TT Fortnight.

Our Kid Number 11.

And here it is again, the TT fortnight. The one fortnight out of the entire year where I am acutely aware that human beings are squishy sacks of breakable, tearable meat.

Don’t get me wrong, I love bikes, I love racing, I love the men and women that take these enormous risks to fulfil a need within them to be better, faster, braver. They do this year in year out, many of them sacrificing families, a stable income and two legs of the same length to do so. Some of them never come back.

I am incredibly proud of my little brother. He’s fast, really fast. On one of the days next week he has, with a dollop of talent and a smigeon of luck, a chance of a podium. He’ll be on the tele, he usually is, and I want him to win. I so badly want him to win, so then he can retire, have children, have a life that doesn’t cause us to dread this fortnight, a life where we can buy his birthday present before his birthday instead of, superstitiously, holding off until we know he’s safe. But more than anything I want him to win for him.


Past memory.


Just for H.

Day 26.


Just for H.

Day 22 Best Things This Year

What… within the last 12 months? Because, to be honest, it’s been pretty farking rubbish. Let’s see if I can seek out some tiny twinkly stars amongst in the mire.

There has been some lovely babies born to some of my oldest friends. They’ll make excellent fathers. They already do. Warms me cockles to see fellas who have taken a while to settle complete in the way only a family can provide.

My friends and family. We’ve had a tough year, one of us went, we stopped paying attention and he sneaked away. We are not morose (not in company anyway) despite having our hearts battered, we talk when it suits and make black and frankly distasteful comments about the entire situation. We Deal With It. Mostly. If he left any legacy (other than the young women who persistently email me with tales of what they meant to him, the cad) it’s not to sweat the small stuff because you’ll need all your energy for when the big stuff happens.

My first born is a grown up, out of his time doing a well paid job and carving out a life for himself (which appears not to include washing his own pants. I can’t have it all). We had a tough start. I continued to make it hard for us for a long time in a quest to find something that doesn’t exist. He appears whole and well. People tell me how great he is. One down, two to go.

The rise of the woman (fistbump, ladies, fistbump). I know some farking amazing women. Some I rarely see but communicate with on here often, some I’ve known since I was a tiny child, some are new. Despite being wrinkly and possibly able to house the homeless in our bellybuttons, we are coming of age. We know ourselves AND we know which presciptions work.

31 Day Challenge – day 15

31 Day Challenge – day 15.

Am running a day behind. Most unlike me. I’m usually running about a decade behind in all things. Especially fashion.

So, the daily routine. I’ll go with today. Prepared to be wowed/bored shitless. It could go either way to be honest.

6:00 – Hands off cocks, feet in socks. In an all male household (bar me, obviously. I only have balls of the mind) it is essential that the early morning warcry is something the mongrels will understand.

What actually happened today was that I snuck out and went for a run on the fells whilst they were all still sucking in the sheets.

6:45 Chased by a herd of curious bullocks on Birkrigg. Dived, ala Cat Woman, over a dry stone wall and ran like Seb ‘Tory’ Coe through a farmers field freshly planted with something short, spiky and itchy. Genetically modified thistles perhaps.

7:30 Home, wake the hoards, feed various breakfast eaters, cajole non breakfast eaters into having a drink, feed cats, do my packed lunch, their packed lunch, hang out No1’s mountain biking gear, ensure No2 has dinner money, trousers on, hair brushed, help dress No3, eat breakfast, run bath, swear at internets, get bath, get work suit on, dry and straighten hair, find matching shoes, pack all seventeen bags, get in car, drop No3 off, put make up on in car. Resist urge to sleep in lay by.

8:50 Arrive at work.

Between the hours of 9-5 anything can happen. Today nothing happened.

Did a shitload of administration. Tedious yet necessary.

5:00 Home, change clothes, head out to fatclass where I learn I have put on 2lbs. Go home. Eat cake and Chinese.

Any other day but a Wednesday I would be picking No3 up but today is ‘handover’. He’s off to Wonderdad’s for three days. I’d like to say this is a wrench and I miss him terribly. I don’t. It’s always been this way and I know Wonderdad shares my sentiment when I say it’s a fantastic way to parent. For the parents at least. No3 seems to show no ill effects from the way we do things. Time will tell.

Which brings me to now. Heating on. No2 and I on sofa communicating only through a series of grunts and clicks and only when there’s a break in our typing.

Oh and joy of joys… New Emergency Bikers is on. I’m a tiny bit in love with Big Steve.

