Feeling good being with someone who usually makes me feel bad....

Unfortunate timing means that by this time tomorrow I’ll have been on three different training courses within five days; a one-day training session for one of my voluntary roles, the first two days of my Module Three COSCA course, and a one-day course at the Hospice. As a result, my head’s a wee bit puggled tonight and I’m struggling to string even a few words together, but something happened that made me feel so good, I just had to scribble it down.

You know how we all have porcupines in our lives? You know the kind of folk I mean? No matter how happy, excited or optimistic we’re feeling when we bump into them, by the time we’ve parted company our bubble’s been well and truly burst by their spiky cynicism.  Well, I bumped into someone tonight whose attitude has affected me in precisely that way for years and I’m so chuffed that I managed to walk away this time with my bubble well and truly and firmly intact! I’m not sure why I was better equipped to resist the comments that would, in times gone by, have upset me, dented my confidence or spoiled my mood but - whatever the reason - our little encounter left me feeling great!

Someone once said: “a cynic can chill and dishearten with a single word”, which pretty much sums up the effect that this person used to have on me. I don’t think they ever will again though; surely once you’ve come through the attack of a porcupine with a smile still securely planted on your face, you’ve set yourself up to resist future bubble-bursting attempts?! And, if I do find myself wavering the next time, it'll be well worth remembering what someone else once said: “Watch what people are cynical about and we can often discover what they lack.....”

Enjoying first day moments and memories

One of the great things about having a mixed bag of friends - some of whom have no children and some of whom have children who are at completely different stages from your own - is that you’re less likely to get too blinkered and self-absorbed with everything that's going on in your own, or your own kids', lives at any given time. 

During the past week or so, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed hearing about - and looking through lots of cute photos of – some of my friends’ kids as they set off on their first day at school. It’s such a special occasion, and a pretty emotional time for most parents, though, it’s worth remembering that the whole buzz around 'first day' also creates a difficult and painful set of emotions for the many women who either can’t have children or who've lost a child. And, it can also be a pretty irritating time for women who’ve chosen not to have kids!

One of my volunteer-work colleagues said to me recently that August is the worst month of the year for childless-through-choice women! After patiently listening to me enthuse about all the photos I'd just been looking at on Facebook of various friends' kids first day at either Primary or High School, my colleague said,  “I hate August. It's not only those dreaded words 'Would you like to see some photos..?' that I hate. First, we have to listen to all sorts of fretting over impending Higher and Standard Grade exam results, then we have to Congratulate or Commiserate depending on the actual results received, then we have to ‘ooh and aahh’ over all the ‘first day at school’ photos and then we have to listen to the emotional wrecks who can’t cope with the idea of their grown-up children leaving home for Uni or college or a new job! I hate August!".

She made me laugh, but I guess she did have a point. Still, I know plenty of other women who don't have children of their own, but love to spend time with, or show off photos of, their neices or nephews or their friends' kids.

I guess the point I'm trying to make is that spending time with a variety of different folk keeps you grounded and is a constant reminder that there are always important things going on in other people's lives too - it's good to be reminded that the world doesn’t always have to revolve around us or our own children. (Nope, it doesn't - honest!) 

Speaking of my own children, I’m psyching myself up at the moment for the next big change in our family; Ross moving out for Uni. I’m at the stage of welling up every time I think about it - don't get me wrong, I'm extremely happy and excited and looking forward to this next stage in his life blah, blah - but that doesn't stop me from feeling sad and thinking about how much I'll miss him too. Our family's 'first day at school' experiences seem such a long time ago now (probably because they were..!) and I still can't quite believe that we're now well-and-truly at the 'first day at Work/Uni/Some Other Grown Up Thing' stage! I've got a treasured set of photographs chronicling our 'first day at school' journey - from the first picture of wee Gemma standing out in our garden in her P1 uniform, smiling and raring to go to school, to the last picture of big Gordon standing in the house in his 5^th Year uniform, impatiently smiling and ... not quite raring to go to school! In between, there are thirteen other photos making up the set; including some with just one or two of my kids in their Primary school uniforms, some with a mixture of high school and primary school uniforms, and some with all three in high school gear. Treasured memories indeed. In fact, I just wondered, would you like to see some photos..........?!

No matter what age the kids are, and whether only one, two, or all three of them are going, first days - or first days back - have always been special in the house of Milne!

