CONSOLDIATION

Moving my whole operation over to TUMBLR. Unless somebody give me a good reason not too.

www.dickheadrunning.tumblr.com

Tin Man Pally

"Oh," I said. I was looking in the carrier bag Enrique had handed me, the one that contained tins. Enrique, who for the second time in a week, had knocked on my door. I hoped he wasn't going to make a habit of it. He'd knocked on the door and I opened it and he wordlessly thrust a carrier bag towards me. For a split second I thought he was thrusting a headless goose at me. It wasn't, it was a plastic bag and I looked in it and said, "oh."

"You're welcome," he replied.

"Yeah," I said. I guess I was. I continued to look into the bag. I could see one tin contained macedoine (chopped vegetables)

Enrique looked around, lent towards me, looked around again and then announced, "chu look after me and I... after look..."

"..."

Enrique had another go. "Chu look after me," he said. He pointed to himself on the 'me'. "And then... me? No. I look. No. I look after. No, chu look after I? No. I look..."

That was enough. "I look after you," I said, "and you look after me," I told him, patting my chest, but that didn't sound right either. Better than gobshite's effort though. 

"Si, I look after..."

"Me."

"I look after me and chu... no."

"No. you, you," I said pointing at him. "You look after me," I pointed at me and... "what did I say then?"

"Chu look after me."

"That's right, you look after me and I, I look after you."

"Si, I look after chu and..."

"You."

"Chu look after me."

"Yeah."

"I look after chu, chu look after me."

"That's it."

"I look after chu, chu look after me," he said, faster than ever.

"You've got it!" I'd given Enrique a load of medication. Stuff I'd found at the dump, and this was payback. Enrique stood straight and again looked around then rubbed his nose.

"Well, cool," I said nodding into the bag and then at Enrique. I'd found the handle holes of the carrier bag and was holding it that way although Enrique hadn't been carrying the bag like that. He'd carried it like it was a goose and he'd been holding its neck. Like a hobo would carry a carrier bag.

"Der's fish. S'not cheap, man!" said Enrique, nodding slowly.

"Is there? fish?" I asked, my eyebrows raised, opening the bag and having a polite look in, I couldn't see any fish but I nodded. "Sweet," I told him.

"I get dem from work."

"Oh, where do you work?"

"Spar Limited." He pronounced limited, 'lee-mee-teed.'

"The one by the hospital?"

"No, no, all of dem."

"Cool," I said.

"Heh, they bit dented." said Enrique.

"Bah, who cares, eh? Still good."

"We like, er, friends, eh?"

"Yeah, we are a bit," I said.

"Chu Joey," said Enrique, nodding at me.

"You're Chandler then," I said and smiled. He wasn't fucking Chandler. I was Chandler. And Joey.

"Could I BE any more..." said Enrique. He'd been smiling when he started saying that. He wasn't when he finished mid sentence. He was sort of wincing. It was painful. Once again I stepped in to save the day.

"Hey, I'm-a-Joey, Imma eat alla these tins a food!" I said, wagging my head. Enrique laughed and nodded. 

"Joey," he said pointing at me. "Could I BE anymore..." Oh for fuck's sake. I'd given him an out but he didn't take it. He was like an animal you'd rescue from a tree only for it to run straight back up the tree.

"Could you be anymore... in a white suit!" I said in an American accent.

"Could I BE anymore in a whi' suit?" asked Enrique.

"No, you couldn't." I confirmed and Enrique cracked up laughing. When he'd stopped we stood there, smiling at each other.  "Hey, which one, chu kn-"

"Rachel."

"Si, si."

"Thanks for the this!" I said, lifting up the bag whose handles were beginning to cut into my hand. "The tins," I said. 

"Hey, chu look after-"

"Yeah alright," I said cutting him off. I was missing Masterchef Australia. I'd paused it but the longer I didn't watch it the worse the knock-on effect to the rest of my evening's TV viewing was going to be. I could make up some time by fast-forwarding advertisements, perhaps all the time, but still. "Cheers, eh?" I said and went inside as Enrique went up the stairs, two at a time. I put the tins in the cupboard and true to his word there was a tin of red salmon among them. They looked pretty good in the cupboard, the tins, sort of made the flat more of a home. I put the fish on its own side of the cupboard. The fish side.

Midnight Smoker

The day wouldn't end. It just wouldn't end. It just went on and on and on. I tried to think of something bad that might happen later in the day, that evening, in a bid to speed up the day because, hey, time goes faster when there's something bad coming up. I thought I'd get home and, I dunno, press my hand on the hob. I wouldn't like. Burning my hand. That'd be shit, it'd kill. Yeah, I told myself that's what I'd do. I'd burn my hand.

An hour later I looked at my watch and saw seventeen minutes had passed. I wasn't going to burn my hand and part of me knew it. My brain part and so the day went on and on and on. It was the duracell bunny of days. Worst thing was it started to cloud over. Generally I like it when it rains at work because we get to wear our waterproofs but rain would ruin what I'd done and what I'd done was fucking exceptional.

Cycling through the gates that morning I'd noticed Graham's little white van was incredibly dirty. He'd been scrambling in it by the looks of it and the mud it was caked in had dried and so I decided to leave a message on the van. I didn't get fully off my bike but went up next to the van and removed a glove and wrote, "Cleam Me," on the side. I then tried to sort out the erroneous M but it looked shit so I wiped that whole message off. It wasn't a total bust as when I was fucking up writing the first message I'd thought of the real message I'd wanted to write. I knew 'clean me' wasn't what I'd actually wanted to write, I'd just wrote that because I hadn't instantly been able to think of what I actually wanted to write. What I'd wanted to write I'd seen it on vans a few times and each time I'd seen it I'd laughed and so under the message I'd wiped off I wrote, I WISH MY WIFE WAS THIS DIRTY!!! I then wiped my finger on the floor and rode up the hill to the hut and for the rest of the day I tried to keep a straight face. It was pretty easy because the slow passing of time was pissing me off. It was easy when I wasn't looking at Graham.

Graham is a prankster extraordinaire. One time he smashed Vince's phone, oh God, that was funny. He'd found a phone the same make as Vince's and while Vince was up in the excavator he'd waved it at him. He'd then dropped it on the floor and stamped on it. Vince went fucking nuts, jumped out of the machine, limbs all flailing Frenchly, left it still running and jumped down and I thought they were going to have a fist fight. I was crying with laughter. Vince called Graham a midget and Graham hates that because he's short and then Graham tells Vince it wasn't his phone and Vince shakes his head because he didn't find it funny and goes back to work. Two minutes later Graham's got Vince's real phone and stamps on it. Vince goes mental and jumps down and Graham's telling him to never call him short again and I'm laughing just thinking about it.

