In a Stable on Christmas day

In A Stable

Years ago, we used always to go away at Christmas. We had to take a break in this tradition for a number of years when we were caring for my husband Steve’s elderly mother and did so up until her death last December. Now we have restarted our preferred Christmas holiday. There are good reasons for doing this; one being that our small family antiques import/export business dies the proverbial death during December, and does not recover usually until mid January. The other reason is that we find the, spend, spend, spend and drink yourself silly at office party’s and eating fit to bust, quite distasteful.

My husband Steve, was brought up in a Catholic family, my dad played the cornet in the Salvation Army band, and my mum sang in the choir of St Peters in Brighton as a youngster, which meant that both of us were taught, and therefore do know the meaning of Christmas. And having that inbred, prefer to be away from the sort of Christmas so many people now prefer to celebrate, that seems to us to be almost pagan.

So for many years we enjoyed spending Christmas in Switzerland and although we are not a heavy duty religious pair, we prefer to enjoy a traditional celebration that does not include baubles and sparkly Santa figures climbing over balcony’s, and the strange growing habit in the UK of smothering the front of your house with gaudy lights. When I mention this, people say to me, “Well, Christmas is for the children isn’t it”. Well, no actually, in my view, it is not. Or rather it was not once upon a time. For me, and I hope still, for many others it is about the birth of Christ.

December for us is also a month of remembrance since so may of our elder family members have died around Christmas time. This is why we try to get away to a hotel or better still a small apartment where we can spend a less commercial time quietly together mixed in with some sport; swimming and walking in the picturesque mountains. Christmas in Switzerland is far more tasteful and does include the Christmas Story.

Walking in the mountains helps restore our spirits and even though we are thinking of lost loved ones we are also seeing the beauty of nature and following healthy pursuits rather than stuffing ourselves to bursting, and drinking ourselves under the table to the point where each morning comes with a hang-over rather than holiday joy.

Our plan for Christmas day this year, was to have a good swim as usual and as we do most mornings at home, we are a sporty pair. Then we took a light breakfast before setting off for a reasonably arduous hour and a half long walk up a mountain path through a wooded valley. The path eventually leads to a point 1896 metres high, where it links to a tiny railway station, a little halt on the Rhätische Bahn, where what was once the original station waiting room that has been moved to adjoin the old stables. The waiting room and the stables of long ago, stand sandwiched together. Here we had our Christmas dinner, in a tiny shed refurbished with pine panels, simple and plain as could be.

I could say that we ate bread and cheese for this meal but that would be making us sound much more pious than we actually are. Putting it in a more truthful way we wanted to make our day as far from the gluttonous feast that the main meal of December 25^th has become in these modern times, when people gathered with their families, eat so much that they cannot move for hours. We did not want to stuff ourselves with three times the food we would normally eat at a lunch or dinner. In fact at home we do only eat lunch OR dinner. Boil it all down to the fact that we are not going along with the bigger and bigger portions competition of the times. 

Our meal was in fact one of the national dishes of Switzerland and Austria, cheese fondue, the down to earth farmhouse invention where everybody digs in with a piece crusty bread stabbed on to a long fork, you then make a figure eight shape to coat the bread with the cheese mixture and by doing also keeping the hot cheese stirred. Apart from the pan of liquid cheese, it is sometimes served with little gingham lined sack of small plain boiled potatoes as an alternative to the plain bread.

By the end of our meal we were very happy that we had made that choice and full enough to be looking forward to an equally energetic walk back. The return hike was more challenging since it was by that time dark and once we had moved away from the building we had eaten in, it was totally dark. When we were in the planning stage of our Christmas outing, the moon was full, that was I think on Christmas eve so we had thought that our way would be lunar lit, a bright arch light overhead, since it was a maximum of one day past the full moon phase.

Ah! We had not taken in to our calculations that we were in a narrow valley with enormous mountains almost surrounding us. We were only saved by our foresight in that we had brought torches with us for the parts where the path led us through thick forest. So we set off jauntily with just the torchlight to try to prevent accidents, caused by tripping on a rock, of which there are many, or going off the path and getting lost. Nobody else knew where we were.

The other things that you do not think of in the light of day is that in the mountains there are a number of dangers present; Slipping in the river, stepping off a ledge, tripping and hitting your head on a rock or a tree or of course the darkness starts to seep into your imagination…. Getting attacked by a bear! All these things were possible in the darkness.

We picked the pace up a little and my husband grasped my hand so that at least if one of the above did occur we would meet that fate together.

As it happened; we did take a wrong turn along the way and did not realise this for some time because in the pitch black, the path is just a metre or so in front of you, and you cannot see the view all around for orientation as you had in daylight. We knew we had gone wrong when some way lower down the valley, we found ourselves on the wrong side of the narrow gauge railway line. Since it was an open stretch of central line between stations or crossings, it was well banked up, with almost a ditch of rocks, and then a rise up to the actual rails and the same repeated the other side before a fairly steep embankment, where with the torches both shining we could actually just see a woodland fingerpost. We were in a clearing and in the completely clear night sky, stars were now peaking out. Sirius had just climbed over the mountain tops to the right of us, was bright enough to be giving a little light and actually flashing his ‘Dog Star’ blue and white sparkling shards.

