Always hanging around

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It started as a suggestion. My son's football manager said he was entering a road race. I mentioned it, off the cuff, to the wife and she seemed interested in trying it out too.

'It would be a good way to get fit and lose some weight,' throwing the hint my way. I agreed and before I had a chance to back out she was on the internet, and checking out some details.

'Shall we do it together?' She asked and I replied with a silent smile.

'How long is it?' I then replied, and I swear to this day she told me it was only five kilometers.

That distance seemed achievable so in a fit of unity I agreed, and with that, she duly filled out the online application form for both of us. Later on, I put a posting on Facebook tagging Jim proudly announcing we would both be running the Norwich 5K. My wife replied, rather cheekily, that it was acutely the Norwich 10K run, over six miles!

Then it hit me like a slap across the face. 10K is a proper run, not just a walk around the block and because I had made it public on my personal Facebook page, there was no way of getting out of it without losing face. We were some of the last to register which meant I only had four months to get fit, and try and lose some weight as well. Every Monday would come along and every Monday I would say to myself that this is the week I will start training. Then I got an email from the event organisers to say I had to sign a fitness disclaimer and then I looked at the #RN16 race date. There were only ten weeks to go, and I had not run a single mile!

Boy o boy what a shock to my system that was. Next day I went out and started to pound the streets every day, for seven days a week I kept on running further, and faster, with the fear of failure always pushing me on. When the wife picked up the race pack on the Friday before the event I was just able to complete 10K.

The Norwich 10K was on the Sunday with a start time of 9.30 and that weekend was a sobering experience. Not a drop of beer, or any other alcohol, had passed my lips for the previous seven days as my nerves took a pounding. Family and friends were going to be watching on the day, and with my public announcement on Facebook, so were hundreds of other people taking an interest in what I was attempting to do. We were up at 6.30 am on Sunday morning and by 8.30 am we were in the city centre at The Forum waiting for the toilets (along with many others) as last minute nerves kicked in for both the wife and me.

Thousands of race goers were milling about outside City Hall and around The Guild Hall to the bottom of Norwich Market There were thousands of spectators lining the route. I kissed the children good bye and we made our way to our starting position. Various friends I had spoken to that have run road races told me the first one is always the most nervous one, and as the runners moved along to the start line as the race began I was not sure if the adrenaline rushing through my vanes was nerves or just plain old excitement. Whatever it was I was soon running with my head down as the large crowds cheered everyone on.

The first two kilometers were the hardest for me because everyone seemed to be over taking me, but I had made my mind up to keep to my own pace. I had three goals to reach. The first was to finish, the second was not to be the last person over the line, and the third was not to be the last man running. As we were one of the last to register, and put down it was our first race, we were placed near to the back of the running pack as the faster runners were placed in the front.

By the four-kilometer mark I started to over take my first runners who had shot off in front of me earlier and now the pace was starting to hit them. By the halfway mark with 3 miles behind us, it was a long slog up Rose Lane, and we started to over take people who had to walk up it, and others who were in need of medical first aid. It was a hot sunny morning and by 10.30 am the heat was quite intense. I was determined to run the whole way, and not take the easy option of taking a walking rest before rejoining in the run.

With just one kilometer to go there were some runners who looked a lot slimmer than me, and who I presumed must also be a lot fitter, who were in a serious way and needing medical attention as the ambulance sirens could be herd in the distance heading towards the city centre. I kept to my plan and as the crowds got bigger, the wife and I ran across the finishing line hand in hand as our family stood there cheering us on.

As we collected our medals I must admit a tear of joy mingled with the sweat that was dripping down my face. We were given a goody bag and I could not resist taking a selfie of the triumphant couple. Once we had cooled down and rejoined the family we all headed to Chapel Field Gardens to the runner's village for a well-earned rest, and refreshments.

The buzz that I felt as thousands of people cheered me through the final last steps is something I will treasure for a log time. Both Daniel Jones Frenzy and Daniel Jones Doom have won awards so I have tasted success before, but I' hoping, just like with my first book in the Daniel Jones series, this is just the beginning.

Because next year I would like to add another medal to my collection, and that's the Norwich half marathon. And now I've made my attention public with my readers here on Always-hanging-around I better get my training shoes on again, and make sure I start preparing a lot earlier because I have a feeling I will need more than ten weeks practice to get over that finishing line.