EVENTUALLY it was home time. I'm normally first out because I've got a bike and everybody else walks to the car-park but I hung back. It was difficult to make this seem casual and innocent, me hanging back but I cycled alongside Graham while standing on the pedals. I put my brakes on now and again causing my suspension forks to suspend. It was a bit like a stunt and a very casual way to ride a bicycle. I told Graham that the guy upstairs from me had flipped his car over one time because it was so powerful. Graham said he'd done that once. I whistled and said, "fuck!" I then sat on the seat of the bike and tried to accelerate as fast as possible to see if I could flip my bike, I couldn't. Got the wheel off the ground a couple of inches though. I then stood up on the pedals and applied the front brake, causing the forks to suspend while Graham caught up.

"What the fuck?" Asked Graham when he saw his van.

"What I asked?" I was looking over at the incinerator. A fucking huge grey square building. I sensed Graham begin to run off to my right and so I followed.

"Who did this?" Asked Graham pointing at the letters written on his van. 

"Dunno, mate," I said wiping my nose on my glove and looking back from where we'd come from. Vince was on his way. He had four keyboards. He'd doing something with them. He must have, no exaggeration, a thousand keyboards.

"Check it out!" I said to Vince pointing at Graham's van.

"I wish my wife was this dirty," Said Vince reading it and then laughing. Graham didn't see the funnyside. 

"It means dirty in a sex way. Wish my wife was the dirty. Cock sucking and that." I was looking at the words and although I was trying not to I was smirking. Graham was staring up at me through narrow eyes. "Because your van's di-"

"Ooooh!" Said Graham getting it. "Oh my God that's funny," he said. He laughed a little bit, then there was a pause, then he laughed a bit more and then there was another pause and then he was laughing. It was bit like a Spitfire starting. I was laughing too and Vince was laughing. Vince was also struggling with the keyboards' cables. Everyday he takes keyboards home and yet he still hasn't got a system for carrying them. I'd wrap each cable around each keyboard.

"Did you do that?" Asked Graham. Because he's from Liverpool he actually said, did-youdo-da.

"I don't know Davey," I said doing my gormless American voice and rolling my eyes.

"Did ya?" He asked.

"Yeah," I said. We all looked at the side of Graham's van.

Graham chuckled again and shook his head. "Dat's grrreat dat is," he said. "Me wife'll flip." 

"Well, see ya guys!" I said and then I turned my lights on and rode home laughing. 

Verve

I stepped out into the hall and I was closing my door when the man from upstairs shouted at me. He shouted something strange.

"Hey! My shit turn blue!" He shouted and so I stood there and pondered. I wasn't sure how to reply although I was certain he was addressing me. It's not everyday a disembodied voice from above shouts something like that at you.

"Okay!" I replied musically and then with a wary face and a head cocked to the side I waited for a second. No further messages came and so I headed down the stairs and fucking hell, his bike was on my bike. I grabbed it, really grabbed it like I was teaching it a lesson and then wheeled it over to the other side of the table. The tyres were both pretty much flat and I heard somebody bouncing down the stairs.

I didn't recognize Enrique straight away. He wasn't wearing his purple, blue and green tracksuit. He was wearing a white suit, a cool white hat and no shoes. I assumed he must work in a hotel. I'd assumed he worked in a hotel when I first saw him, but as a cleaner or something, seeing him dressed I assumed he must work in a hotel as a guy at a desk.

"Hey, my shit turn blue!" He said to me as I held his bicycle and he held onto the bannister. He was leaning forward but still on the steps.

"Yeah," I replied not knowing what to do with that. I looked down at his bicycle. "I heard you, hey, your tyres are flat."

"S'okay, I like it like dat. Blue, really blue, aye-aye-aye, like..." Enrique looked around for something that was as blue as his shit but there was nothing in the hall that he could see.

"You should leave your bike on this side," I said placing his bicycle against the wall.

"S'fucking amazing, man!" Enrique told me and I nodded, it sounded it. "S'okay?" He asked.

"I'm not a..." I said. "You gotta pump these tyres up, you'll wreck the rims," I said because although I wasn't a bike mechanic either I knew that. I also knew Enrique's bike was fucking riduclous. "Why don't you drive your car? That's your car out there?" I cocked my thumb towards the door, that's where out there was.

"Thas my baby, man!" Said Enrique stepping off the steps onto the tiled floor of the entrance hall. His feet must've been freezing. He danced for a bit and then stepped back up onto the carpeted steps.

"Why don't you drive it?" I asked.

"Can't man, s'too powerful."

"Too powerful to drive?"

"Si," he said nodding gravely. Enrique again stepped onto the tiled floor and came over to me. Danced over. Trying to not let his feet touch the floor. It was quite a sight as he was also grimacing and then when he was right in my personal space he just started talking. "One time I driving along and I have girls in the car, si?" I nodded. "Three girls and I drive and stop at de coloured lights, red, you know?"

"Traffic lights?"

"Si, I stop and this guy he pulls up next to me in a racing car, si?"

"Okay."

"He wanna race wid me and he... brum brum bruuuuuum!"

"Yeah." Guy who pulled up next to him was revving the engine. I could picture that.

"So I," said Enrique pointing to himself before grabbing the steering wheel which was nearly in my chest, "brum brum brum brummmmmm!"

I nodded, Enrique had done an extra brum and a longer, higher final brum. He was ready to race.

"Lize change to..."

"Green?"

"Si! Green, and de guy in the racing car he make it go! Whoosh!" Enrique chopped his hand forward but luckily he turned to the side or he'd have chopped my arm off at the shoulder. I watched the racing car race from the line. It was heading for the stairs. I nodded. "So I fucking..." Enrique was snarling in my face and gripping the steering wheel that wasn't there. "Grrrrrr!" He said. He then let go of the steering wheel that wasn't, his face relaxed and he stood straight and demonstrated the next part with his hand. His hand started off horizontal before he slowly lifted his fingers. "Car, flies in air, de front go up in air, e fucking spin," Enrique did a spin with his finger tip, "in the air and land, where was. Just fucking land. Ez too fucking powerful."

"Kin' hell," I said.

"De girls? Each girl different seat. Bof bof bof, different seat."

"Fuck," I said.

Enrique rubbed the side of his nose with the back of his left hand and then nodded.

"Can't you get it made, I dunno, less powerful?" I asked. I don't know as much about cars as I do bikes.

"Si, one day I take it to a garage." Enrique pronounced 'garage' 'garakka'.

