Richard Wright

Well, sort of. I’ve pulled something along the inside of my leg that’s forced me to abort this week’s running altogether, which makes me a little grumpy. The leg in question is strapped up to take some pressure off, and I’m hoping I’ll be out again on Monday. This may be insanely optimistic. Last time I pulled something in the same sort of area, last May, it was nearly three months before I could properly run again, but for most of that I wasn’t treating it properly. Once I had it strapped, it cleared up in a couple of weeks. This doesn’t feel quite so bad, so fingers crossed.

Ironically, I didn’t actually injure the leg while running. Twice a week I do a core workout, for those muscles which aren’t really improved by running itself, but which conversely improve the running if you look after them. On this occasion, it’s had quite the opposite effect.

Still that’s a couple of more hours for writing over the next few days. This evening, I have the house to myself, a bottle of wine, a pizza, and a word processor open on the current novel. As such, I’m not really spending the evening alone in a Glasgow suburb. No, I’m in a freezing cottage in Wales, which may or may not be haunted, enjoying the good company of Tanith, Matthew, Maxwell, Nicholas, and Cynthia. Goat may turn up soon, and I’ll try my hardest to keep a straight face if he does.

To do otherwise would be impolite, after all.

I twitter. If you wish to follow the meaningless twittering, you can do so here. All set? Super. I’m still not sure what it’s all about, but if it’s good enough for Keene and Lebbon, it’s good enough for me.

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Tony Hart has died in his sleep, aged 83. If you grew up in the United Kingdom between the sixties and the nineties, then you grew up watch Hart scribbling and painting on the BBC like a childish, kindly uncle, sometimes talking to plasticine men, sometimes whitewashing live elephants, all in the name of inspiring kids to pick up a pen and draw. He was so convincing, even I tried it.

I was rubbish, and gave up immediately.

It’s a testament to Hart’s persona as a presenter that this didn’t stop me watching his art shows, because I still wanted to find out what he was going to do next.

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A couple of new reviews which the Internet has alerted me to. The first, at Horror Drive in, is a lukewarm review of The Flesh Remembers, a PDF of which you can download for free on this site. I felt a little sad at the start, and wondered where I’ve been, but you can;t win them all. At least Mr Monge ultimately had a good time with the book. Funnily enough, my Dad also likes the short story ‘The Loch’ more than the novella The Flesh Remembers. It makes me glad I threw it in there.

The second review is of Short Trips: Transmissions, by blogger Louise Dennis, who gives a thorough overview of the book, and liked ‘Lonely’ a lot. Both reviewers reach sort of the same conclusion, in different ways. These are books you might enjoy. Give them a shot, why don’t you?

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I’m getting a bit obsessed by running. On Saturday I was out in driving wind and rain, and bloody loved it. It’s easy to love running after the fact, when the achievement is achieved, and your legs don’t hurt anymore. Saturday, I think, is the first time I’ve been consciously aware of having a really good time while actually doing it.

Which is nice.

Rick Wright, of Pink Floyd fame (not me, in other words) died on the 15th of September.  On the 14th of September, this website had 22 visitors.  On the 15th, it had 2738.  On the 16th, it had 2709.  Things petered out a little after that, and by the 22nd it was down to a paltry 215.  Yesterday, a mere 56.

In the last month, I’ve had 9487, probably slightly confused, visitors.

I hope some of them bought a book.

In other news, after the last post I promised Tash (hi Tash) I’d cough to what happened with the half-marathon I was supposed to be doing.  Alas, it’s not a terribly exciting tale.  You may remember that around May, just before I went to Majorca, I sprained my groin (far less amusing an injury than I always thought it would be).  It took about nine weeks before I was able to run properly again, and when I did, I was very tentative indeed.  Mid-August saw me getting back into it properly, but that left four week until D-day, and I had a long way to go fitness wise to get to half-marathon stage. Still not there, in fact.  That was when I threw in the towel.

On the marathon, but not the running, which I’ve genuinely started to enjoy, and am feeling increasingly smug about as my fitness improves.  As the half marathon was a goal to keep me running, it’s more or less done it’s job, despite my non-attendance.

That said, the idea of running a race or two still appeals, so watch this space.

I can confirm, with little fear of contradiction, that my adductor strain (groin strain) had not completely healed prior to my tentative run earlier this evening. Now it’s sore again. On the other hand, it kept me upright on the move, so as long as I’m not hobbled tomorrow, we’re back on track. I hope so, because my fitness has definitely dropped while recovering. Very frustrating indeed, that it goes so much faster than it builds up…