Archive for the ‘running streak’ Category
Yeah, a picture of a giant batch of cassoulet is precisely the way the Holiday Run Streak (Saturday before Thanksgiving till Saturday after New Year) should be represented…that or a mountain of empty bottles. I started working on the stew New Year Day to keep busy and take my mind off the hangover, then struck on the idea that I should have a few glasses of the wine I was cooking with, and a glass of port, then a bottle of prosecco, then a chianti with the casoullet.
Then a half bottle of Vin Santo with an enormous quantity of biscotti.
Then, I went for the daily run…a little over 3 miles of heavy haulage:
Friday I had to go to Oxford to get the lab started back up for the kids’ return from the holidays. There is a point at which there is nothing to do but wait for the pumps to catch up for about an hour so I used that time to stretch out and go get some fresh air (a crisp but sunny noontime met me):
Finally, the Saturday after New Year Day rolled around and I could put the Holiday Run Streak (43 consecutive days of at least 3 miles per day) to rest. That is, after one final trot, this time starting in Trowbridge. It was raining and cold at the 9:30 start but due to warm up (and rain even harder). Fortunately, there were breaks planned and sites to take one’s mind off things.
The course stuck to roadways at first because the permissive footpaths appeared to be flooded and the fields through which they passed were like soup. My shoes remained relatively dry until Westwood where a water main break at the top of the hill added two inches depth to the flood. Soon after the water spout, the road headed down a cliff to the Crossed Guns between the River Avon and the Kennet and Avon Canal.
Assuming the K&A Canal tow path to be passable, I took to it after my beer (the Crossed Guns opened at 10). Unfortunately, it was a slick, muddy mess right up to Bradford-on-Avon and my wet feet were then also coated in clay.
At stop 2, the Dandy Lion, I briefly considered leaving the shoes outside but saw that the floors were bare and decided to go on in as I was. While there, the clouds lightened and I could make out the shape of the sun so I finished up the stout and headed out only to watch as the skies blackened the first half mile before the rain restarted falling at 45° from vertical. Soon enough, though, I was back in Trowbridge at the Stallards where I found a coal fire awaiting. Warming by the hearth with a cider, I decided it was time to stop this nonsense and changed into my dry kit I had hauled around the previous nine miles.
Sunday, I rest from the Run Streak but with plans to start a ‘normal’ running schedule Monday.
Twenty-nine years on,
Happy anniversary
At least one more time.
Name: Aubert et Fils Brut
Type: champagne
Venue: house
Review/notes: The Wedding Anniversary pub crawl was epic and started at 2 pm. We hit the the Wheatsheaf (normally closed in the afternoon) for a cider then the Steam Railway for a cider and a bitter then the Goddard Arms for I don’t remember what and the Kings and the Old Bank, with a double-back by the Pig on the Hill and the Royal Oak (quite bleak) before we dropped to Byron’s because the Regent was closed as we passed (and we stumbled right by the Hop Inn). Then, the Beehive interrupted the path to the Castle and the Crown before we wasted the evening (again) at the Donkey (after a great meal and a bottle of wine at the Thai Orchid). Close to midnight, we wandered home and hit the champagne just in time to watch Jules Holland count down (but we were listening to Joe Cocker on vinyl, as you do).
I’m glad they refurbished and reopened the place, really. But, we were the only people there at 6 pm and the only staff member decided to leave the place silent as the crypt for 10 minute stretches only to punctuate it with a single (and I should add, very well chosen) song before the next long silence. Baffling, but goes some way toward explaining the empty pub.
The ‘run’ was interrupted a dozen (plus) times as we tried (semi-successfully) to hit every open bar in Old Town and Eastcott this afternoon. We went back to the house once and had to double back for the Donkey after some dinner. Here is the cumulative route:
Happy New Year, Mofo’s!
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I asked for shiraz.
“That’s MISTER Shiraz to you,”
Responds my bottle.
Name: Mister Shiraz
Type: red wine
Venue: house
Review/notes: This wine would have suited a juicy steak or a greasy rack of BBQ ribs but it was already open when we went for a prawn salad. I, at least, doused mine with some hot sauce.
Run today found me killing an hour waiting for the carpet to dry, so the loop included a stop at the Steam Railway on the way home. This also gave me a few minutes for the sweat to dry before the final few hundred meters on my way to finish the holiday house cleaning.