Singing the perfect song at choir

My all time favourite band is Queen so I was absolutely beside myself on Monday night at choir when Annie played the new song reveal. Within seconds, by the end of the first few notes, most of us had got it and were all joining in with ‘Toni-ight, I’m gonna have myseeelf, a real good time, Ah feel a-li-i-i-ive. And the wuuuuurld.....’ – aw man, it was just brilliant!  Not only were we singing one of my favourite songs by my favourite band, we were singing the song that’s another of our kind of family anthems.

I’ve been a fan of Queen ever since the seventies, when I used to stand in front of the mirror with a hairbrush and belt out the (lesser-known) songs from their first few albums. In 1982, Alex and I saw the band perform live at Ingliston Showground. No concert will ever top it. And, through the years since, various Queen songs have been special and significant for many different reasons. This would turn into a very long blog post if I was to start on about every Queen track I like, so, I’ll get back to our new choir song!

Our kids love Queen too (they never really had a choice...) and, at many a family ‘do’, Gemma and I have battled it out over ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ on Sing Star. Needless to say, Gemma usually wins – and I’ve got even less of a chance of beating her from now on; while Gemma hits nearly every note, I’ll be jumping around aimlessly between the tune and my new low harmony part! However, it’s a small price to pay for the pleasure of singing the song at choir and hearing the result of Annie’s fantastic arrangement. ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ is such a ‘feel-good’ song and it just couldn’t have been a better choice on Monday night – not only because I love the song, but because it just seemed so apt considering the few days that had preceded choir...

Last Friday, I put the phone on to speaker so that Alex and I could share the moment as our very emotional daughter told her very emotional maw and paw that she’d been offered a summer internship for next year down in London with JP Morgan. Gemma had attended an interview the day before (actually, interview doesn’t really cover it; she had to assess and present a case study, participate in a team-work exercise and demonstrate her numerical skills before being grilled during two separate interviews, all in one day) and we’d been waiting anxiously to hear from her. Gemma's been working really hard towards this, in many different ways, for the past year and a half and we’re just so chuffed, delighted and proud that all the hard graft and effort she’s put in has paid off. Someone said to me recently that it's a lot easier for young folk that are naturally bright to get on in life. Gemma's done well in all her exams - but she's in no way gifted! She's worked hard for every exam she's sat (hence her pretty average results at Uni, where partying became more appealing, at times, than studying!) and she was interviewed along with a whole bunch of pretty high falutin students. Hard graft, a positive attitude, drive and commitment play a huge part in succeeding in things - no matter what the thing is. Great results on paper alone won't get anyone very far, especially nowadays. And even the hard graft, work experience and all the rest of it sometimes still isn't enough. If you do put in a lot of effort and hard work though, you're hopefully more likely to be rewarded. That's what's happened for Gemma and, I reckon, there'll be just no stopping her now!

On Sunday Alex competed in a scenic 10K road race, with part of the route taking him over the Forth Road Bridge and back. While he was warming up for the event, he stumbled over on his ankle. Now, a sensible person would’ve kicked off their trainers, gone and asked for an ice pack to reduce the swelling and accepted that the game was a bogey - as far as running was concerned - for a few days. But, when it comes to running, Alex’s not sensible. So, he ran the race, then got into the car and drove to Grangemouth Stadium, put on his spikes and competed in the 3k steeplechase. Yup, that is the one that involves running round the track jumping over big barriers and a water jump. He’s been hobbling around ever since, but “it was worth it to get the points for the team”.  When it comes to being daft about running, there’s just no stopping him.

Ross was also representing the club at the Men’s League in Grangemouth, but his event was the 10k. There aren’t many opportunities to run a 10k on the track – especially at his age - so he’d been delighted when coach asked him to do it. To be honest, I actually found it really difficult to watch. It’s  a psychological battle, as well as a physical one, but Ross stepped up to the mark, finished in a good time and won some valuable points for the team. For twenty five laps round the track, there was just no stopping him.