"So you ride the bike?"

"I ride bike," we looked at the bike. What a fucking shit bike.

"Do you want me to pump the tyres up for you?" That would mean going upstairs to get my pump. I had time but didn't really want to.

"Nah, s'okay," he said. He nodded and looked around before opposite-fire-walking back to the stairs. "Dat!" He said pointing at my bicycle as he minced past it. "Dat blue!" He said. He was pointing to the red white and blue bands that decorated one of my bicycles tubes and then he was bouncing up the stairs two and a time.

At work I told Graham about the guy who flipped his car. Graham said he'd done that once.

"Fuck."

Lovely

I was watching Masterchef Australia wishing I knew how to fillet a fish.

And cook a fish when there was a knock upon my door.

This had never happened before.

I sat for a while motionlessly hoping I was hallucinating with my ears.

Marco Pierre white was telling an Australian he'd burnt his fish skin.

I'd want my fish skin burnt.

Marco Pierre White was being a dick and I held the remote control and waited.

I've got Sky+ and I can pause live TV.

I pinched my lower lip.

Marco Pierre White's wild unkempt hair must get in his food when he cooks.

I'd imagined the knock.

I watched the clock and relaxed in my chair.

There was five minutes to go in the double elimination.

The fat woman in the hijab was in trouble.

Her rice pudding was never going to cook.

Not in a million years.

Knock knock knock.

I paused the TV on a shot of Marco Pierre White and although he'd only been talking I'd paused it on a frame that made him look insane with his eyes half closed. The first time I thought I'd heard the knock it'd stressed me out but the second knocks were much worse. Like how they grade earthquakes. The second knocking was not just twice as stressful as the first lot, it was ten times worse. There's two doorbells outside that prevent unsolicited knocking so that meant whoever was on the other-side of the door knocking was on the other-side of the door and knocking. Had to be the guy from upstairs or, well, let's not beat about the bush, a ghost, and I wasn't too thrilled with the prospect of opening the door to either and I thought about pretending I was in the bath.

I'd bump into Pedro on the stairwell later and he'd say, 'I was knocking on your door,' and I'd reply, 'yeah, I was in the bath.' That's life. That's what I'd do I decided as I stared at Marco Pierre White's grimace that reminded me of that photo from Vietnam. The guy shooting the other guy in the head. I listened for his footsteps but instead heard a knock. The fuck? I mouthed. I was going to have to answer the door or sit there for God knows how long pretending to be in the bath. Three knocks though and I hadn't moved I decided I may as well wait it out. If there's a forth I would answer the door, ghost or foreign man from upstairs be damned, but I wasn't going to give up now. I'd gone this far. I looked at the arm of my chair and heard the forth set of knocks and stood and went to the door. I opened it and the foreign man from upstairs was standing there with an empty bowl.

"Sorry, I was in the bath. Didn't hear you knocking." I said. "Were you even knocking?" I asked realising in the nick of time I'd nearly blown it.

"Si, I knock, I no want to bother you," He said.

"It's okay," I lied.

"Es... you no have no heroin just maybe?"

"Ooh, no, sorry mate, I haven't. I don't... I don't use it," I did that apologetic face people do even though they've no reason to apologize. Like when somebody asks you for directions and you don't know them and you feel you've let them down.

"S'okay, s'okay," said the man but he looked so sad. His shoulders were slumping as I watched.

"Yeah, sorry," I told him. The man took a deep breath and when he let it out his shoulders were lower than ever. He was looking at his pathetic empty bowl that didn't have any heroin in it.

"Sorry for bother you," he said turning ninety degrees and looking up the steps.

"Yeah, sorry mate, I just-" But the guy cut me off by lifting his left hand. He was upset. I watched him slowly mount the first step. And then the second. It was too much. "Hey, Pedro!" I said. Pedro turned and told me his name was Enrique. "Enrique, I've got some morphine, that any good to you?"

"Morpy?" He said looking down at me.

"Morphine, liquid morphine."

"I don't know..."

"Oh, morphine, powerful stuff, you need a prescription. You want some?" I asked. Enrique wasn't sure. He'd had his heart set on heroin. "You may as well take some, I've got loads."

"No, I okay," said Enrique turning and looking back up the stairs. He wasn't moving though. I waited and when he didn't take another step and called him again.

"Come and see this," I told him standing aside. He looked at me and then walked down the three steps he'd gone up and into my flat. The guy smelt good. I showed him into my bathroom. "I let the water out," I told him pointing at the bone dry bath and then I distracted him by opening the airing cupboard door and showing him all of my marvellous medicines. Two shelves of the stuff in opaque plastic containers. Three containers on each shelf. "Check it out," I said pulling out a container packed with pill boxes, small brown plastic bottle and larger glass bottles.

"Holy macaroni!" Said Enrique.

"Yeah, I just find them at work."

"You bin man," Said Enrique nodding and peering into the container I was holding. He was perking up.

"Bin man! Fuck off!" I said. "I work at the waste disposal plant." Enrique looked up at me saw I was correcting him and apologised and then went back to peering into the container. He picked up a small brown plastic bottle and turned it around. "Most of the labels have gone," I told him. "Been out in the rain," I said. Enrique nodded picked up other things, turning them around and placing them back. "There's gotta be some good shit in there."

"No heroin?" He asked.

"Nah, there might be that heroin substitute. What's it called?"

"Dunno," said Enrique still moving things around the container I held.

"Oh, I know it..." I said but I couldn't think of it. I knew I'd think of it as soon as he'd gone. I hate that. "That's the morphine," I said holding and shaking a glass bottle. "Knocks you out." Enrique nodded. "Just take a selection," I told him.

"Chu sure, man?"

"Yeah, go for it," I said. I put the container on the bathroom floor and Enrique gave me his bowl. I tipped a few pills from a few bottles into the bowl. I took out a few foil wrapped blister packs of different sized squashed boxes and topped it off with a bottle of morphine. "That should keep you going," I said my hands on my knees. I was happy with what I'd done. I stood and handed him the bowl.

"How much?"

"Dah, don't worry about it," I said waving my hand at him. I put the container back in its space in the airing cupboard. "I got loads of this shit," I said looking at the shit I had loads of.

"Chu sure, man?" He asked holding his bowl.

"Yeah, sure. Be careful with that shit though, yeah?"

"Just medicine, man," he said.

"True enough, hey, you'll probably get really healthy if you eat all that," I said and Enrique laughed. He looked at the bowl he was holding like an offering plate and shook it so the pills moved around a bit.