[DT =Daily Tipple, explained in DT #000 here]
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The weather is right
And it wouldn’t be Christmas
Without some Egg Nog.
Name: Egg Nog
Type: booze
Recipe: The old family recipe, always delicious
Venue: house
Review/notes: I have this at least once every winter as a nostalgic way to prove I’m both fearless and foolhardy. On the other hand, this is one of the finest concoctions known to man. Twenty minutes in the freezer makes it a fine dessert (although I use it as a protein shake for breakfast). Divine.
Not so divine was the run today…sore and cold and the pavements were icy and free from traction. Was quite glad after 3.3 miles to return home to some household chores and the rest of the nog.
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Trying unsuccessfully to find the Horse and Groom, I gave up and entered the Lounge Bar of the Crown. As I walked toward the loo, a huge dog started barking at me so once I finished I took to the Public Bar to get a 6X but there was nowhere to sit so I headed back into the Lounge where the dog recommenced his barking.
“I think it’s the hat, mate,” one of the guys at a nearby table offered. I removed it, saying, “or maybe the sheep shit on my shoes has him excited;” however, as soon as I laid the cap on the table the beast rolled over and went back to sleep. That’s right, etiquette lessons from a Great Dane.
It was another fine bar and one to linger at, but the trains were spaced by about two hours and I was really ready to head home at this point. As I left, the first raindrops fell on what had, up until then, been a stunningly beautiful — if cold — day for a wee jog:
With the bad taste of the Bell still lingering, I decided to make the stretch to the Prince of Wales a bit more of a real workout by doing a minute flat-out then a minute of recovery jog until I got there. Had I left the Bell two minutes earlier I wouldn’t have been caught behind a cattle drive at mile 5, but I was eventually able to veer off without too much of a detour.
This diligence was rewarded with a friendly barmaid, some bemused old guys to talk to, and a peek at the awesome skittles alley off to the right of the bar. We had a general discussion on travel with one sour old dude saying “I never been to the States,” and me answering, honestly, “I wouldn’t waste the money nor the time if I were you.” We then agreed on Italy with the general bar consensus being Sicily.
“What are you doing, then…orienteering?” the foul tempered one spat as he pointed to my map I used as a coaster. “I guess. I’m running pub-to-pub, so, sure, why not?” As I was leaving he cheerily called out, “enjoy your orienteering,” but on retrospect it was slathered with sarcasm.
Slightly more than a mile on from the Full Moon came the Bell, a highway-side inn that appears to cater to upper-middle class pensioners in tweed jackets with ties. I think “cool-ly polite” best sums up the reception I received.
The house could easily seat 200 for dining which made the two I spotted seem stranded. An old couple dressed for church or a meeting with their solicitor came in as I drank and passed me carefully on their way to their regular table.
Just before I left a third — much younger — couple came in and was greeted with a silent tilt of the head and raised eyebrow, the implied, “yes? Is there something you wanted?” remaining unspoken. “Is there a table free for lunch?” the woman tentatively asked. “Yes, just take any not marked ‘RESERVED,’ and we’ll be over shortly.” I drank up and left without notice from the staff.
Just over 3 miles into the day’s run the Full Moon appeared off to the right. It looked closed but I stopped anyway to check out the free book stall (I’ve seen a lot of phone boxes converted this way, and it is always a welcome sight). A couple emerged from the door and I decided to give the bar a try.
It was a very small bar, indeed, as the Inn seems more dedicated to food. I suspect the proprietor, Fernando, is a better chef than bartender or cellarman. The Guinness I had was lifeless and far too cold and not even worth the discount price (and certainly not worth the wait for service).
With many planned stops, today, I couldn’t linger anyway. It is a fine old house, though, and the sunny windows were tempting to sit in for at least a second go at the poorly poured stout.
There’s no newspaper,
The grocer’s on war rations.
Happy Boxing Day.
Name: Léon Perdigal Côtes du Rhône
Type: red wine
Venue: house
Review/notes: Surprised we weren’t hung over today, I had a rum and coffee then settled into baking biscotti as soon as I returned from the minimal run for the day.
We’re almost out of wine but I added a liter of port to the stocks. Looking forward to drying out a bit in January, but for now the party rages on.