Steve stood for a few moments before stating that we would have to cross the line. There was no choice apart from trekking back to where we had obviously taken the wrong direction. My husband is not a man who turns back!

That made my little heart jump and miss a beat, but I did say that I thought we should not climb across the line and were they not electrified and anyway you’re not allowed to go across the line willy-nilly, except at the allocated crossings? He laughed loudly and said “Of course we’re ‘NOT  ALLOWED’, to cross the line, but unless you want to walk back a couple of miles when we are both tired enough already, we have no option”. He then pointed up to the overhead electric power lines as if that made it all instantly clear.

I held my position of opposition to the line crossing idea for a moment or two longer before caving. He was right about one thing; I didn’t fancy an uphill walk back to where ever we went wrong. If it was a couple of miles, then it was of course a four mile round trip. This logic was competing against that of clambering a mere fifty metres across the track.

Before I could raise any further objection, Steve was hoiking me up the bank ahead of him then he climbed up to the centre of the track and down the other side turning again to help me down the rocky slope into the indentation on the other side. From that point we had a steep-ish climb over rough terrain up to the point where the foot and mountain bike path signage was. By the time we got there I was quite out of breath. We stood in our tracks for a few minutes until our pulses got back to normal.

I did have to concede that this was the path we should have been on and that it was nobody’s fault that we had strayed, bearing in might the lack of the moonlight we had expected. The only sign of the moon rising was that on the other side of us the top of the mountain was illuminated by this time; the moon rise being a lot later than we had thought, due to being in this steep valley of huge rock walls.

We both admitted that we had the odd aches and pains as we strode with a renewed determined vigour; we just wanted to get our adventure over with and if we had to suffer a bit on the last couple of miles, so be it.

We were chatting cheerily by the last stage of our trek, encouraged by coming level with the lights of the town across the valley, where we started our outing, getting brighter and brighter all the time. We talked about our choice of how to spend this special day and the choice most of the people we knew had made. We came to the conclusion that we were most likely seriously outnumbered but who was to say which group was right and which was wrong. We are all entitled to our opinions and only not allowing people to think as they pleased was wrong if anything was.

For our part, I was recalling a passage from book I had once read that claimed that Jesuit priests’ would say “Show me the child at seven and I will show you the man”. Well. At seven, my parents were sending me to morning children’s service at the Emmanuel chapel at 9am on Sunday mornings, the main church service at St Georges Church at 11am and after lunch to Sunday school at 3pm. Our neighbour’s children were out playing in the street, looking scruffy but happy, whilst I stood in my clean and pressed, cream, old fashioned Sunday coat and hat and old but shiny shoes. Is one wrong and one right or shall we just say, “I blame the parents”.

 

Portrait of My Soul

During our almost forty years together we have moved quite a few times. We have had all kinds of neighbours some good, some bad and at one of our homes a neighbour from hell who would take a swing at Steve any time they passed. So it is such a joy to have all the lovely neighbours we have in our home in Toddington Lane, Littlehampton. Helen across the road who apart from giving me friendship, keeps my wildish hair under control, and her lovely family who I have seen grow up. Jan and Christine live right next door, both play saxophone in bands and I find their devotion to practice comforting that I am not the only freak with a serious obsessive hobby. They also play ping pong in the garden and I hear their happiness over the fence. Christine is also a stunning artist a painted a portrait of me in 2002. Christine's image of me hangs by my desk and watches me work, sleep and sees how I feel and everything I write.

Portrait of My Soul

 

At first glance she dares you to look away

Then makes you think about what you will say

Attention fixed ‘No nonsense please’ to convey

Challenge

Her bright red, dyed head of naturally curly hair

A stop light helmet of protection to be aware

The falsehood misleadingly shouts; take care

Guard 

The eyes lock firmly on to the viewers gaze

Time stills or ponders on some old yesterdays

Sitters hazel eyes (now painted blue) appraise

Think 

Wearing lenses coloured to the artist’s choice

Once garrulous woman now has a quietened voice

Imprisoning frame holds one no more able to rejoice

Restriction 

Concentration cannot unlock her from your face

Determined stalking rather than a heated race

Following the intruder around a limited space

Control 

She silently takes in all within her placid sight

Dimming but still held still throughout the night

Relentless no matter if movement be left or right

Helpless 

The carefully painted eyes seem slowly to change

A rainbow of emotions expressed within their range

To have been put there by a brush seems so strange

Incredible 

Searching my mind whilst concentration stays in abstention

A moment in time hovers forever in spiritual suspension 

An invasion of my soul if this be skill by intention

Fear 

An exploratory operation undertaken to find the cause

To remove faults with scalpels, claps and shiny saws

Delicate remedial work cut, stitched, then held with gauze

Fright 

I see myself clearly in my artist friend’s patient work

The mouth reflects a secret humour too polite to smirk

Neath the surface of her strokes, my inner truth shall lurk

Confidence

Winter Solstice adventure

Waking on December 22^nd, that marked the Winter Solstice this year was like waking on my birthday when I was a child. It was that exciting to me. The darkest weeks of winter really get me down, and I have often claimed that this is because I was born in mid August, my birth sign is Leo my ruling planet is the Sun. I am a sun baby.  