And as for Gordon, well he went back to school on Tuesday so, on Monday, we’d nipped into town to get some last minute essentials (like trousers and shirts – talk about leaving it till the last minute!). I had a few lump-in-the-throat moments, as I always do at the end of the school holidays, and was thinking a lot about just how much less Gordon really needs his auld maw now. As he blethered to the sales guy in Slaters, I was thinking about how mature he is in his attitude and that, no matter what the future holds for him, his amiable personality will help see him through (Gordon’s personality I mean – not the guy in Slaters!). Having said that, this time last year, Gordon was pretty de-motivated at school and didn’t think he’d do very well in his fourth year exams. He managed to rise above that though and - with a little bit of gentle encouragement - get his head down to achieve a great set of results. Hopefully there’ll be no stopping him doing the same again this year (‘You can lead them to the water but can’t make them drink’ definitely springs to mind here..) however, I’ll be proud of him no matter what news the Postie brings next August, just as long as he’s tried his best. And I’m pretty sure there’ll be no stopping him doing that.

So, all of that together made ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ the perfect song for me to be singing at choir this week. I loved the way Annie had arranged the song, I loved watching the soloists sing those famous wee lines and I just had a brilliant time. In fact, I didn't want the night to stop at awwwwww-awwwl, na na na na naaaa, na na na na.....

Writing my hundredth blog post

I don’t often write here about my work work - or ‘what I do for a living’ work - because it’s, well, pretty mundane really. For the past twenty odd years I’ve ‘done the admin’ for our wee business while Alex and the lads have done all the difficult, demanding, and hard work. Don’t get me wrong, I know my job’s essential for the smooth (or not so, at times!) running of the business - keeping up with the paperwork, paying the wages, doing the VAT (yeuch) etc, etc – but it’s never been quite enough, and I always knew that when the kids grew up I’d need something else.

There’s a common misconception that if you work from home you don’t do a ‘real’ job. I learned a long time ago that it’s better just to laugh along with folk - who make jokes or playful digs about the fact that I work from home; most of them insinuating that I sit around all day drinking coffee, twiddling my thumbs, watching the telly or going out for long lunches – rather than try to explain what I do actually do. I used to find the jibes a wee bit hurtful, but when I accepted that it doesn’t really matter what other folk think, I also accepted that I should never feel undervalued. (Incidentally, just for the record, I don’t ever sit around all day drinking coffee, twiddling my thumbs and watching the telly, but I do hold my hands up to sometimes enjoying a long leisurely lunch!) I’ve been incredibly lucky to have a job that’s allowed me to suit my hours around the kids while they were going through all their different ‘growing up’ stages; I’ve been there for all their different activities, for running them around, and I was usually at home (sitting in the office, but still at home) at the end of their day to listen to all the chit-chat after their school bags and shoes had been chucked off.

So,  although my work work’s pretty mundane, it’s suited me, and it’ll continue to be part of my life for as long as we have our own wee business (and that’ll probably be until Alex is very old or getting carted off site in a box!). However, instead of now fitting work work around the kids and their activities, I’ve reached the stage where I’m fitting it around my own activities. Over the past while I’ve completed several Open University modules and a couple of COSCA modules, I’ve started working in a couple of new voluntary roles and have gradually been doing more writing. This blog was a product of advice given on one of the OU courses: "writing a blog will encourage you to write more often without getting too hung up on the technicalities of what you're writing" - and here we are, one hundred posts and over six thousand views later! I’m really enjoying the whole process of - in typical mid-life fashion - ‘finding something else’, especially as I’ve met some really interesting people, made some great friends and found a whole new family (in the shape of a choir!) along the way.

I’m hoping that all of this, sometime in the near future, will lead to something that’ll have some sort of financial benefit attached; further education courses are great from a personal fulfilment and development point of view, but they’re also a bit of a drain on the old coffers! However, whatever I end up doing, it’ll have to be something that allows me to carry on doing my work work for Impressions in Stone – and, of course, will hopefully be something that allows me to carry on partaking in the odd very long and very leisurely lunch!

One show at the Fringe - but a great one

I try to spend at least one day every August through in Edinburgh. Many moons ago, when Alex and I were students, we’d revel in the late night shows and late night pubs. When the kids were young, we’d spend a day watching jugglers, clowns and clean-mouthed comedians. When the kids were a bit older, we’d all stay in a cheap hotel for a few nights, cram in as many shows as possible - including a few late night performances since the kids were old enough to be subjected to sweary words - and thoroughly enjoy a sort of mini-break at the Festival! Over the past couple of years, we’ve come full circle in that the kids enjoy going through to the Fringe with their pals, however, it doesn’t mean that we can’t still sometimes meet up and take in a show together. Just like yesterday.