[DT =Daily Tipple, explained in DT #000 here]
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Okay, it’s the evening and I’m piecing this together from photos. So, this morning I had a lie in (usually up at 4 to 4:30, today it was 8:45), then we had a leisurely coffee until Jackie suggested, “I feel a bit weak from last night…fancy a port?” “No, how about a rum?”
And with that the kettle was on and two shots each were in the mugs with some brown sugar and butter and soon we were medicating. Happy Christmas.
I started the duck the day before which involved scalding the bird 5 times in a boiling water and malt vinegar bath, internally coating with five spices, then cooling and drying overnight before coating with a maltose, soy, and rice vinegar and baking slowly for fucking ever.
Along the way, I fitted in a run around the buurt and broke a real sweat and somehow got the sugar equilibrium back under me before drawing a hot bath and putting on some Christmas radio. It was a sunny, if cool, day so the bath was going to be relaxing looking out on the world…even more relaxing since Jac noticed her glass of sloe gin left just a shot of our precious fluid for me to carry in with me. A delight.
She wasn’t expecting the dinner to take so long (I already had the cornbread for the southern style dressing done and was awaiting the crust for the sweet potato pie while the tub filled). So, I had her set out a bit of runny brie and open a grand bottle of old St Emilion to breathe. It was lovely but I needed to come up with something for the dinner.
The Lussac St Emilion was perfect and the dinner was Christmasy enough (Jewish Christmas, like the link in the previous post but Christmas nonetheless) considering the punk classics we were playing instead of carols (we had enough of that up to that point). We finished up with some pie and the last of the port (farewell, old friend).
Somehow, we had the sense to realise that the booze was rapidly depleting and opted for a bottle of fizz — a prosecco we’ve been sitting on for weeks — which should have been plenty but as it was only 5:30 pm we had to soldier on: Christmas is not for the weak hearted or the soft-livered.
And, so here I am…Merry Christmas…both of us having fun…here’s to tomorrow and the hangover to come. And. another run tomorrow. And an off license trip ’cause we are out of beverage. Almost.
Linus says, “Charlie
“Brown, I know the true meaning
“Of Christmas. Lights, please.”
Name: De Vallois
Type: champagne
Menu: a Thai prawn green curry tonight
Venue: house
Review/notes: I’m barely older than the Charlie Brown Christmas, but it has been there as long as I can remember and we always put it on Christmas Eve if we have a telly. We’ve also had champagne every Christmas Eve, even when we couldn’t really afford it (this one was a Christmas gift from my boss).
For dinner, we had planned a Thai green curry with prawns but I needed a bunch of shit to go in it (lemon grass, kaffir lime leaves, some green curry paste) so I did the holiday run streak effort as an arc to the Waitrose in Wichelstowe. It takes a poncy store when you have a bunch of non-standard ingredients to gather.
Charlie Brown, what a block head. Charlie don’t surf, but we think he should.
[DT =Daily Tipple, explained in DT #000 here]
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No more work is done
But Mad Dogs and Englishmen
Go out in the sun.
…… an edit of Noel Coward in memory of Joe Cocker …..
Name: Fair Exchange Cab Sav – Shiraz
Type: red wine
Recipe: Lasagne-esque chillies rellenos
Venue: house
Review/notes: This is the last bottle of the backpack full of Fair Exchange CS-S I bought as back-up wine at Thanksgiving and it has been a pleasant surprise, pairing well with just about anything we threw at it.
It was also the last day the Chemistry Research Lab would be staffed until New Year and by the time I returned from my lunch run to the Six Bells I found the lab was more-or-less abandoned. I’ll be in at least once during the closure this year, always the most pleasant time since things are largely quiet.
[DT =Daily Tipple, explained in DT #000 here]
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Oh, Mister Postman
Look and see. Is there porter
In your bag for me?
Name: Hobsons Postman’s Knock
Type: porter
Venue: house
Review/notes: No one sends Christmas cards from the States. We got five in 2009, three in each of 2010-2012, and one last year (which arrived in mid-January this year). We get a few from folks in England, Holland, and Germany and I got a ‘cancer-is-all-clear/no-more-surgery’ letter from the NHS which counts for a lot; but, a stamp and a note from far away would be nice, too. Bah, no one writes anymore.