A run, a walk and some reflection.

Today my friend walked 41 miles for charity. A charity supporting Huntington’s Disease. I didn’t walk with her, it was something she had to do alone. 

The reason she walked was because, in August last year, her husband and my best friend committed suicide, leaving us all fucked up and confused. The reasons why he chose such an abrupt end were largely lost with him. Months of forensic, obsessive detective work gave us some insight, but as is often the way, we’ll never truly know. His genetic legacy was chequered with Huntington’s Disease. Mother, both brothers, Grandmother. Whether he had it or not is and was largely irrelevant, it had run its chaos through his adult years and, regardless of diagnosis, he was never going to be free of it, not in life anyway.

So, today she walked.

I met her at the finish line. I could, if I squinted, almost see him with her.



31 day challenge – day 11

31 day challenge – day 11.

So, fifteen things I like? Might I fail at this one given the diabolical mood I’m in today? Can I come up with 15? Why are the Fire Brigade doing a mock RTC right outside my office? And is ‘I’m Sexy and I Know It’ a fitting soundtrack to them pretending to cut a young lady out from under a motorcyclist?

1: My children.

The mock RTC outside is testament to this. I have been that Mother told to meet the ambulance at the hospital doors by a stranger calling from my son’s mobile phone.

2: Running.

I discovered this when I gave up smoking three years ago. It’s like meditation but makes your legs and arse look ace. What’s not to like?

3: Cigarettes.

I’m an addict. Numbers 2 and 3 of this list are interchangable dependent on how much willpower I’ve got with me on a particular day…


Oh Christ. I only got to three and got distracted, probably by one of the three things above.


Day 7. Things That Piss Me Off.

These aren’t in any real order. I think I may have done this before. Either that or I’ve spent ALOT of time talking about things that piss me off.


1: Chips that aren’t properly cooked. I hate this. I am on a perpetual diet and when I do have a treat I expect the chips to be crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. Not the other way round. It’s your job to get it right. If I fucked up like that repeatedly I’d be sacked.

2: The fact that I am on a perpetual diet and my own sense of what is eating normally is all but lost to me. I am thin but the cost of smaller pants is high.

3: My lack of willpower. Food, fags, facebook. I just can’t quit the three Fs.

3.5: The fact that fags smell and are bad for you (me).

4: If you say you are going to do something. Do it. Don’t dick about. If you don’t intend to do it, keep the lip buttoned. If these were in order then this would be at the top.

5: Dust bunnies. Where the fuck does it all come from? (See also privet hedge, lawn, tyre prints on the living room wall – at head height).

6: My bathroom.


I could have probably picked a better week to decide these. I’m all about Our Lady of Perpetual PMT today. I ran 15k this morning fuelled only on seven Cheerios and blind, feminist fury.





31 Day Challenge – Day 6

31 Day Challenge – day 6.

See – MotoGP from Estoril. I’m supposed to be going to see Jay to go walking but in my family everything waits until the bikes are finished. I think he understands this. He even appears to agree with it. Must be a keeper.

Taste – An illicit Aero biscuit. Okay… two illicit Aero biscuits.

Hear- The sounds of home. Bikes. Tumble dryer. Small boys in the garden kicking the shit out of each other.

Feel- Guilt. Default parental state.

Smell – Fabric softener. Chilli con Soya. Fear.


31 Day Challenge – Day 4

31 Day Challenge – day 4.


Oh… I think I may have just figured out how to do this. Can I just add that Buster is being bugger all help here and she started this!

I am still a day behind but I’ll I’m nothing if not determined.

So: What am I afraid of?

The obvious opener here is ‘something’ (as in death) happening to my children. My mind swerves here, and won’t pick through the thought in any great detail, for which I am grateful. Suffice to say I know exactly how lucky I am to have three healthy, happy boys *runs through house waving rabbits feet, touching wood and kissing magpies (or summut)*

Following this, losing my marbles. Not in the scatterbrained, forgetful way that happens to most of us, but in the HUGE and terrified way that happens to an unfortunate few. I have had depression and with that came crippling, housebinding anxiety and monsterous panic attacks. A step over the line of the rational into the bonkers. There’s no real way of getting back over that line, the skunk pussies are always there, waiting on the sidelines, loitering with intent. These days I have a fucking big stick I hit them with. It’s smeared with my spare self esteem. Take that, you wankers!

Yeah, so that’s what I’m scared of. Losing my mind. Flippin my flop. Going gaga. Tripping the dancing poodle.