Good news from the physio yesterday. Everything works again. Andrew has worked his magic and this Malformed Orange Bendy Toy is full of beans. And sent off happily with a set of yellow and blue rubber bands and a fearsome set of glute exercises to keep me in trim. I'm going full-on Brazilian Butt for 2018. Next date with Andrew in three weeks, but effectively signed off now. Woof!
Gloriously sunny morning here in Sussex, so I'm out to clobber W6's 25min run. No app running today, just my watch and some tunes. The local Darby and Joan Club has put up a few posters and bunting. "Welcome Back, Stephen. Hot ass. WOOF!!" Cheers, ladies. I swagger a bit for the benefit of anyone behind me. Though sadly there are no cheers.
Right. It's LedZep time again. "Ten Years Gone" and "Sick Again" get me through my walk and the first few minutes of running. Not pacey, but I get my cadence up a bit. Time for a bit of Richard Thompson to take me up the first real hill.
The story goes (and apologies if you know this already) that RT was approached by Playboy Magazine to nominate his Top Songs of the the Last Thousand Years as part of the millennium build up. He took them at their word and produced a list that ran from Medieval England through to ABBA and Britney Spears. Better still he went on the road with the set. Today he and Michael Jerome on percussion are blazing through Orazio Vecchi's canzonetta "So ben mi ch'ha bon tempo" (roughly "I know how to have a good time"). No stick-up-the arse "classical music" posturing for Rich. It's a belter. I run up hill. I sing along. RT and me both have rubbish diction, but I have the excuse of running along. He's just a rubbish singer. But arguably the finest guitar player in the world and massively under-rated.
A Bedgebury Forest pick-up trundles past. I wave. Today I'm full of love. I trundle along. Towards two parked vans. Odd. Ah. Huskie Vans. I've heard of these. Two vans full of actual huskies who pull things around. But at the moment they're having a bit of a walk and pootle around. A bunch of them rush me. I have an "What if they're Dire Wolves and eat me?" moment. But they're lovely. I keep trotting.
"When the Levee Breaks" take me to the end of the flat and through the Green Gate #1. Sadly, unlike misswobble I'm not resplendent in a denim halter-neck top (Well, allo, gorgeous"), but we both know that a playlist that lacks "WTLB" is not an actual playlist. I trundle along. I wave at another car. I am sickening chipper today.
In 1967, record producer Reg Tracey discovered a singer called Gerry Temple. Tho since "Gerry" lacks a certain something, he was re-christened Keith de Groot (as you do). Reg's idea was to put together an album of blues covers with Keith as the main man, backed by the best session musicians who were available. Albert Lee, Jim Sullivan, Clem Cattini, Nicky Hopkins, John Baldwin. An absolute "super group" of the finest session musicians in the country. Reg realised that trying to tell these guys what to do was pointless. So they played and "Keith" sang. And sang well.For the second session a young fellow by the name of James Patrick Page was along too. Ad they all covered "Everything I do is Wrong". Another absolute belter.
Sadly the album tanked. Disappeared without trace. Gerry went back to Leeds and sold stuff on a market stall. James Patrick Page and John Baldwin found another couple of likely musicians, called themselves The New Yardbirds for a while, went off to tour Scandinavia, and came back renamed Led Zeppelin. 36 hrs of studio time (and £1,782) later, they'd produced one of the finest debut albums in history. Poor Gerry/Keith. An opportunity missed there, mate.
So if you see an album called "No Introduction Necessary", buy it.
LZ3 and "Gallows Pole". Last 5 minutes now. Everything heating up. Acoustic guitar and mandolin gives way to lead guitar and rhythm section. I'm on my last hill.
I've got "gears" now. Going up hill, small, fast steps and use my arms. Easy. C'mon baby. The lads are going for it now. Nearly there. Patter, patter, patter, BANG.
Done. 25 mins. In the bag.
Chipper as a chipper thing.
Not even a crowd of dumb-ass, lycra-clad mountain bikists standing in the middle of the trail looking stupid and getting in the way of the Universe on account of them being stupid, dumb-ass, lyrca-clad cretinous morons from Hell, can alter the fact that I'm chipper. Tho I do explain patiently to them that a crowd of parkrunners will probably arrive quite soon and they should be careful. How much of this they understand I don't know, but they slope off onto a side trail to do drugs or be totally cretinous or whatever it is that they do. Apart from being in the way. And having to move their lips when they read. On account of being total morons. Yes. Read the teeshirt. While you move your lips. You lot are STOOPID. Got that?
Ahem.
Meanwhile.
W6 take that. I IZ RUNNA. Encore une fois.
I iz runna and all iz well wiv da Wurld.
Monday. W8. 28 mins. Be scared. I'm coming for you. I'll beat you up, nick your dinner money and buy beer with it. You got that? Good.
Happy running about everyone. Enjoy the Bank Holiday and run steady xx
Ooh I'm a runner, no wait, I'M A PARK RUNNER 😁
Laura says I'm a runner :) 
W6R3 I'm A RUNNER 🏃♀️
Former runners “starting again”?
