Author: ivan

It’s building, my friends.  Building.   And it looks good.  Or it will at least entertain me.  But still stubbornly unwritten. I’m sure if we all shout loud enough we can persuade the wee timorous beastie to come out.

With the tedious predictability of tediously predictable things, I turned the ankle again (twice, actually, but only the second time hurt) while doing some mild orienteering in the Brecon Beacons. So a fortnight after the original injury I my left ankle is still swollen and giving occasional pangs of pain. I’ve put a neoprene support… Continue reading Injured step

If there is anyone who has read this blog for a while, they will know that one of my favourite running maxims is ‘pride comes before a fall’. I’ve been on a real high since Abingdon. My workplace has been sapping the joy out of my life for months, and the past few weeks in… Continue reading Running like a cock

There will no doubt be a lot of these. But I’ll chip in my twopenneth. Great, great day. Up at six and trying not to order Listy about too much (NO PHILADELPHIA IN MY POST RACE SNACK, THANKYOU!). Faffing like a good ‘un. Fortunately have already decided what kit to wear and left it out… Continue reading Abingdon marathon report

Work.  Frustration.  Work.  Frustration.  Work.  Frustration.  Work.  Frustration.  Work.  Frustration.  Typing.  Not copying.  Not pasting.  Sick of it. And I’m really too old for this feeling sorry for myself lark.  Larks.  Singing.  Spring.  Or Autumn as it happens. SIgh.  Anyway.  No writing.  No excuses.  I’ve been given time and space to do it.  And I… Continue reading Unproductive

Having spent an hour or so on Saturday lying in the park, staring at clouds and refining plot details with Fliss, I am most disappointed to report that Tom has been left hanging on the telephone. Literally. Metaphorically. Categorically. And probably stoically. Chapter 5 is in my head, but unfortunately a highly emotional and almost… Continue reading Meisterwork interrrupted by coldus vulgaris

Aha.  My nemesis.  I have returned.  The God of Onions is laid bare in all his phallacies.  Or something.  My wife has just returned from a night out to accuse me of being drunk in charge of a word processor.  As if!  As if the word processor does not have a mind, and even a… Continue reading The God of Onions

And so, the merry dance begins again.  1,100 words today.  Mostly old, but some new.  But at least I like most of them. In other news, I dreamt last night that I could remember the plot of No Country for Old Men, but instead I was dreaming some kind of survivalist horror with the Bardem… Continue reading A start is still a start, no matter how many pigeons are involved

Two very contrasting experiences this morning.  Two or three doors down there must have had an argument, because there were a series of messages written in coloured chalks on the pavement leading around the corner to the high street.  Part apology, part skit, part relationship warrant, it ended with a plea to meet in the… Continue reading Piedgnancy

As a result of comments made on Laurence’s blog, it is incumbent on me to share a first draft of some description. This makes me really uncomfortable. But anyway. My prompt (from Fliss) was the word ‘shoes’. — My name is Jed Nunson. I am a shoe salesman. I am a good shoe salesman. I… Continue reading Jed