A Summer of Content (and an Autumn of Discontent).

As it turns out, the hills around Tunbridge Wells are a right pain when you first get on a bike, but turn out to be rather good for training. The crest of Ditchling Beacon was met with an astonished ‘Is that it?’. Didn’t mean for it to slip out, guess I was just expecting it to be a bit longer \ steeper. I felt a right prat, as I’m sure I would have thought ‘what a plum’ if I’d heard it coming from someone else. Ho hum. A few months later, again with Damian and David, found myself on the Oxford to Cambridge bike ride. An early a start meant that we spent the first couple of hours in freezing fog. Once defrosted, the subsequent six hours were actually very pleasant indeed and the 90-odd miles past without too much bother. Will be doing that one again. Then, there I was, playing Fat Dad’s football on a Wednesday evening with other like-minded (and like-aged) individuals. Feeling rather good about my fitness after a summer of cycling and 3 rugby matches under my belt. He intercepts the ball in his own half, looks up and does a Jan Molby (remember him? short, square ball to the nearest team mate – why take any chances?) and runs into space looking for the return. Ghosts past the defence, back to goal now, shouting for the ball which is duly played to his feet. This is it, the opportunity he’s been waiting for, no defender within 5 yards, just need to control the ball, turn and coolly side-foot with unnerving accuracy past the stranded goalie. What happens instead is a rather nasty self-inflicted ankle injury, resulting in numerous trips to the physio and 3 months of doing nothing. Bugger.