Now Where's That Entry Form...

We got back yesterday from a really nice week in County Durham. At least I think it was County Durham. The brochure insisted it was Yorkshire, which it wasn't. It was Teesdale, to be precise.

All went well on our romantic week away, just the two of us in our isolated cottage. Shame about dog, kids, and parents. We got quite a lot of walking in and the weather was superb. That is superb as in superb and sunny, not superb and stormy, which we also love. All a bit of a surprise, considering the rain we've had in the last month or so.

L had a great time and didn't want to come home but then she always says that. She's says it's the best place she's been to but then she always says that too. She even coped with my parents who stayed for three nights. My father entertained us, with his infuriating ways.

L and I had to sleep on the lounge floor while they stayed, and we had to kind of behave ourselves, so swinging from the chandelier was out. It was a relief to move into the bedroom, when they'd gone, where we could have a few lie-ins and not worry about rattling the headboard.

Son seemed to cope. He didn't go cold turkey without broadband. In fact he was the most animated I've seen him for some time, which isn't difficult because we don't usually see much of him. His animated spells only occurred when he was wired up to his Wii and then it was only his arm that got a work out while the rest of him remained horizontal on the settee. In fact the only time he was vertical was when he was on his way upstairs to get horizontal on his bed or to eat and he'd have probably done that lieing down if we'd let him. In fairness, we did say he could chill out for the week and he did join us on our meals out.

Daughter was almost a tourist and left the house on other occasions too. Although during one of them, her and my father did a raid on a local public garden. I had visions of her bringing a tree back with her, to plant at home, but they didn't quite go that far. At least not until the next time. She also seems to be getting over her TV addiction, although I do believe she's looking forward to the Hollyoaks weekend omnibus.

My father convinced one of the local real ale pubs to stock Bass and Boddingtons which was really embarrassing. So I won't be popping back into that pub next time we're in the area or I'll end up taking the rap for poisoning the locals. Mind you, serves them right really, because we went hunting for local beers and couldn't find any.

It goes without saying that Doggo loved every minute of it, although he looked totally shattered most of the time. He does try and live life to the full, bless him, it's just a shame he can't seem to cope with it. These collies you know, they go on for ever. Well, no, not ours.

My training has taken a bit of a back seat, well not even a back seat really; it’s been skulking under the rear bumper. No runs. No swims. I took my bike but only got it out once, which was a shame. I blame the walking, it was tiring enough. Drank far too much alcohol.

I also did a lot of reading, not proper books obviously, newspapers and magazines. In reality probably more fictional than the new Harry Potter, which L completed on holiday. Then she re-read the first book. Now apparently my Dad's going to read it. All very bizarre. I feel, that I should feel, that I'm missing out but I think I'll cope.

Best thing I read on holiday was an article by Richard Herring, the comedian, who was previewing his own comedy show that's on at the Edinburgh Fringe. It's called 'Oh Fuck I'm 40' and it kind of fits in well with my blog. This is what he says about his show:-

"I discuss the perspective that being halfway through your life suddenly gives you. It’s like getting to the top of a hill. For your first 39 years you’re struggling up the steep slopes, heading for the top as fast as possible, not even looking around you, desperate to see what’s on the other side. Finally you are at the summit and get a clear view both ahead and behind. You look back and you see a lush, fecund valley full of cavorting young people who wanted to be your friends, but ahead of you is a sheer cliff dropping into a stony, icy crevasse, littered with the bodies of the dead and dying. You want to turn round and do the climb again at a leisurely pace, but you are manhandled into a toboggan and sent whizzing down the slope. You might get thrown off at any point and die or get to the bottom and die. All that is certain is you are going to die, soon, along with all the other idiots who rushed to get over the hill only to find that the hill was what it was all about."

So he goes on to say that it is perhaps inevitable that, faced with this sudden realisation that we are over the hill, many of us make one last grasp at the green grass of youth: buying a sports car, having an affair with their secretary, desperately trying to get fit in the gym, errr perhaps even doing triathlons... oh dear... now where's that entry form...