Dive Aid Blog

I'm trying to enjoy a restless snooze. I dreamt that Daryl and I were just arriving in Landsend (which Daryl thinks is in Essex, the halfwit). He had a broad grin on his face and as my eyes take in the rest of his corpulent body I realise he's been wearing a pink tutu for the last 9 days on the road.

"Aaargh!" I wake up with a start, realising I've just missed Home and Away. It's my favourite soap opera.

Speaking of soap I realise I smell and I'm absolutely knackered. That training run was a toughie and I've got to make sure my legs are up to this evening's salsa class. I have a bootie like J-Lo's and 8pm is when I'm going to shake it.

We were worried about the wind today. It was blowing hard from the west. Not exactly gale force but certainly gusting up to about 35mph. I started the run heading straight into it and then from the time we hit Tring it was either blowing at our backs or across us. Having led most of the way, carving a path heroically through the wind for 33 miles, (2 miles to go) I was glad when Daryl cycled ahead of me selflessly to "give me a break". Well done him. Only 23 miles too late! It turned out he'd swallowed a fly and was experiencing a protein buzz.

"Just tell me if it's left or right," he shouted back. Left was straight into someone's garden wall so right (and the road) would have to do. We made it to the main Leighton Buzzard to Hemel Hempstead road by which time the "Deezer" would know where he was going as he has to travel down it to get to my place.

"You know which way we're going now don't you?" I asked.

"Yeah, it's left here, isn't it."

"It's right Daryl."

"Oh. Right. Er, yeah."

And so it was that the day's training run - the longest so far at 1 hour 45 minutes - ended; with me gazing from behind at my mate's very hairy legs and shorts that were stuck right up his sweaty bum crack.

We'd had an epiphany of sorts on the road though. We, well I, only knew which way to go because I live in the area and cycle these routes regularly. I want to keep off A and B roads to avoid cars tearing past us (most offputting) so how on earth are we going to manage that in the wastelands of Scotland. They eat Englishmen up there. Something to do with Braveheart I think.

Time to get ready for Salsa. Now where's that gold larmee outfit with the taffeta cuffs. Sure I left it around here somewhere.