CORRECTION: One card this year (in the postbox on Jackie’s arrival home, of course) from our Debra…you can always count on Debra:
There’s hardly anyone in the lab now but we are still about ½ staffed when you pass the group office. There were a couple of minor issues to sort this morning but I feel like I had time to work on my camera repair (and could kick myself for not bringing it with me). The weather was mild but windy and I was a bit tired after the 27 mile weekend (more Friday-Sunday than I had been doing in a week since mid-October). Today, it was a minimalist run down the Mesopotamia Walk and through the University Parks, for me:
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Life is far too short
To drink poor quality wine
(Too regularly).
Name: Cline Zinfandel
Type: red wine
Recipe: Beef Wellington: Sauté some chopped mushrooms, onions, and garlic slowly in butter till very soft adding a little Worcestershire sauce to bubble down the last couple of minutes. Meanwhile, thoroughly brown all sides of a salted and black peppered beef roast (a cut that doesn’t need a lot of cooking to be tender). Spread the sauce on a puff pastry then wrap this around the roast, seal the whole thing with beaten egg and bake at 200°C for ½ hour then letting rest for ½ hour more. Serve with duck fat roasted potatoes and something fresh and green.
Venue: house
Review/notes: The wine was absolutely awesome. I have its tasting notes, none of which seem to describe any aspect of this sublime beverage. It really deserves to be drunk on its own or with spare nibbles, perhaps while listening to some baroque music wafting in on the summer breeze from a concert in a park. It was among today’s purchase of 6 bottles from Majestic (a wine warehouse chain here in Britain) along with the annual Vin Santo from Franco and Anna.
I had hoped to get the Vin Santo from the new Italian deli which is much closer to the house and far from the temptation of the discount wine store, but as I ran past it dawned on me that it is Sunday and the Gorse Hill trip was my only option. Lugging a backpack stuffed with seven bottles up the Drove Road hill was slow going (for that matter, so was the flat bit along County Ground), but I finished with a full 4 miles (and change):
[DT =Daily Tipple, explained in DT #000 here]
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There have been days when meeting the 3 mile minimum for the Holiday Run Streak have been daunting (hangovers, bone idleness, actual injuries). Today was a joy, though.
I caught the 9 o’clock to Devizes and headed south into the slimy mud, down one steep ridge and up another and emerging, eventually, in Market Lavington. The timing was actually rubbish, though, as the only pub open before noon is the Green Dragon (no complaints, mind; it was a self-inflicted wound I would have avoided by taking the 10 o’clock bus instead).
9.4 miles out, with a beer break in Market Lavington
5.8 miles back after beer break in Great Cheverell
I thought I could kill a little time by inspecting the pubs on offer for another day and the Churchill in Littleton Panell looked worthy. The Owl in Little Cheverell was turned into a private residence a year or so ago to the dismay of the old fellow I spoke with there and the Bridge downhill from the Churchill got a recommendation from a kind gentleman I met at the Bell in Great Cheverell which I wandered up to just as it opened.
To be honest, the 9.4 miles run up to then had been like forced labour but the longer than planned (and greater fluid volume than planned) stop at the Bell recharged me. Although I thought I had restarted the GPS I arrived back in Devizes with no additional miles. This was easy enough to manually map (5.8 miles) and the voice recorder — which I failed to turn off, as well, upon leaving — showed this last leg to be 40 minutes long. There was a bit of sunshine and mostly good surfaces to run and I made the most of the opportunity…plus, I was afraid the chippy in Devizes would close at 2 and I really hankered for a bit of cod.
Good run, pleasant company, fine ales, and a treat at the end. Not a bad way to start the longest night of the year.
Friday pre-Christmas:
The best early escape day.
Back at it Monday.
Name: Hooky Mild
Type: mild
Venue: Greyhound, Besselsleigh
Review/notes: With work all day last Sunday in my pocket, I took off at lunchtime for a run to get some fish and chips then head on home to Swindon. The route was cold but I was soon drenched in sweat from the muddy hill climb and by the time I rolled into the Greyhound I just wanted my beverage and then to duck outdoors to strip down and put on my dry kit. With steam pouring off me in the sunny garden I should have been the most appreciative taster on the planet but, unusually for Hook Norton and milds in general, this was thin and reedy. Better runs planned for tomorrow, but this is today.
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Quite windy today.