So anyway, I was up well before dawn cracked, made myself my obsessively special morning coffee, with exactly the right sized spoonful of the particular blend of coffee that is precisely to my taste, adding the exact amount of CoffeeMate creamer and finished with a carefully controlled, just a tichy bit more than a level spoonful of 12+Active Manuka honey that is added daily, more as a health requirement than the sweetener it most certainly is. The resulting mug is stirred to completely blend all the ingredients thoroughly together. 

Quietly I sat and waited for the night sky to stretch into an etiolated early light.

My celebration of this day when the sun would halt its winter journey south and gradually day upon day begin to makes its way back to a position that I very much prefer. 

In the little cottage where my husband and I live, the sun only shines on the front of the house for around six weeks every summer. There is still only about an hour each day when the light is on the lounge bay window in the morning and then again for a short while in the evening. Still, the sun is high in the summer sky for most of the day as opposed to the dreary November, December, January when my beloved ruling planet seems so out or sorts that he quickly sails so low as if completely out of energy and wishes he didn’t have to get up at all. 

Personally I have never understood the idea of ‘Having a lie in’. This is where I disagree, totally and completely with Mr Sunshine. The amount of sleep I need does not alter from summer to winter and that makes the winter darkness a whole lot worse for me, since I am not capable of sleeping for longer, which I can see might be helpful. Try as I might I still sleep roughly the same amount of hours and wake up regularly at 5.30am or somewhere close to that. Most of the time that is convenient since my husband and I like to exercise in the mornings to keep our fitness levels honed enough for us to take part in our chosen sport of triathlon. 

All this boils down to the fact that I feel a lot better once the mid winter point has started to pass. Steve, my husband and I were up and ready to go for a structured swim set first thing. After that we took breakfast before setting of on a celebratory long walk from our holiday apartment to make sure that this special time on the calendar was memorable marked. 

Our walk through a beautiful Swiss valley was spectacular. We took loads of photos of the magnificent scenery including a few of those shots you see on tourist calendars where mountains and forests are reflected in the glass still lake water. This was Lake Silvaplana. 

We were not alone we quickly realised, when we saw quite a number of twitchers with cameras some of which were on tripods with very long lenses. I bravely tested my poor German by asking one of the birders what bird it was that they were watching. The man was very excited and explained that there was Pacific Diver, a very rare bird indeed only usually seen in Alaska. This group were totally disinterested in the magical reflection in the lake that we had stopped to catch and totally focused on one little bird, it looked to me like a variety of Grebe but with a much lighter plumage. It was a treat for us also since we love birds too. A special bird sighting on a special day. A seal on an important day in my year. The icing on the cake. 

When we left that lake to continue our short drive back to out holiday home Steve pulled in to a parking space at another lake further along the Engadine Valley, a smaller lake where there was not a stunning reflection on the surface because this lake, just a couple of miles away from the glass like Lake Silvaplana, was completely frozen and there were families skating on the ice, some playing ice hockey. 

Out jumped my husband to catch more memories of Switzerland with our little camera. He said that I should stay put and he would be straight back. But in less than a minute his head popped up a hundred or so metres away gesticulating excitedly that I should go over the road and join him. 

We were having such a fun day with so many lovely surprises. 

I got out of the car and closed the door and Steve worked to remote lock. Then I walked across to the central reserve of the road. I was wearing my big old warm coat and big winter boots. I made the old tourist mistake of looking the wrong way along the road and when Steve shouted at me I suddenly saw that I was about to get wiped out by a bus closing in fast. I leaped over the armco like an Olympic hurdler! Steve who has been hurrying to help me caught me and said "No sign of the little old lady act you pull on people sometimes there then".  

He helped me steady myself up, a little shaken I have to admit. The truth of the matter is that I am a little old lady of seventy six and a tad deaf to boot but luckily a very fit woman for my age and one who was very happy to have made a lucky escape for a close call.

Swiss Takes

Swiss Takes

December 2015

 

A string of ‘firsts’,

Greeted our visit to Switzerland this winter. 

We were not stopped at the border.

Not asked to present our passports.

Not checked to see if we had bought the obligatory Vignette.

Officers made no attempt to check our car.

They did not even come near.

They displayed no interest at all,

In this particular pair of tourists. 

Less than and hour later

We arrived at our chosen overnight hotel

We parked outside and unloaded our car

We pushed our trolley into the smart foyer

Walked to the reception desk

Where a smiling employee warmly greeted us.

Details were checked, booking sheet shown.

We asked for a room with a bathtub

Not just a shower,

We prefer to wallow in a tub.

We were checked in and given a key card. 

On arriving at the allocated room

A quick glance showed that there was no bathtub.

With a sigh we turned our trolley around

And rolled back to the lift; it had been a long day. 

The same smiling receptionist greeted us again,

Explaining the problem in a pleasant tone,

The young woman made an embarrassed apology

She presents another key card and smiles sweetly

Stating that this room definitely does have a bath.

We trundle to the lift once more.

Opening the door of the second room

We see that once again there is not a bathtub there.