Regards

Mark

Friday, 29 July 2016

The Black Rock Grill

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The last week of the school term is finished and the summer holidays have begun, well for the children at least. That six and a half week period is a frantic time for parents trying to juggle child care, work, and keeping their little ones active. If you're lucky there might be a weeks, or hopefully two weeks, holiday away somewhere were all your cares are taken away as your pay a holiday company to do it all for you. Still even if you are lying by the pool in the sun in some hot foreign country you still have the little ones under your feet.

It was with this in mind that the wife and I decided to take the opportunity to get away for twenty-four hours of child free bliss when we received an invite for my niece's thirtieth birthday party being held at the The Black Rock Grill at Potters Resort in the small seaside resort of Hopton. The grandparents were happy for the children to stay with them for the night, and as I have family in Lowestoft we booked in the Travel Lodge in the north part of town.

The eating experience at the Black rock is just that, an experience both off us have never encountered before. As the name suggests you are served with platters of different uncooked meats, and fish, and then a stunningly hot square slab of Black Rock is placed in-front of every individual. You then pick your meat, and cook it yourself on your hot rock. There is a constant supply of side orders and for just three pound fifty you can order an extra platter of exotic meats. This is what I did and was duly served a plate of sliced Kangaroo, Shark and Wild Boar. The restaurant itself has large windows over looking the surrounding countryside, and in the far distance you can see the bright lights of Great Yarmouth.

We both truly enjoyed ourselves and afterwards we all headed towards South Lowestoft to finish the night at The King Alfred Pub. I do not know what time we made it back to our hotel room, but it was late that is all I can say. The next day we took the sort walk to the Potter Kiln for an all you can eat English Breakfast, and once we had checked I drove to the coastal village of Corton, where we sat on top of the cliffs as the sun blazed down while a slight sea breeze cooled our sweaty brows.

The grandparents brought the children back to ours about five thirty on Sunday evening, and we all sat in the garden enjoying the setting sun, while drinking iced drinks, under the protective cover of the parasol. The children had had a wonderful time, that only grand parents can provide, visiting my brother and his girl friend in Framlingham, plus their collection of pets, and they were all stuffed on barbecue he had cooked. We all went to bed happily nice and early, but more importantly, nice and relaxed.

I think there can't be a truer saying than, "absent makes the heart grow fonder." because sometimes everyone needs time away to recharge the batteries.

Regards

Mark

Thursday, 30 June 2016

Good-bye European Union

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For my readers around the world you may be aware, or maybe not, but the United Kingdom has been through two months of electioneering about if the U.K should stay in the European Union, or if the country should leave. It came as a bit of a shock to say the least that the winners were the people who wanted to leave the union.

It came as such a shock because every organ within the new world order was used to try and get the British public to vote to stay. And that's were I think the revolt came, and a revolt it was. Please let me explain.

I have grown up being part of the union. I've never had a chance before to have a say if I think It's a good thing, or a bad thing, I just excepted we were part of it and there was nothing I could do about it. I was quite pro European, even if some of its faults effected me personally, and not always for the best. I personally think that immigration is a good thing for all societies, and that working together as friends is a lot more positive than being enemies with someone. But like I say there is always a but in life. As the elite at the top who control all our lives, and all their cronies carried out a campaign of fear, threats and intimidation I slowly began to think that maybe I don't want to be part of any political organisation whose sole purpose is justified by these three elements.

There were two incidents that I found deeply insulting about the In camp's ploy to stay part of the status quo.

My first career after leaving school in Lowestoft was working in the fishing industry that was a major part of the area, and had been for generations. My grandfather was a fisherman, and my dad's early career was connected to the industry, so when I got a apprenticeship as an auctioneer on Lowestoft Fish Market for The Colne Shipping Company it just felt as natural as fish in water (excuse the pun). I loved the job, becoming the youngest in my profession, and could have happily spent the rest of my days working in the industry. It was one of the world's most efficient fishing operations, without the need for financial support from any government, and without the industrial strife that effected most other U.K sectors during the 70's and 80's.