Gusts to fifty miles per hour.
Must be my diet.
Name: I Crinali Primitivo
Type: red wine
Venue: house
Review/notes: Another excellent wine to go with some curry for dinner. I had an unfortunate lunch (see here or assess from the haiku), so this was a treat to make up for it.
The run was short because I WAS going to have lunch at the Honey Pot which turned out to be closed for a refurb and is getting renamed the Explorer with a note that it is going to specialise in cocktails…just what this town fucking needs, another overpriced yuppie bar. That blows too.
Oh, right, it was legitimately windy today, too, so sticking to the canal path would have been a more prudent choice.
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Pina coladas
And getting caught in the rain:
That’s England for you.
Name: Pina colada
Type: booze
Recipe: For two: Put 8 shots of rum, 6 shots of pineapple juice, 3 shots cream of coconut, and just enough ice to make it fill two glasses then blend like a motherfucker…you want it to be lump free.
Venue: house
Review/notes: By now, you have that insipid song stuck in your head (please accept my apology; really, I meant no harm). I was running this afternoon in wintry precipitation and thinking about the big bottle of rum and what I should have but instead of Hot Buttered Rum (which makes more sense) I thought, hey, something tropical when I get home would be pleasant…pina coladas and some Peter Tosh. It should have been white rum and the coconut milk just wasn’t creamy enough but it is what it is.
The skies opened about 10 minutes into this one…of course.
[DT =Daily Tipple, explained in DT #000 here]
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Having polished off the heavy fish and chip meal, I restarted my third run of the night to loop back to Didcot Station (the first was the pre-emptive attempt to attend the lab Christmas Party). It was raining fairly hard and I was carrying a 20 kg backpack full of other wet gear and was suddenly overcome with thirst. The Wallingford appeared over the top of my fogged glasses and I ventured in.
Friendly enough inside (there were actually some people around the corner from where I took the bar picture), I was happy to sit in something like a roadhouse and drink a strong cider to straightforward rock ‘n’ roll blaring from the tannoy. I think last call was at 10:30 because the barkeep rang a bell and the music shifted to Taylor Swift — alright, alright…I’m drinking up already, you don’t have to be cruel about it.
Neither the fragrance
Nor the face of L’Oreal,
Because I’m worth it.
Name: New World IPA
Type: IPA
Venue: Red Lion, Islip
Review/notes: I ran to our lab Christmas Party from Oxford via Water Eaton because I haven’t done the Confessor’s Walk in months and if the trail wasn’t maintained it would be impossible to find an alternate path in the dark. I knew I would hit some cow shit infused mud just before the boss’ house but there was a river to ford there as well so I should have been rinsed of odours and mud enough to change into some dry clothing I carried in my backpack. What could go wrong?
She had a film crew there from L’Oreal doing a promotional video because she’s won an award from their foundation promoting women in mathematics, engineering, and the sciences…they’ve been around for a week and should finish in a few days. The River Cherwell was deeper than I expected and soaked to my waist in its chilly waters and with shirts soaked from my sweat I couldn’t very well come into the house to change so I proceeded to get naked out by the driveway and was soon as presentable as I get. But, what to do with the wet clothes?
I peeked in the front door and asked the nearest people I could find for a plastic bag as I knew the supplies had been brought up in several bin liners. After three different people just giggled at this request, I caught the boss’ attention and she insisted I come in but I thought, as host, surely she would have something. “Do you think anyone here would have a plastic bag or bin liner I could use?” I asked and explained as much as I could in the general din that I had a bunch of wet clothing outside. “I wouldn’t think so,” she dismissed and went on to another conversation.
Fine. Just grand. So, I rearranged the backpack in a vain attempt to try to keep a bunch of papers dry and started to pack the wet running shoes, sweats, socks, shirts, sweatshirt, and hat into the bag which, as I expected, started to flow with fetid water. Unwilling to abandon the pack outside and unwilling to bring this foul, manure-and-Cherwell scented teabag inside I jogged up to the Red Lion to see if I could get a bin liner from them, stepping into a shin-deep mud puddle along the way.
Fuck it. I hate Christmas Parties anyway, and there was a train connection in less than an hour. Beer fixes everything.
[DT =Daily Tipple, explained in DT #000 here]
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The Endless British Pub Crawl 