Huffing and puffing to each other

We return to the lift,

Then for the second time,

Back to the reception desk. 

The receptionist looks surprised at our news

And, at this juncture a more senior staff member

Steps up to the desk from the office just behind.

She is SOOO sorry.

She says that due to these mistakes

We will be given an upgrade. 

We are finally given a room with a bathtub

In fact there are two bathrooms

One with a shower and one with a bath

And a separate bedroom beyond the sitting room

All very nice, not quite a rock star suite, but nice. 

There were no further problems with our stay;

The young man who served us at dinner

Was utterly charming, thoroughly efficient

And so polite, from Goa, he offered.

Excellent dinner. 

After and equally excellent breakfast

The next morning we continued our journey;

Our plan was to get to Chur and the Julier Pass

Ahead of the heavy Christmas holiday traffic.

Destination St Moritz.

This trip was probably

On thoughtful consideration,

At least the thirtieth visit

Our favourite place for all our married life. 

On reaching the top of the pass road,

Another first! Almost scary.

We were stopped by a machine gun wielding guard

Softened when he approached with the greeting

“Hello, good morning”,

Said he, as he peered into our little car,

Looking around

Before waving us back on.

Bit of a surprise to be stopped there. 

We have stayed in some nice hotels

But also many, many apartments

Over the years in lots of different areas

In the town centre or in the close by villages

Samedan, Celerina, Sils Maria,

Silvaplana and Champfer,

All of them as lovely as each other

All of them neat clean and well appointed

And all the usual homely items included. 

This year we found our first slight let down.

The apartment was basically, a Swiss average

Yet modern upgrades had not been placed.

No WIFI! What?

My eye’s almost popped out in shock!

In this so modern an age? 

A small portable TV with very few channels.

No extractor fan in the kitchen.

Not a complete set of any crockery

One mug, three dinner plates

Milk pan? Water or beer glasses?

Hair dryer, iron?

So many missing items. 

Money had been spent though;

On a fancy shower room.

Very modern, very smart….

Glass sink, whooo!

A posh square toilet, maybe for Spongebob?

Not quite so smart however,

To place the matching square bidet

Directly in front of the shower entrance!?

Members of Cirque du Soleil may like it;

A bit of extra acrobatic practice. 

We called into the booking agent up in the town

Where I voiced my opinion that,

I thought that WIFI should be a norm

In every hotel and apartment block

In the civilised world.

This is not the dark ages after all. 

I offered my list of items missing from our flat

Taking this item from my hand,

The pretty young woman

With a charming smile

Told me that they were,

Always happy to receive any feedback. 

The main disappointment of our travels

Through Switzerland up to this point

Was the worrying absence of ….

The White Stuff.

Snow. No snow!

Just bronze (still beautiful) mountains

Instead of swathes of magical white,

Even on the high mountain tops

The barest, sparing-est dusting. 

Of course I cannot blame Switzerland for this.

This is the sad truth of climate change

That we have brought upon ourselves.

The rest however;

Made me think of a favourite poem.

And God forgive me,

Changing the end more than a little;

Is this the way the world ends?

Is this the way the world ends?

Not with a bang but a breakdown

In the fabled Swiss efficiency.

 

Forecast Unchanged

It is suddenly much colder the last couple of days. At first I thought it was just because I was alone for a spell whilst my husband is driving one of the trucks through France. The house always seems warmer and cosier when he is home. It's funny really because if I were to be truthful, I actually look forward to the times when he is working away, because although he is the sweetest bloke, he is a bit of a control freak and wants me to join him doing as many of the daily activities as possible. Looking at my side of the coin; I do like the time to do lots of things that please me like scribbling the odd poem or doing some sewing, choosing my own programmes, actually a lot less TV when he is away. I stay out of coffee shops too and that saves me a bundle of time since the coffee break after the morning training session is his call of the Siren, I can resist her.
However, back to the weather. It's not looking good in our little antique weather house.

Forecast Unchanged 

She has a tedious life one has to say

With a procession of dull days spend indoors

Hidden in the house whilst her man is at play

Rarely out, is the stay at home wife he adores. 

Poor woman in the same faded shabby dress

For months on end she has hardy been out

He in his hat and brolly dressed to impress

A pompous fop show-off lording it about. 

She lives in his shadow as he rules the roost

Standing aside when he boasts that he’s brave

His dutiful wife waits unfairly rarely introduced

He stands with a smile or may genially wave. 

He sends her out when he cannot take the heat

And stays in shade on the rare sunny days

She hopes at those times a new lover to meet

But then fades back indoors to mend her ways. 

Just now and then they are seen side by side

Perhaps the moment when she thinks to leave

Does he beg her to stay, his once lovely bride

A quiet domination his own way to weave. 

Not much excitement, their home tiny yet grand

A life of shared separation spouse by spouse

Virtual prisoners on fragile balance stand

There silently in their Kendall weather house.

 

 

Write Night at WOW

Tonight is the nearest to Halloween that the WOW evening gets so it is officially the Halloween meeting. WOW is short for, 'World of Words' and roughly once per month there is a gathering
of people who get together on one of these 'Write Nights'. The evenings are the brainchild of the  charming, enthusiastic and very bubbly Melody Bridges. Melody works her socks off to encourage anybody who fancies themselves with a pen in their hand or indeed a computer, to hand.