Then the British Prime Minister at the time, Margaret Thatcher, signed the United Kingdom into the European Union's Common Agriculture and Fisheries Policy. Within fifteenth years after this the fishing industry had collapsed because of it. Ten thousand people who relied directly, or indirectly, on the industry had lost their lively hoods. Now just a handful of people eek out a living from it.

What what was the first thing that I found deeply insulting with the In camp?

Well the first thing was seeing Sir Bob Geldolf, a multi-millionaire from the Republic of Ireland, and supporter of the In camp, high-jacking a demonstration of the remaining fisherman who had sailed up the Thames to support the Out camp. He was on a rival boat sticking two fingers up to the fisherman and calling them wankers for trying to save what little remained of a once thriving, and proud community.

The second was when I read an article in the Easter Daily Press just a day or so before the vote, about George Osborne the British Chancellor, a leading figure in the In camp, warning the local fisherman that if they didn't want to see their lives destroyed they should vote to stay within the European Union. It was not only a blatant lie, because the industry had already been destroyed, but it was an open threat to the brave remaining souls who put their lives at risk on a daily bases to put fish on George Osborne's privileged plate.

I've told no one which way I voted, but I know one thing. The metro-elite got what they deserved, a vote to leave, because the little people of this country were brave enough to tell them to get lost.

Regards

Mark

Sunday, 12 June 2016

Earlham Cemetery

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I have attended many funerals and cremations over the years, and by its very nature these events are not something you look forward to going to on a regular bases. This week I went to the service of lady I got to know only quite recently, but who with her husband David I became friends with. Her name was Megan and her cremation was held at Earlham Cemetery.

For some reason I have never been there for a service although I have driven past it on hundreds of occasions as I've used the outer ring road in Norwich. Then again we are all guilty of never taking any notice of things that are on our very own door step. I arrived early and although I knew some of the family members, and we chatted, I decided to take a walk around the memorial garden. There were lines of roses that had been planted to mark the burial spot of loved ones ashes.

What I did notice was the quietness. The area was developed in the Victorian period on farmland, but over the years the city of Norwich has grown up around it, and now it's in the heart of the area with a four lane road running around the top end of its boundary. The chapel for the cremation service is a newer structure built in the mid sixties and although it is used by people of all faiths, and in today's age people of no faith, it has a vaulted roof that is so reminiscent of a church.

The service was emotional. Megan was once a Country and Western singer, and when they brought in her coffin they were playing one of her songs. She seemed so alive when you could hear her lovely voice. The chapel was packed and afterwards as we all stood outside in the sunshine I was introduced to various family members, and friends. As people began to make their way back to their cars to head onto the wake being held at the Brickmakers pub in Horsford, I decided to take a walk around the old Victorian grave yard. The area is slowly becoming a nature reserve with trees, bushes, tall grass and wild flowers, and is looked after by The Friends of Earlham Cemetery. It's a quite, peaceful place, and as I looked at all the different shaped grave stones I noted some of the dates and ages of their occupants. When I came across children the same age as my own, my heart really felt for the parents that must have once stood by that grave grieving for their beloved child.

It made me think about the emotions I try to portray with the various characters in my books, FRENZY a Daniel Jones Story and it's sequel Daniel Jones DOOM. I wondered if they truly show, through words, the emotions that I want to try and write about.

By the time I had walked through what felt like a wooded glade to return to my car, my soul was well and truly yearning to be with my own children. I had to leave the wake to pick up my son from his school, and when he came out I just had to hug him, and give him a big kiss ( although he didn't seem too keen with my actions). When my daughter arrived home I did the same to her, and that night when I drifted off to sleep I said a short prey of thanks for two such wonderful gifts that I have in my life.

Regards

Mark

Monday, 23 May 2016

Taking a break

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I try to post most weeks on my blog, but every now and then I take a break. It can be for various reasons, but for me recently as you will know from my last post I've been suffering from a nasty little bug, along with my son, that just seemed to knock the stuffing out of me for nearly six weeks. For the first three weeks I couldn't complete any writing on Revenge my third book in the Daniel Jones series as I felt more like the title of the second book Daniel Jones Doom, than I did like Mark King.

Youth does have a certain vigour that can spur them on. Although my young son was going through the same symptoms as myself he just had so much more energy when he needed it. Those mad moments of frenzy when your rushing about in life. With this bug it left me exhausted after just a few minutes, but with my boy it only seemed to take hold after he had been running about like the lead character in my books, Daniel Jones, after one of his near death experiences.