"Why you keep all dis?" Asked Enrique and I didn't tell him because of the end of I Am Legend.

"Seemed like a waste," I told him and then we stood there in the bathroom. Looking in the bathroom mirror I could see the reflection of the living room and Marco Pierre White's paused and twisted face. I showed Enrique out. He went up the stairs carefully holding his bowl.

That night I heard a whole load of laughing and babbling coming from upstairs. It was funny, that contagious laughter and I chuckled too and shook my head. Enrique was alright.

The next morning Methadone was my first waking thought.

Small World

I froze on the steps because the man was in the hall. I'd heard him come down the steps earlier - enough earlier - he should have been out, well out, that's why I was going out, so I wouldn't encounter him right here in the hall where I was encountering him. Something had gone badly awry with my running plans. The man was just standing in the hall and must've been for quite some time. He was regarding the table with intensity.

He was foreign and was sporting a moustache and looked absolutely nothing like this.

His moustache shit all over Vince's. The man looked at me. "Hello," I said and the man lifted a finger, the corners of his mouth and his eyebrows like I was just the person he wanted to see even though we'd never met. He extended his hand and told me his name. It was Fillippo or something. Something foreign. I wasn't really listening. Might have been Mario. He looked a bit like a Guy Fawkes mask. "You moved in upstairs?" I asked. He could just have been an intruder but I didn't think so.

"Yes!" He exclaimed pumping my hand. The way he'd said 'yes' suggested I must have a load of questions to ask him about the exciting development of him moving in upstairs and he'd be only too pleased to answer them all. I didn't and so I nodded. Fillippo was still pumping my hand and smiling. No, I had no further questions for him. One maybe. Why are you still shaking my hand? I saw that even though I'd brought a table home to separate the bicycle leaning areas he'd leant his bicycle on mine.

I would have gone mad about that if he wasn't there. "Okay," I said trying to bring our meeting to a conclusion.

"Dis table," he said pointing at the table while still looking at me.

"Yeah?" I asked. 'Dis table' wasn't a full question.

"S'mine."

"It's yours?"

"Si, s'mine. S'my table," the man was smiling broadly. I didn't know what was going on.

"Listen mate, I don't want any trouble," I told him. I shuffled backwards so my heels hit the bottom step. I wasn't going to get stabbed over a table. Might have to push him and leg it up the stairs. Luckily I'm good at that. The man didn't respond and went over to the table and bent over it as if checking it for level and then stood straight and tapped it.

"My table," he said wheeling around on his heels and crossing his arms and nodding. He was smiling and that was throwing me off.

"Take it," I told him. I lifted one leg and placed my toes on the bottom step.

"How it even come here?" The man asked.

"I... I found it at the.. the dump."

The man clicked his fingers and pointed at me. "De dump! S'mazing, dis my table from my old place."

"No way," I said.

"Si! Dis one."

"Well, small world, eh?"

"Si, small word." I'd said world. Not small word. "I can't even believe it."

"No, it's amazing," I agreed. If it had been his table it was pretty amazing. If he was lying it was pretty amazing also. Why bother? Why? "Why did you dump it?" I asked him. There was nothing wrong with the table.

"I no dump it," he said looking at me like I'd just completely misunderstood everything. "I no dump dat!" He stressed and that was all I could take.

"Well, nice to meet you Fillippo," I said bringing my toes off the step and heading for the door.

"Enrique."

"Enrique." I smiled and edged past him. "I'm just going out," I grimaced. I was talking to him like he was my mother because I was uncomfortable.

"S'like a..." Enrique said, he hadn't quite finished. He was one of those people who couldn't read signals. I opened the door and held it open and politely waited for him to finish.

"S'like a..." Enrique said pointing at the table. "A er..." he was growing frustrated with himself and that's when mad people snap. I'd opened the door further and looked back at Enrique with a patient smile. I lifted my eyebrows to encourage him to finish his thought. "A..." he was saying while  jabbing a finger at the table.

"A...?"

"Um," said Enrique. He was looking at me for help.

"A? I don't..."

"A thing, a..."

"Coincidence?" I said.

"No, a... ah!"

"S'wood, a thing..."

"Oh yeah, it is." I agreed and nodded but inside my head I was shaking it.

"A..."

"Bye," I said and stepped outside gently closing the door. I waited while my Garmin tried to lock onto a satellite and as I did the door opened.

"You can never throw away, dat thing," he said. He lifted his right hand and made a chopping motion and then a wishwishwishwish sound with his mouth. I looked at the Garmin, the fucking thing never locks on when I'm in a hurry.

c'mon c'mon c'mon

"A boomerang?" I said.

"Si!" Said Enrique.

I fake laughed. "I suppose-" I began but he'd closed the door. Charming, I would have thought if I thought words like that. I don't think words like that I just squinted at the closed door. I just started running even though the Garmin hadn't locked on and the record of the run was going to be compromised.

Nothing Wrong With That

Graham drove me home in his van because of the table. That was a result because it could not have been windier and I hate cycling in the wind. The table was only small but it was going to look sweet in the entrance, I knew that much. I left my bike outside and carried the table in, holding the top, four legs pointing forward, while Graham held the door open. "The fuck's that?" He asked pointing his head at the black car. Graham had driven me home many times before and that car had never been there.

"Fuck knows," I told him truthfully.

I then positioned the table in the place where I'd been imagining placing the table ever since I'd seen it. It was like the fulfilment of a dream. That sounds too much. I don't mean it was my dream to get a table, I just mean I'd been thinking about placing the table and when I placed the table it was a daydream come true.

"There's nothing wrong with that," I said adjusting the position on the table slightly so that one bicycle could fit on either side of it and that was taking into account the opening of the door. The lights in the hall went off and because they're on a timer and so I pressed the switch again.  My bike was going to go to the right of the table while looking at it, this would mean my bike was further inside. Both would be inside but mine would be further inside. Further from the door. It just seemed better that way.

"That looks boss!" Said Graham.

"It does, eh?" I agreed. We stood and looked at the table. "Wait there," I told him and brought my bike in. It fitted perfectly between the table and under the return of the staircase. "Look at fucking that!" I said. We looked at it some more.

"Might get a vase?" I said thinking out loud.

"A vase on that table would look gear," said Graham agreeing with my thought. The lights went off and I pressed the switch again.

"Or a big bowl," I said, that had been my other thought. A big bowl, like a fruit bowl. I wouldn't put fruit in it though much like I wouldn't put flowers in the vase. Graham didn't respond to my second thought. "A bowl," I said and looked at him. He was standing with his arms straight by his side, his eyes closed, his nostrils flaring with each breath and he was clenching and unclenching his fists. That's a tell-tale sign Graham is about to lose it. "No, a vase!" I shouted and he came back to me. "Yeah, a vase for sure."