A little while ago I ran a few of my poems past Melody in an email message for (sort of) approval for me to read on this occasion. She responded with a short message asking if I had anything suitable for Halloween. This poem is a true story and to put you in the picture, it is my version of the favourite scary movie line................................

 'I SEE DEAD PEOPLE'.

Witnesses to this haunting and mentioned in this story are: Bill Luckin, Rosie Luckin, Bernard Harris, myself, my husband Steve and my lovely daughter Jacqueline Rackham. The first three people named here are dead.

Jean

 

Quite early on in our relationship

Something less than a year in fact

We shared an interrelationship

That called for a degree of tact 

My husband had not said a word

‘Til one night sitting side by side

Stroking the cat while he purred

I said something I couldn’t hide 

“Ever feel that we are not alone”?

I’d wanted to say it for a while

Over time the thought had grown

He turned to me with a knowing smile 

He puffed through his cheeks a bit

“I thought it was just me”, he sighed

“You’ve seen her”? Eyebrows a-knit

“Thank heavens for that” he cried 

“Where did you see her, and when”?

“At the top of the stairs at first”, I said

“In the hall, and the front bedroom then,

She doesn’t seem to know she is dead” 

We talked about her in total calm

No fear at all by either of us felt

She did not want to do us any harm

Dazed as to what the past had dealt 

We went to visit the previous owner

He called his wife to say we were there

To see if she knew our mystery loner

Hand to her mouth then the back of her hair 

We described the woman we had seen

Looks went back and forth at each other

“I have to say that it sounds like Jean”

That would be Bill’s poor dead mother 

Photo albums all brought to the table

Silence fell as Rosie rummaged through

This time it was we who were not able

To hide feelings, it was the woman we knew 

We came home with an old photograph

Of Jean dressed just as we saw her

Placed in a sturdy frame, her epitaph 

On its final position we did then concur 

We said nothing to anybody else at all

Then my daughter went up to bed one night

Rushing back in, hands against the wall

“A lady on the stairs gave me such a fright” 

The teenager looked at us both and knew

That we knew, that much she quickly saw

What she had seen was completely true

Her outburst loud as she laid down the law 

We should have warned her, a ghost was here

She slowly calmed down and asked at last

“Why aren’t you scared, do you have no fear”?

From one to the other her eyes were cast 

We knew not why Jean was still in our home

And likewise she knew not why we were

She didn’t speak but continued to roam

We stopped in our tracks at a look from her 

A friend house-sat once when we were away

And on our return he gave us a warning

“There’s a ghost in this house, don’t say nay,

Dressed in black as if she is in mourning” 

The only physical thing that ever occurred

Just a little adjustment from time to time

The photo was faced down without a word

No special reason, no comment, no rhyme 

She never bothered or worried us at all

We lived there for years without dread

But suddenly she went away as we recall

Then we heard that her only son was dead 

She was waiting for him or so it seemed

The thought I had firm set in my mind

Her journey to heaven delayed she’d deemed

Not to leave her beloved son William behind
 

 

 

 

Retaining My Age Group World Title

ITU World Age Group Triathlon Championships. Chicago, September 2015

Chicago Standard Distance Race report

Happiness is…..

…….Winning my age group at standard distance World Triathlon Championship for the second year running. Having been defending champion in my age group 75-79 the pressure was really on.

It was after a night of impressive thunder storms that caused the race organisers to change the time of the elite women’s race and cancel the eve of race, age group bike check in, as well as cancelling the World Triathlon Sprint Championship award ceremony that race morning began. 

The start pontoon was a little un-stable when the older women’s wave went off, and also when what my husband calls the 'Old Gits' wave, left ten minutes later.  It was actually during the later wave starts, that they altered the swim course and cut it down to half distance for the half dozen AG waves that were left to start. The reason being, that the start pontoon had all but broken away from the harbour wall. 

The swim was more challenging for the Standard Distance Worlds with a slight chop and a quite strong current running that was pulling swimmers out toward the open water away from the shore and the shelter and safety of the harbour wall. I had a really strong swim that I was very happy with and after exiting the water there was a long barefoot run to transition1, of around 360 metres during which time you were only allowed to take your wetsuit off down to your waist. There then was run almost as long again through the sand and grass transition and out to the mount line for the bike section.  

All week long everybody had been dreading 40km the bike because much of the two lap route was on underground sections of a three level city main road. There has been endless talk about what glasses to wear because of the sudden changes in light and gloom. I found the route to actually be very good; it was like a time trial event or a race track. It was most disorientating without daylight to tell you what direction you were travelling in. There were quite a number of turns to left and right and some dead turns too but all the turns had plenty of room and my own two laps of the course we pretty much the same only dropping a few seconds on the second lap. My husband and I both had very good bike times. Another 300 metres back into T2 after the bike and again back out to start the run 10km proper. This meant that there must have been well over a kilometre of extra running due to the long transitions. 

The run was over the 10 km distance. Well over, and I was glad when the multi lap course was over. Comparing notes afterwards, most competitors agreed that the run was about 10.7 km. Feeling that I had given my all after the run and feeling complete rubbish, I held no hopes of a podium position and so did not check the notices on the way out of the post finish recovery area. 