I had a thoroughly lovely day with my special choir buddy (and, up until yesterday, Fringe Virgin!) Christine. Gordon and his very special choir buddy, Beth, travelled through with us on the train, but set off to do their own thing shortly after arriving in Waverley Station. Now, I’d intended taking Christine to a couple of wee shows in the afternoon and was keen for her to experience the thrill of sitting in a poky wee venue either enjoying a golden nugget of a show, or cringing at some absolute garbage or another. The Fringe experience isn’t the same unless you take in a crap show! Darting between the venues, supping a beer between shows, people-watching and enjoying the sights and sounds of the multitude of characters on the streets, being incredulous at the variety of venues and the sheer vast numbers of venues and shows –  all of these things contribute to making the Fringe a unique and fantastic experience, but it’s not really the same unless you’ve experienced the thrill of walking into a venue, not having a clue what the show’s going to be like, only to discover that you’ve picked something really crap (one time we sat through fifty minutes of a guy standing on a stage rhyming off all the videos he’d ever bought. Just a list of videos. That was it) or something truly brilliant.  

So, the plan was to have a quick lunch, browse the Fringe Programme, pick out some wee shows, circle the map then head off to do the whole Fringe thing. However, that plan didn’t quite pan out and we ended up letting time slip away from us while we drank our wine and blethered over our pizzas in a nice wee restaurant off High Street! Realising that we didn’t have much time to suss out which shows to go to, we opted instead for a buzzy wander up and down the Royal Mile, taking in the street theatre and a variety of wee ‘taster’ shows. Although it was raining off and on, nothing could dampen the infectious enthusiasm of the performers, leaflet distributors or spectators – us included!  

We met up later with Gordon and Beth outside Venue 111 (or, to give it its Sunday name, St Andrews and St Georges West Church) for Christine’s first show at the Fringe. And what a show it was – we couldn’t have picked a better one for Christine to lose her Fringe Virginity to! One of our other choir friends, Hazel, was performing with the Edinburgh Music Theatre Company in a musical revue called ‘Pop Goes The Musical’. Aw man, it was brilliant. Fifty minutes of class entertainment by a group of extremely talented singers. No big set, no dialogue, no nonsense; just beautifully arranged songs sung, well, just beautifully! I am one of Queen’s biggest fans and I’m pretty fussy when it comes to covers of their songs, but the version of 'Bohemian Rhapsody' that the EMT performed was the best I've ever heard.

Hazel's solo performance of 'What Kind of Fool' (you know the one? Really sad, from Saturday Night Fever?) was superb. Just as she does at choir, she sang with such passion and emotion; I had quite a wee lump in my throat! I think it was a combination of Hazel’s performance and the fact that Gordon and I were sitting there watching a friend from the choir along with two of our best friends from the choir. I'm so very lucky to be part of Heart of Scotland. 

The four of us chatted and laughed a lot during the journey home on the train. It maybe hadn’t been my fullest day at the Fringe, but it was certainly another great one to add to the list. Yup, yet another August trip to Edinburgh that made me feel really good.

Gemma being safe in London

I’m writing this tonight to keep me distracted from watching the news channels. Earlier on, at choir, I was telling some of my friends about the brilliant weekend I’ve just had with Alex and the boys during our flying visit to Gemma down in London. One of them asked if I was worried about her, because of the trouble down there at the moment. I think I said something like, ‘Och, Gemma’ll be fine. She’s in Catford, near Lewisham. It’s really unlikely that the trouble’ll spread to there.’ I’d been keeping up with the news throughout the day, and was sure that the riots and looting wouldn’t reach out to the area that Gemma’s living and working in.

I came home to Alex glued to the telly watching pictures of cars on fire on Lewisham high street. I felt sick. Alex had been in contact with Gemma through text – speaking to her was difficult as she was still at work. He’d asked her to contact us as soon as she was back in the house; he’d heard that there had been riots in the centre of Catford (which is very close to where she’s staying and is where we sat and had a meal with her on Saturday night). Gemma’s doing a job that involves walking around the streets (thankfully in teams), knocking on doors till nine o’clock at night before driving back to their accommodation – usually through the centre of Catford.