"Definitely a vase," said Graham. "Not a bowl. What would you put in a... friggin' bowl?" Graham was staring at me. At least his eyes were open but he hadn't fully regained his composure. His question was pointed.

"Nothing, that was stupid. A fucking bowl," I shook my head at my own stupidity. "A vase."

"Yeah, a vase would be nice. You could get some of those..." Graham made a hand gesturing that looked like he was lifting noodles from a pan, "twigs."

"Oh yeah, those twigs."

"Don't have to water them," said Graham whose surname, going on his horticultural knowledge, might well be Monty Don. It's not. I forget what it is though.

"No, those twigs look great," I said and we both stood there and pictured a vase on the table. The one I pictured was Art Deco but the one Graham was picturing was red and white and said LFC RULE OK. "Are they just normal twigs?" I asked. "Or are they, you know, treated with something?"

"They're dried," said Graham but I suspected he didn't really know the answer. Just from his delivery I picked that up but I nodded. We stood a while longer. The lights went off and I turned them back on.

"Cheers for that," I told Graham. "See you on Monday, yeah."

"Have a good one, la," said Graham still looking at the table.

"Look for a vase next week."

"Deffo," he said and then turning to me a fixing me with his eyes he warned, "not a bowl."

"Fuck no," I replied. When he left I went up the stairs two at a time I got to my door before the lights clicked off again.

A la table

I took my gloves off as I walked over to the cabin. Graham was beckoning me over and he was the boss.

"Pay dirt!" He'd said moving aside to let me in. The cabin was small and the centre of operations. Outside the cabin was the area where the vehicles would cone and tip the burnables. They'd tip it all and then when it got full the bulldozer would push all the rubbish up so it formed a hill. An excavator would then eat into the hill moving what it could into huge trailers. The trailers went to the incinerator and this process just repeated all day long. Until 4pm, 3 on a Friday. On my first day I just, as instructed, walked around and looked into the vehicles, making sure nobody was dumping metal or rubble or other stuff that didn't burn. Green waste wasn't allowed either. That's garden waste. That's all I had to do, walk around the trucks and cars looking for banned items. I hoped one day to be allowed to drive the bulldozer because it had metal spiked wheels and looked awesome, the excavator not so much. I was going to learn all facets of dump-working-at but on my first day I just had to walk around like I knew what I was about. And then Graham beckoned me over. Inside the small cabin Vince, the excavator operator was sitting at the table. He was eating a sandwich and his pinched French face suggested it was more than a sandwich, his face suggested what he was eating was some kind of manna from heaven. You'd think, looking at him, he was eating a club sandwich but it wasn't. It looked like it was cheese and yet he was enjoying it immensely  The sandwich was having sex with his head. He was rolling his eyes and practically moaning as he chewed.

"Pay dirt!" Said Graham, a small man from Liverpool. He gestured to the table which had sandwiches lined up neatly upon it. Sandwiches in triangular cardboard boxes. I looked at the neat line of sandwiches. Half an hour earlier a van had dumped the sandwiches. I'd told Graham. "Somebody's dumped a load of sandwiches," I'd told him. Don't know why but it had seemed worthy of mention to me. Sandwiches. All just dumped.

"Why don't you eat one?" He'd asked me when I'd told him what I'd seen.

"I don't..." I'd replied. I'd not long had my lunch.

That was when I saw them being dumped. Since then seagulls had been screaming overhead and in the cabin, as Vince looked on, some of the sandwiches were lined up on the table and again Graham was suggesting I eat one. I wondered if he remembered that I'd told him about the sandwiches. A few minutes earlier. That would sort of explain it.

"I'm alright, really," I'd told Graham.

"Vince, they're nice aren't they?" Asked Graham. Vince nodded sensually and rubbed his belly and moaned. "Eat one!" Said Graham to me. "Go on, eat one!" Said Graham.

"I've h-"

"Eat one, go on, eat one. Eat one," said Graham. The sandwiches looked fine. I'd exasperated Graham once already that first day. Somebody was tipping some timber but in the load were a few branches. I'd told the guy that he couldn't dump the branches. The timber was fine. I told him where he'd have to take the green waste. Two gates further up the valley. The guy had got a bit aggro and I'd told him I didn't make the rules and that I just enforced them. The guy wasn't haven't it thought, he felt it was a ridiculous waste of his time for what was a few branches and after all  it was wood and would burn. He didn't say it like that. He was swearing and I got Graham because the guy had a point, it would burn and Graham looked at the branches and told the guy they were fine as it was just a few branches and Graham was angry because I'd got him out of the cabin. As I followed him back over to the cabin Graham had been furious, muttering and shaking his head. I didn't say anything and by the time we were back at the cabin, like 30 seconds later, Graham was completely happy. He was laughing and joking. Graham didn't seem to be an entirely stable person and so I picked a tuna and cucumber sandwich and blew my cheeks out. Box was sealed. "Eat it," said Graham.

"Yup," I replied. Opening the box, sniffing the sandwich and biting a corner. "Take a bigger bite!" Graham urged and looking at his face I was concerned. He was suppressing some emotion and I didn't know if it was fury or delight. I ate half the sandwich. I fucking love tuna and cucumber. As I was chewing I decided that, when I'd swallowed, I'd ask Graham if this was some form of initiation. That might get a smile.

"Ah!" Said Graham exploding into life and jabbing a finger towards me. "He ate it!" Vince was looking at me with disgust. His small Hitler moustache nearly hidden because his upper lip was curled so much. I swallowed the sandwich I was chewing. It was a large bit and I felt like a snake eating a cow but it went down.

"I bring this from home!" Said Vince standing and waving what remained of the sandwich he was eating in front of me. So? I thought.

"You ate a dump sandwich!" said Graham staring up at me. Graham was very short.

"It's nice, actually," I said picking up the second half. I went to bite the corner of that one but Graham slapped it out of my hand. It separated into two single slice triangles and fell to floor. I looked at it and then to Graham. He was breathing heavily. I looked at Vince but his face was blank. We stood there for a while. I noticed Graham was clenching and unclenching his fists. I licked my lips and then looked back at Vince. He was looking at Graham. I looked at Graham who now had his eyes closed and was breathing deeper and slower. As I looked at him frightened he open his eyes and then smiled.

"Ha, lad, you passed!" He said.

"It was a... what, an initiation?" I asked. Not chuckling but ready to if I deemed it necessary.