Actually we had ambled back to transition to collect our kit, ridden our bikes through the hazards of the city traffic back to our hotel, run a bath and made coffee, before Steve looked online for the results. I was just rinsing off my conditioner when Steve let out a noisy whoop and started singing; ‘We are the Champions’ (That was not very good because he is no Freddie Mercury). He then danced into the bathroom in his birthday suit to congratulate me on retaining my World title. Unbelievable. 

I think it was the swim that handed me the gold medal in my age group and gave me a roughly 6.5 minute lead over the other women. 

Swim: 34.31

T1: 7.20

Bike ride: 1 hour 22.01

T2: 4.58

Run: 1hour 22.13

Total time 3.31.00 

The next morning we had a lovely swim in the pool that was the training centre for Johnny Weissmuller when he was an Olympic swimmer, years before he became better known at Tarzan. Very inspiring. 

We celebrated and relaxed in Chicago, including enjoying a 'Trump Mojito' at 'Sixteen', the 16^th floor terrace of the Trump Towers. Meanwhile my feet floated slowly back toward the ground. Mine was the only gold out of nearly 300 on the GB team in the standard distance. There was one silver and a couple of bronze medals on the team too. 

One very happy bunny here... No, two happy bunnies because my coach/husband Steve is overjoyed about it.

 

Chicago World Championships 2015

When we arrived on Monday, it felt as though we had landed in Hawaii rather than Chicago; the humidity was totally draining. Checking in for packet pick up for the Aquathlon for Steve that would be on Wednesday 16th September and the Sprint event for me on Thursday it was baking hot around the race venue with little shade anywhere. Steve can cope with hot weather a lot better than me, he loves sunshine, where as I have suffered skin problems from sun exposure and get to feel faint in any prolonged period in the sun.
On the flight out our seats were right at the back of our BA plane and those little directional air vents were not working in our section of the plane. When I started to sweat buckets as if I was under a shower, I got up to try to make it to the toilets where I intended to try to cool my face and hands but before I got there I passed out and found myself on the floor right at the back. I got up onto all fours but blacked out again. Surprisingly nobody noticed or came by. Finally by climbing with my hands up the wall I got myself up to a standing position and slowly made it to my gangway seat that, thank heaven, was just one seat away.
I slumped down into the seat next to Steve where he had been sleeping with such sack of potatoes fall that he woke with a start and saw that I was not well. He called for cabin crew member and told them that I was unwell. They brought cold flannels and then realised that that was not enough to cool me down. Steve was asked to help me get along to the galley where it was cooler. We sat there together for more than an hour, where I sucked copious amounts of ice cubes and Steve dripped ice over my head and neck and chest. Gradually I recovered a little but still felt rotten. The pilot turned the temperature of the whole aircraft down for my benefit and eventually I was able to return to my seat.
This was not a good start to the week ahead with two World Championship races coming up so quickly.
On landing, the hour plus getting through immigration was not a great help and Steve decided to get a taxi in to the city. This alone was not easy since we had as luggage, two huge bike boxes, two suitcases and our carry on bags. In the end we found a taxi large enough to take everything and without further ado made it to our hotel in the 'Magnificent Mile' of the downtown area of Chicago.

World Triathlon Championships Chicago Pre event blog

The week before I leave for a journey like this, is always a nightmare since at 76, I am still working in our family antiques import/export business up until the last moment. Although I gave up doing the heavy lifting involved in packing containers full of furniture, decorative things and small items a few years ago,  I am the main stay of the office; I must finish all the manifests for the current work before we go. It does not end there since I will been attending to all business emails etc. whilst we are away in the USA, so there is not a lot of time left to sit around and get too nervous about the important event coming up next week. 

This is why all of my training is done at silly o'clock every day (yes, every day) after the alarm goes off at 5.20am. My husband Steve is also my coach and training mate and has been for the 26 years since we fell under the magic spell of a life in triathlon. I have lost count of the number of times that we have been on the GB team together going to World or European Triathlon Championships. Last year in Edmonton was the first time I had won my age group at the Standard distance since most of my previous first places were at middle, long, or 'Nice' distance. The best I had done in Standard were a couple of bronzes and a few silvers. The fact that there are roughly double the number of little old ladies in my 75-79 age group this year, I feel is totally my fault for winning last year in Edmonton on a freezing cold, wet day, and rubbing salt in the wound by finishing 54 minutes in front of the next woman. I am not kidding here, when I tell you that I have spies amongst my FB friends who have been noting my training, but of course the elite women cope with that as a daily matter of course and if I have set myself up to be chased down; that has to be a good thing doesn't it? Motivation is key. So America will be defending its honour on home ground in Chicago. All of my opposition are American and I fully understand that. I had been hoping that it would be as cold as Edmonton 2014, where there was a dump of snow just a day or two after the event. That was a big advantage to a Brit. This year the weather in Chicago has been very hot, so no thermal blankets needed there.  