As an example the family visited Sea Palling beach in Norfolk on a sunny Sunday, and while I laid there on the sand lapping up the sun's rays like a lizard, he was splashing about like a dolphin in the sea with his sister. Every so often he would rush back asking me to join him in the freezing cold water which did quite excite me as much as it did him.

Sea Palling is a lovely place with a Blue Flag beach. It's a small village on the East Coast of Norfolk which has a wonderful 1950's innocence about it; while at the same time it has all the modern fun that you would find in resorts like Miami, Rio, or Bondi beach. Speed-boats, jet skis and something out of a bond movie, jet packs, but powered with water. People flying in the air as water thrusts out of their back pack sending them in any direction they wish! I laid there with one eye open thinking to myself, ' I wonder if I could get one of the characters in one of my next books using one of them?'

We bought the kids a small surf board from the beach shop, which was a great investment because it kept them both occupied without me needing to get wet. Now don't get me wrong. I do like going into the sea, but generally when it's warmer. Unfortunately the North Sea is seasonal in that in winter the water is bloody cold, and it will only slowly warm up in the summer months, so that by late August the temperature is just about manageable. So you can guess what it was like that day at the beginning of spring! Yes, cold, very cold.

Then again when I was a kid growing up in Lowestoft all I needed to get onto the beach, and into the sea, was a couple of hours of sunshine, no matter what the temperature, or month. They eventually came out shivering when we spread out the picnic we had taken. It was a simple fair of crusty rolls and soft cheese, olives, crisps and fruit, but was just perfect for the occasion. Dessert was a traditional 99 ice cream in a cone, with a chocolate flake, from the small beach side cafe, and we had plenty of sugar free fizzy drink to go around.

Some people brought down barbecues with them and as the sun started to drop behind the sand dunes a younger crowd began to appear on the beach ready to watch the evening sun set while perched high up on the dunes.

But by then we were already home and showered. My worn out kids put themselves to bed without a whimper, exhausted from all the fun, and ready for the start of a new school week.

Regards

Mark

Sunday, 24 April 2016

Those nasty little bugs

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One of the traits of family life is sharing. You share the good times and the bad, your experiences and knowledge. To be a family is to share. You share your love and your time and a lot of your money. Children are not cheap creatures to bring up. The calculations are that the average cost for parents is about £250,000 per child during their lifetime. One thing I do not like my children sharing with me though are their bugs. Those horrible little things they seem to catch so easily, especially during their early years when they first start Nursery, then Primary school and come into contact with other children.

You try your hardest not to catch them, but it very hard not to give your children a good night kiss, even if their nose is running like Niagara Falls. Last month my youngest came down with a chest infection that left him sounding as if he smoked eighty cigarettes a day. When his temperature kept rising, and he came out in a purple rash all over his face, it was time for me to call 111. My first concern was Meningitis. That dreaded word that sets fear into the hearts of even the bravest person. We were advised to take him straight to the A and E department at the Norfolk and Norwich Hospital, which we promptly did. The service was excellent, even though the staff were under a lot of pressure. Seven hours later after various tests, he was released. It was not the dreaded M word, but an infection that he would recover from with plenty of tender loving care.

I tried my best for the next two weeks not to catch his bug and thought I was in the clear. I had planned ten days holiday potting about our home catching up odd jobs, but instead, on the very first day I woke up with a sore throat. By lunchtime, my nose felt as if it was going to explode, and then I spent the next five days lying in bed feeling dreadful. The whole ten days turned out to be drab experience, and one that left me more tired than before my break. Maybe that's what I needed. Ten days of basically doing nothing. I had to make a special effect one day because it was my youngest birthday and we had organised a party session tubing with his friends at the Norfolk Ski Club. No matter how tired I felt, or the cold sweats I put on a smile, and mingled with the other parents who stayed to watch their little loved ones hurtle themselves down the dry ski slope in a large doughnut ring.

All the kids loved it and afterwards we had pizza delivered with other delights of nibbles, and drinks for the children to enjoy They had a great time and so did I.

But that's family life, sharing the good with the bad.

Regards

Mark

Sunday, 3 April 2016

A close shave.

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