"Yeah!" Said Graham laughing and clapping me on the arm. Vince was laughing and nodding. I laughed not knowing what the fuck was happening. "You're going to fit in here," Graham said and he was right, I did. I don't know why but Graham seemed to really take to me after that fucked up nonsensical ceremony that had happened on the first day. He still got angry a lot but never at me and today he found me a table. He knew I'd wanted a table. For the hall. The hall where me and the dick upstairs leave our bicycles. I'd wanted a table for a while but when the guy upstairs had leant his bicycle on mine the quest for one had taken on extra urgency.

"Nothing wrong with that!" I'd said looking over the table that Graham had placed outside the cabin. It was just the right size. Had four legs. There was nothing wrong with it.

"Nothing wrong with that," Graham agreed. That's kind of our catchphrase. When we find something in good condition that we want to keep we say, 'there's nothing wrong with that.'

I would use the table to separate our bicycle leaning areas and also maybe put letters on there. Instead of just leaving them on the floor. Maybe a vase too. I'd keep my eyes peeled for a vase. Or a bowl. No, a vase.

Art of Balance

The car was bad enough. Having a large black car announcing that you'd moved in upstairs is enough of a sign, right? You couldn't miss it. It wasn't like I could be entering my home and not somehow miss the big black car that announced things had changed. I didn't need any more than that and so I was very unhappy indeed when I saw the bicycle. It hit me like a marching band.

The entrance hall to the flats is quite large. Plenty big enough to have two bicycles separated by distance and that's how any normal person would separate bicycles. With distance. So when I saw the bicycle leaning on my bicycle I was... I couldn't even believe it. When I saw the bicycle leaning upon my bicycle I just couldn't believe it.

Previous evening I'd been listening to the guy upstairs and it was a guy. Just one guy. I was certain. I'd been listening to him move about a run taps and sometime sing as I wrote an email to claim back some PPI, whatever that is. I've been getting a lot of emails urging me to do this and while I suspect it's a scam I can't really see how I can lose anything, apart from some time. I'm not going to tell them my bank details. Or send them any money to get things started. It's no win, no fee. So I was carefully drafting my response and listening and, yeah, there was only one human upstairs. And that human was male.

The bicycle leaning on my bicycle was a female's bicycle. It was white and had a basket on it.

I didn't consider the implications of the sex of the bike at that moment. I was too going mental. later, while cycling to work I wondered if it meant a whole family were going to move in upstairs, in drips and drabs, but in the heat of the moment when I saw the bike leaning against my bike I only considered running up to the top floor and banging on the door but not really and so I did what I had to do. I had to move the bicycle and make sure it really looked like it had been moved. To simply move his bicycle, to then move my bicycle and then replace his bicycle would prove nothing and so I got hold of his bicycle by the bars and saddle and looked around for the most awkward place I could place it. The bicycle was heavy and I wondered if I could somehow hang it upside down somewhere but of course I couldn't and so I left it right at the bottom of the stairs. When I leant it on the wall with its front wheel sticking out it began to fall and so I grabbed it. I respect other people's stuff and I didn't want it getting scratched. I just wanted to send out a message. Don't fuck with me, was the message I wanted to send out. So with a bit of balancing I got it to stand at the bottom of the stairs with its front wheel blocking half the stairs. The guy was going to be in for a shock when he came down. He'd see the bike in its new position and feel like a dick because he'd know he'd caused trouble. Moved in for two days and already causing trouble. What an asshole.

I checked my bicycle for scratches but there were none. It had only been the seat of his bike that had been touching my bike but it could have fallen and then there'd be damaging metal on metal action. I nearly knocked his bike over wheeling mine out but caught it in time and leaning my bike on my hip I balanced his bike again, a bit more firmly this time, a bit less precariously.  I had to straighten the front wheel so it wasn't blocking the stairs so much but it still sent out a message. The bike was on a different wall. As well as thinking about how many people were going to move in upstairs as I cycled to work I also hoped his bike wouldn't fall over. I didn't think it would. I hoped it wouldn't. That would be too much.

The Car

Leaving for work there'd been no car outside in the designated parking area for the flats but when I got back in the afternoon there was most certainly a car there. It was like somebody had flicked a switch that made a car appear. And not just any car, let me tell you, a really stupid car. Occasionally somebody parks in one of the two spaces outside. The shop itself has a garage, the spaces are for the flats but the owner of the building sometimes parks in one of the spaces but he's got a proper car and so I looked at the car for a while before going inside and getting changed. I went for a run along the front.

I hoped that when I got back the car would be gone and everything would be back to normal but it was still there and so I stood a looked at it for a while before I got too cold. The car was American and looked like a tombstone that had been pushed over by a Welshman.

Getting changed I decided the car had been dumped and everything was going to be okay. That explained it nicely. If it was still there in a day I'd report it to somebody. The correct authorities or the people who tow away dumped cars. And the knobs in the scrapyard can deal with it. I hate those guys. The scrapyard guys. The scrapyard is at the top of the valley. I work in the regular waste disposal plant which is at the bottom of the valley. There's tension there between the two factions. The scrapyard dicks drive too fast past our gates getting up to their scrapyard in their cars festooned with parts they've harvested. Fucking dicks. Like Mod scooters in car form. I have to go up there sometimes and by God it's grim. Just jagged metal everywhere, it doesn't need to be like that.

Example: I made this at work, well, started it off my own back and now the guys - especially Vince - save the any cuddly-duddly toys for me and when I get a chance I hang them up there, a dump needn't be a depressing place to visit.

You go up to the scrapyard and they've got nothing like that. They've got a warehouse full of car parts. Big wow.

After I got changed I went to the window and looked down on the car. I checked on it regularly over the next hour and then I went to the cafe for my tea. I had fish and a laugh with Rui. His mum's dog ate his teeth and I'm not even joking. He'd been eating chicken wings at his mum's and had taken his teeth out so he could gnaw on the bones and his mother had given the pile of gnawed bones to the dog and also Rui's teeth. He laughed about this and so did I but if it happened to me I'd probably kill myself. I bought some wine from the Spar and when I got back with my wine I paused next to the car. There was a light on in the flat upstairs. My worst fear realised. And so I went inside and opened my wine and listened. The person upstairs, the owner of the car seemed to be using a fuck load of hot water. The cylinder seemed to be refilling constantly and it was hard to relax. Eventually I turned to TV on to cover the noise. I watched Masterchef Australia although it was a masterclass show and I don't like those shows. I like the shows when somebody gets eliminated.

