloke I lost to last year. I actually won games this year. All those lessons have paid off. He has been taking lessons too. So I guess the key is to go on taking lessons and join the tennis club as my tennis coach Rafael suggests.
That's the way to make the step up.
Perhaps next year I'll lose to the same bloke.
I blame my gammy ankle for restricted mobility.
I blame the politicians for their policies that have left us exposed to the extremists.
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