Having seen the elite series race in Chicago last year on TV the whole race looked very inviting. However, we now know that a large part of the bike ride will be underground on the lower level of a triple level main road… along eight blocks in a tunnel to a u turn and back, on ramps, off ramps, laps, and not much chance of crowd support. Well ok that doesn't sound like it’s very scenic. What we all have to bear in mind is this; it is what it is and it’s the same for everybody. We are not there to look at the scenery; you can do that when you are not racing. Get your head on straight and knuckle down. The swim looks good and run looks like a spectacular city run and the finish will be hopefully noisy and welcome. And Over!  

Competing as part of the Great Britain Age Group Team is a real feel good thing to happen in anybody's life. How wonderful. How proud you can feel. What an honour. However, as a note to all the many first timers on the squad……. It’s an honour that you have earned. Enjoy. Another piece of advice to the newer team members is to always have another race on your calendar beyond your BIG race so that the end of the important event doesn't end up being the end. Always be looking at the future. 

Steve is doing the Aquathlon on the Wednesday.

I have the Sprint distance on Thursday.

We both race in the Standard on Saturday. 

Then we are on holiday and going to explore the Michigan Upper Peninsular for a week.

This is a strike off THE BUCKET LIST!

Steve and I are both life long cartophiles, if there is such a word, love maps, have hundreds.

Shoreham Air Show crash

Bridge of Tears 

 A Tiger Moth takes to the clear blue skies

Crowds hoped Red Arrows were booked

Then there are ooo’s and ahh’s and sighs

 A Spitfire passed and up we all looked

Who could say, who could know

How the turn of events would go

A sunny day out at a local air show 

Looping the loop a Hawker Hunter plane

Watchers below take barely a breath

Then a fireball turns the scene insane

When innocent crowds there met their death

Nobody thought a tragedy could occur

Waiting for the lights to change as they were

As suddenly life and death was a blur 

A main road we have all travelled along

 A hundred or maybe a thousandth time

Car radio blares as we sing a pop song

Did somewhere unheard a death knell chime

Who could say, who could know

How the turn of events would go

A sunny day out at a local air show 

The old wooden Shoreham foot bridge stands

Smothered side to side and end to end with flowers

Floral tributes brought there by shaking hands

Local grief growing with the passing hours

Nobody thought a tragedy could occur

Waiting for the lights to change as they were

As suddenly life and death was a blur

 

This poem holds my own thoughts and feelings about this terrible event that shook the community hereabouts to the very core. In the days that have passed since this horrendous event we have found that everybody knows somebody who was close by in the traffic, either just a way in front or behind, travelling in both directions. So many close calls when old Hawker Hunter plane looped the loop and crashed into the bust traffic on the A27 trunk road at the northern end of Shoreham airport. Eleven people died. It has pressed us to see that life if a precious gift that can be taken from us at any time. 

The Glory of the April Woodlands

The Write Night last Wednesday evening was fairly painful to me. Just the waiting really. My husband Steve had come along with me to make sure that I didn't chicken out as I did on the first evening I went last summer. Having waited to read my couple of poems from the start at 7.30pm until after the interval and nearly to the close of the evening, I was in a bad way, since I am an Olympic class fidget. Sitting waiting was sheer torture for me. But anyway my turn eventually came and I did get up and read the two poems that had got the best response from my friends on Face Book. They were All Hail The Stones and When I am Prime Minister. There was a ripple of applause, no tomatoes were thrown and my first moment reading aloud in public was over. Gladly. I am an early to bed and early to rise person and have always been. Steve and I do most of our triathlon training first thing in the morning after the alarm goes off at 5.30am. It was 10.15pm when my name was called to 'Share' as they call it at these functions. I was put off by the lateness and would have to be booked in for the first part of the evening for any future visit. When I first said that to a friend in the swimming pool changing room a couple of days later she told me that it would not be fair to leave once I had 'Shared' because people had waited until I had 'Shared'. I gave that a bit of thought but decided that it merely balanced off the dozen or more people that had arrived an hour or so after the evening had started because, I suppose, they did not want to do their bit too early.

From this mornings wet and very misty morning, comes this piece below out of the sheer joy of the peace and quiet and wonder of  living close to the super woods a couple of miles from my home.

The Glory of the April Woodlands 

Thick misty rain at seven o’clock this morning

Time to leave home for our weekend run

Damp with dewdrops my nose tip adorning

We needed rain and should not be scorning

Value nature study now without the sun 

The greater the effort the higher the prize

When Bluebells bloom and we are blessed

A purple carpet on which to feast our eyes

As slowly to their highest height they rise

Early still and they have not reached their best 

Drawing one’s eyes away to the distant sight

The moving mauve of a million wild flowers

Swaying with a gentle breeze today so light

Above, the canopy of green leaves seems bright

Top lighting the richness of the glowing bower 

Soon to be overpowered by the blueness here

Wood Anemones tremble their wee white petals

Closed, asleep, hoping this misty time will clear

Wait to open its face up toward the sun to veer

Its fate to hide beneath where settle nettles 

Primroses lie around in clusters on the banks

Cowslips and tiniest velvet Violets there

Birds sing their little hearts out to give thanks

As summers engine up to full steam cranks

Winter gone, a country walk or run we can share 

How few see this free gift of flowery treasure

Breathe this perfumed air and let imagination blaze

Take some time to come out here to measure

Time wasted frittering away our moments of leisure

To amble through our woodlands deep blue haze

 