I did 6x1km with 500m jogs between. After the forth I met Kenny who cycled beside me for the last two. I thought I'd been going as fast as possible for the first 4ks but the last two, trying to keep up with Kenny, were the fastest. I wore my Asics Piranhas and after the sixth I sat on the wall and let Kenny hold one. He couldn't believe how light they were.

Upstairs

"Quick!" I'd shouted to Sam the first time. "Come here, quick!" I didn't know at the time but he needn't have rushed. It was a Sunday evening and I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Sam didn't appear immediately. "Quick!" I shouted and eventually I heard him put the N64 control pad down and start heading for my voice. I was standing at my bedroom door. Sam was wary. I beckoned with my finger and he came into my room. He stood puzzled for a moment and then his face broke out in a wide smile. I nodded, grinning. The woman upstairs was getting banged. We stood there listening and nodding and grinning. "Fucking hell," I told him. Sam was concentrating though, his head cocked as he grinned. "They're going for it," I told him.

"Go on!" Shouted Sam because he's an idiot and gets carried away and I scolded him with and angry face and a shake of my head. That was out of order. The woman had complained about me once already. When Andy had tried to break in the back of the building with a ladder stolen from the next door building site. He'd climbed the ladder to my window and shouted for me to let him in for an hour like a really annoying drunken dickhead vampire from Salem's Lot.

He'd been clearly drunk and I'd not let him in because I couldn't be bothered but after an hour he hadn't given up, even though he could have walked home in the time he'd been shouting, and so I'd let him in and he slept on the couch. The woman upstairs had complained to the letting agent. She'd said she was fearful for her life and I bought her a box of chocolates from the Spar.

When Sam's voice has stopped echoing around the room I listened carefully hoping the pounding sound hadn't stopped. That would be too awkward. I'd only bumped into the woman once, out on the stairs but it could happen again and I didn't want her to know I'd heard her having sex. She was definitely having sex and thankfully she hadn't heard my friend's shout of encouragement. We listened some more. They were really going for it. You could hear the odd male muffled deep sound. She sometimes said something but the pounding was constant. We stood there grinning, listening. Ten minutes later it was still going on and we were baffled and then the pace increased and we nodded. Sam gave me a thumbs up and looked back up to the ceiling.

This gave me the opportunity to
 discretely tuck my stiffy into my waistband.

Incredibly the increased pace didn't wasn't the portent we imagined. After a few minutes of rapid pumping it settled down again and continued steadily and Sam looked puzzled. I shook my head.

"Is she nice?" He asked looking for answers.

"She's alright actually!" I told him. Her face didn't explain what we were hearing. We stood and smiled and listened. "That's amazing," I told him. We gave up before they did and returned to Turok 2 occasionally pausing the game, listening and sniggering. That had been the first time but this then happened at least once a month, always on Sunday afternoons, always lasting far too long, for as long as she was there. I never saw the guy come or go and I was pleased when the woman moved out. It took me a while to realize she'd gone but after a couple of weeks I realized I hadn't heard a single sound from upstairs. I loved the silence. I could relax, I didn't have to worry about anybody else and I began to think nobody was going to move in upstairs. Sam got a girlfriend and stopped coming around but I'm fine on my own. The building consisted of two flats, one above the other on top of an empty shop and with her gone the building was mine.

And then the car appeared.

Cheers

I went for a run, 13 miles. When I got back to the flat I watched the Grand Prix. Indian.

I'd actually recorded it because my run overlapped. I only really like the starts anyway. So I watched the start - no crashes - and then I forwarded it at speed times six. No crashes and so I made some lunch. I had a tortilla. After lunch I watched the football. 

After the football I sat there and thought about playing a computer game. I thought about this for a while. I pictured the boxes of the games I had but none were compelling enough to make me stand up and find the box and then put the disc from within in the machine. The disc probably wasn't in the right box anyway. I've got to stop doing that, putting the disc I remove from the machine into the case of the disc I'm putting in the machine. I thought about sorting all the discs out but then part of me thinks eventually they'll all end up in the correct boxes. Eventually. Like if you randomly twist a Rubik's Cube you'll eventually just do it by accident. I looked at my Rubik's Cube and thought about twisting it for a bit.

I'd took the stickers off one time and tried to do it that way, reverse egineering but I'd lost a couple of them in the process. I was cold and I was wearing my woolly hat. I don't put the heaters on before six and I don't start drinking wine until seven. They're just my quirks. It was three. I had three hours to kill and if it had been hot I'd have thought about going for another run. It's freezing though and so I put a jacket on and went systematically through every single Sky channel pausing only briefly on the religious shouty channels. They're nuts. Who the hell watches that stuff, I wondered watching that stuff. The taxi driver in London had watched that stuff. He told us, thinking he was being helpful, and then I was back on the Sky intro and it still wasn't six. It was getting dark though, the clocks, the very essence of time itself had changed in the night. I had no clocks to change manually. The clocks on the cooker and DVD player just flash 0:00 and all the others, my phone, the TV, those two, they changed by themselves. I've got a watch in a drawer but that stops working if you stop wearing it.

I went out. I had my jacket on anyway and I went to the cafe. It was as cold out as it was in. Hand cold. I'm going to buy a pair of glove. Normal gloves, I've already got running gloves but one of those - the right one - is always crusted in snot and so I wouldn't wear them out when not running. Why? Well, in case I met a princess of course! One who wanted to kiss my hand, as is their way. She'd get down on one knee and go to kiss my outstretched hand and I'd have to say, "I wouldn't if I were you," and then she'd, I don't know, hit me with her glove, slap me with it, luckily it would be so soft, apart from the furry bit around the top which would be, in her case, crusted with diamonds and emeralds. She would be holding that bit though as she slapped me with her glove because she thought I was rejecting her when really I was just saving her from kissing my snot. I don't imagine it's a health hazard, my snot, I imagine the cold air on the glove kills all germs but that's not the point. The Princess would get back in her horse-drawn pumpkin and tear off, just because I wore the wrong gloves. I'm going to buy the right gloves.

I didn't see a princess. I saw the drunks who hang-out outside the hospital though.

I didn't make eye-contact with this group. If I was a homeless drunk I'd stand outside a laundrette. They often have big vents that pump out warm, fabricky air. Perhaps the drunks get their feeling of warmth by seeing the sick people waft out of the hospital. I might be a drunk, I might be cold, I might be homeless but at least I'm not ill, perhaps they think but that theory would hold more water if they all weren't so obviously very ill indeed.The drunks didn't say anything to me and I was glad I wasn't a woman. A princess. The drunks would have said something to a princess walking past, something leery to a princess on the hunt for me and my hand. My hip felt quite sore.

I crossed the road to the cafe and smiled and nodded at the men smoking outside. Sometimes one will say something to me in Portuguese although I reckon I look more Palestinian. The airport security certainly think so. I look a bit Taliban. My favourite thing about the cafe is I don't have to say what I want. Paulo will suggest one from the list of three things I only ever have. I only ever order a breakfast or a coffee or fish.

"Coffee?" Asked Paulo and I nodded finding the money in my pocket. I don't have to tell him how I want my coffee. He knows because I'm a regular and the coffee is the best coffee. I think you can tell the quality of the coffee in a cafe by the foreignness of its patrons. I was the only English person in the cafe. As Paulo made my coffee I asked him if he was busy. 

"It's okay," replied Paulo and I nodded. Paulo looks like a young Luis Figo. 

"Okay, Rui?" I asked Rui who was working the hotplate with gusto. Rui does everything with gusto. He has a lot of energy. Rui replied with a shout more than a word and I paid for my coffee and sat down near the counter and put a sugar in my coffee and stirred it. I looked around. It was quite busy. It was okay, as Paulo had said. I looked at the TV with its Portuguese news and tried to work out what was going on in Portugal. In Portugal a man with a moustache was being filmed talking for the news. I looked at my coffee again. I could drink ten of them in ten minutes. I was determined to make it last. I watched as Paulo spoke to Rui who listened intently for a moment before going back to his cooking and I wished I could understand what they were saying and then I was looking at it. I was looking right at it. I try not to, every time I go in a try not to look at the blackboard. Half the time I can manage it. Generally, if it's not busy, I can talk to Paulo or Rui and I don't have to look at the blackboard. If it is busy I just look at my coffee and end up looking up at that fucking board.

I'd done the blackboard. I'd written out the menu on the blackboard. It had seemed so simple. I'm not making excuses but I'd been up a stepladder and it was difficult. Still, that doesn't fucking explain why the writing all slopes downward. Nothing could explain that fucking anomally. And the fact the last of the three columns was narrower and more squashed than the first two. So much so it was hard to see the prices after the item. I'd done really thin pound signs in that last column but it didn't help much. Helped less by the fact that some of the prices had changed in the months since I'd done it. Rui or more likely Paulo had changed some of the prices due possibly to inflation and they'd had a struggle changing any in the last column. They must have cursed me as they did it. I hadn't really seen how much of a disaster it had been until I'd climbed down from the ladder. Up the ladder it had looked fine. If I'd known how bad it looked from ground level I'd have started afresh for a third time but I'd been getting all the right noises from Paulo as he prepared to open for the first time. Paulo had said it looked great. When I finally got down and looked I'd told him I was going to start again but he insisted it was fine. I'd felt he just wanted me out. The the next time I'd gone in I felt sure the board would have been repainted in fresh blackboard paint and somebody else would have written the menu out nice and straight but that hadn't happened. He'd kept it. Free coffee was the deal with for doing the board but after a 5th I insisted on paying.

I finished my coffee and went next door to the Spar and bought a bottle of wine that was less than five pounds and then I walked past the drunks outside the hospital, across the park and back to the flat. As soon as I got in I put the heaters on. It was five but it was really six. Because of the clocks. Takes a couple of days for that to all work itself out.

Cafe Relógio

My breakfast arrived and there's one sausage on it. Before even thinking about complaining I lifted the bacon with my knife, It was a reflex action, just to check. There was no way a sausage could be under the bacon. Unless it was flat and that's not how a sausage is. A sausage is defined by its shape. So although it was very unlikely to be under there I still checked because what I was seeing was so wrong it was hard to process. I even looked around, I don't know why, I didn't think I'd see it just floating there. I went up to Paulo and said, not accusational or anything, lightly, matter of factly, "one sausage?" He wiped his hands on his apron and looked at the plate, clearly untouched and then he shouted at Rui.

"One sausage!" He shouted and Rui who despite being busy came over and looked at the plate  with  facefull of dawning confusion and he shook his head and looked up at Paulo. They're both the same height, pretty much, but Rui had been bending over to get a good look at my breakfast. Perhaps he's short-sighted. Paulo pointed at the plate and then said something in foreign to Rui.  rui shrugged. Paulo turned  back to me and rolled his eyes. I stood at the counter, it would be pointless sitting down as I didn't have a complete breakfast and I didn't intend to start eating it before it was whole.  Paulo was taking orders and so I moved aside and stared at the TV screen showing Portuguese news. I didn't understand any of it. A few moments later Rui brought another sausage and put it on my plate. I now had two, the correct number but Rui still eyed the plate with suspicion as I lifted it, perhaps thinking the sausage might vanish again. "Cheers, Rui," I said. I pronounce his name Roy. Paulo says it different. It was no biggie really but fucking hell, one sausage. The breakfast was awesome, as always. Too big if anything but I made sure I finished the sausages because of the scene I'd made.

That night while going through the motions of cleaning the kitchen area, the light brown tiled floor, Rui discovered a sausage that looked like it had been cooked that day. it was sideways and tight up against the bottom of the counter, in the shadows. He waved it at Paulo with a relieved expression on his face. He wasn't going mad.

Running

Today I ran around the reservoir because it was windy. Too windy to run along the front. I really went for it but my time was pretty slow. I don't know why. I'm going to blame the wind but to be honest it felt pretty sheltered up there. I mean, that's why I went there. Oh yeah, I nearly slipped over. The route is a gravel path that slopes gently downhill for a mile. I go fast down this bit 5.30min/mile. Actually the very first bit is quite steep downhill, it's hard to start off going down a steep hill, but then it levels out although it's still slightly downhill. This is a mile exactly until you get to the actual dam that holds in the water and creates the reservoir. So when you get to the damn you drop right down, down steps and a steep twisty path until you get to the big flat area in front of the dam. It was here I nearly slipped.  I was sliding a bit on the marshy grass, arms going everywhere. I must have looked like an idiot but luckily I didn't hit the deck and I don't think anybody saw me. It put me off my stride a bit though and running to the bottom car park and gate which I have to touch for the time to count I felt I wasn't going to be on for a good time. The way back is mental, it's all up and down really steep slopes, it's like that for a mile, around the far side of the reservoir, before it finally drops down and puts you back on the path that you run down. You run up this path and have to face the steep downhill bit in reverse at the end, except this time it's uphill. I fucking love running around the reservoir. I wore too much clothing. A hat, gloves, base-layer. You name it, I wore it. My Adidas Adios 2 on my feet. Because the hills are so steep I find the extra cushioning in the heels to be a good thing. The three miles took 19mins 30seconds.