First time for everything

I met a child in the bank yesterday and we had a little chat during which he told me that he was five and a quarter! Kids like to claim every moment of extra age they can don't they? Well at seventy five and two thirds and having started triathlon at fifty, I am once more putting myself up to do something I have never done before! Tomorrow evening, I am going to one of the Worthing's World of Words 'Write' evenings. That alone is not new, since I have been before but to listen and enjoy others reading and singing their work. With a little bit of pushing from my daughter and husband and indeed Melody Bridges who puts these evenings together, I have said that I WILL read a bit of my own poetry. For some reason or other I am very nervous about this. Why? You may well ask, because all my friends know that I normally have plenty to say for myself. However, when I am asked to read aloud I become a stuttering, stammering mess. Explain it I cannot. So. Wednesday evening it is then. 7.30pm in Frasers bar at the Connaught Theatre Worthing. I have been practicing on my husband and a couple of friends have had to suffer and so far, I have not read any of the selected possibilities faultlessly. So wish me luck with my new venture, or come along and throw things at me, that at least would relieve the tension. If anybody reads all of the following you can let me know which (if any) you like best.

All Hail the Stones 

All Hail the stones, that’s what I like to say

Whenever a journey takes me along that way

The Neolithic site has such magnetism

The difference in theories a mighty chasm

Standing there more than five thousand years

Each time I see them my eyes prick with tears

Where lies a more impressive prehistoric site

Who died in the building and what of their plight

Mystery shadows the move of the sarsen stones

Surely not for a graveyard to fill with bones

Architecture introducing tongue and groove

The mortise and tenon theory they also prove

Maybe brought there by barge facing rude waves 

That jaw dropping feat brought about using slaves

Rolled into place on stakes by a servile hoard

What methods to raise them then were explored

Ropes, A-frames, massive counter balance weight

Oh to have seen these giants hoiked up straight

Long ago lost in endless time the reason why for

No expert historian sounds entirely sure 

What was the idea or purpose or why on earth

Blood spilled in construction must have worth

As a coronation place for ancient tribal kings

To worship stars or primitive idols with wings

Now the most popular modern interpretation

Why the stones were brought to this destination

Most generally accepted as a place of worship

Thought up by an ancient entrepreneurship

Pre history astronomers with the solstice aligned

Stones mystically to capture each equinox designed 

Circle within circle around a central pagan altar

First computer worked out in a priest’s secret Psalter

Predicting eclipses or for magnetic healing

Strange affairs beneath a star studded ceiling

When the last lintel slotted in to its position

A sacrifice made of blood curdling precision

Did bare feet feel the tremor of an earthquake

A religious healer raises a cross or a snake

Like pushing a plug into electrical wall socket

A button pressed for firing an intergalactic rocket

I favour the romance and wide screen type drama

Stonehenge forever blessing England’s panorama

 

Children Wishing 

Five happy children looking skyward wishing

Each holds a big balloon on a length of string

Each bright balloon up in the air a-swishing 

Children born over time of my patient stitches

My choice their looks and what they bring

They represent ambition not a life of glitches 

Things don’t always happen as you dream

My universal group of kids play on a day in spring

No thought of the future or a later theme 

Hair in corn rows, pigtails or flaxen waves

Laughing, shouting, playing happily as they sing

None of them quarrel, nobody misbehaves 

One girl in a spotty dress with puffed sleeve

One wears a t-shirt and skirt as to youth they cling

A ginger haired boy in jeans doesn’t want to leave  

From my imagination stitch by stitch they grew

Life has pressures and danger to bring

Work and not hope gives success to the few

 

Leaving Home  

A strong willed child to say the least

And a little on the naughty side

Facing mother with her brow creased

My dad’s amusement he tries to hide. 

Sent to my room I protest still

“I’m going to leave this beastly home

You don’t love me, you never will”

I hold my dolly, her hair I comb. 

Dad say’s “Wait a minute duck”

Leave’s the room, pads up the stair

My case, my money box, he say’s “good luck”

Let us know when you get there.

 

When I Am Prime Minister 

The day when Prime Minister I become

Leadership fairer and much more sage

Will make new laws and change will come

For the young and those in older age. 

Plain bad manners and rude words

Will be absolutely and completely banned

Guilty ones sent out to live in wild herds

Guarded only by the Almighty’s hand. 

When much too much, are ones is earnings

Weekly charity work will be enforced

There will be monthly town centre burnings

Of rapists and paedophiles endorsed. 

For spending years in invalid caring

This investment will be compensated

Replaced will be the rags they’re wearing

Nurses, for just rewards rightly nominated. 

Lesser crimes still will not pass free

Pavement blocking shoppers admonished

They must endless footage of themselves see

Staring into space as if astonished. 

Cold caller menaces who a phone call place

The very plague of these modern days

Will be dispatched by rocket ship into space

Hurtling on into the suns burning rays. 

Vote for me should you like these words

Rather than a much more sinister minister

Laws as loud and clear as Beethoven’s chords

Oh yes we can, when I am Prime Minister.