It was such a relief when she phoned at ten thirty to let us know that she was back home, safe and sound. It had taken her a lot longer to get back as she’d been diverted away from central Catford. She told us that the cafe she’d been sitting in this morning had been wrecked by the riots there. Gemma, being Gemma, sounded totally calm and went cheerily off the phone to go and make her dinner then get some sleep before work tomorrow. She’s working long, hard hours.

It’s clear that the rioting, looting, setting cars alight and other horrendous behaviour of these yobs is spreading even further and getting worse as the night goes on. Other boroughs in London and other cities in the UK are also now being affected and the police just don’t seem to have a clue where to start to get things back under control. I absolutely hate the fact that my wee girl is in amongst it.

We sat at home a few years ago while Gemma was being evacuated from her hotel in Houston, Texas. We watched, on the telly, while Hurricane Ike struck the area and watched as her hotel was devastated by the storm. Thankfully the hurricane hit the hotel long after Gemma and the rest of her Space School friends had been moved out. It was horrible. But, as much as it was worrying and so hard being so far away, we knew that she was in good hands and that the course team were looking after the students really well. We knew that she’d been moved to a safe place and we were in almost constant contact by phone.

The anxiety that I’m feeling sitting here just now, with one eye on the telly while I type, is much worse than that felt during Hurricane Ike. It’s the uncertainty of what’s going to happen next. It’s the lack of control and the unpredictability of riots. Thirty years ago, Alex and I took a trip down to London to visit my brother, who lived in Streatham at the time. We’d been sitting blethering in his flat and hadn’t had the telly on, so had no idea that just a few miles down the road, a riot had broken out. The first of the Brixton Riots was simmering, and we had no idea. We set out to go for a meal and very soon realised that something was very badly wrong. It was too late to turn back; crowds of youths in balaclavas, or scarves round their heads, were suddenly upon us. Within a few very quick moments, we’d been mugged, the jewellery had been ripped from me and my sister-in-law’s necks and wrists, my brother and Alex had been stabbed and we were all absolutely terrified. The thugs left us alone when they realised that my brother had been pretty badly injured. His lung had been punctured by the blade. Very luckily, a car stopped and the fireman who was driving it called an ambulance (we had no mobile phones in those days). Alex’s was a flesh wound, so the valuable space in the ambulance was left for more needy victims from the riot while the fireman took Alex and I for the most frightening car ride of our lives. We drove straight through the centre of Brixton with crowds of looters and rioters shouting through the windows and banging on the roof. They were so angry and it was the most frightening experience of my life so far.  We eventually made it to the hospital. While Alex was getting stitched up, I watched as a guy in a hooded top and black balaclava was treated out in the waiting area. He had a big cut on his arm – probably from a window he’d smashed – but I will never forget what he had on his other arm. He had a big sort of bandage-type thing wrapped tightly round his wrist and there was a spike sticking out the side of it. A  concealed, lethal weapon. It was all just so surreal and so very frightening.

So, sitting here watching all this shit on the telly tonight and thinking about my wee girl being down in London is definitely not making me feel good. It’s a lot more scary than it looks on the telly, being in amongst a riot. What is making me feel OK is knowing that Gemma’s at home in a leafy suburb and is with a nice bunch of friends and work-mates. The Company she’s working for have taken good care of her so far, and I’m pretty sure that they’ll not put the students into any kind of, even remotely, dangerous situation. That thought makes me feel a bit better.

On the way home from choir, enjoying the usual chit chat with Gordon, I was thinking about how proud I was of him. While he was chatting, a blog post was already forming in my head about his fantastic Standard Grade results, which he received last week, and his really great solo performance at choir. I’m so f***ing angry with these mindless rioters and looters for distracting me from that.

I’m heading off to bed now, with the phone by my side, and keeping everything crossed that things start to settle down in London tomorrow. Gemma loves living life to the full and she loves the challenges that doing that can present. I have no doubt that this is not the last time that I’ll be heading off to bed worrying about something that Gemma's exciting life has thrown at her because - even though she’s a mature, sensible, more-than-capable-of-looking-after-herself, gorgeous twenty year old young woman - she’ll always be, simply, my precious little girl.

The Tour of Fife

The Tour de France attracts millions of spectators worldwide every year, in both the fanatic crowds of folk that stand and line the whole route and through the live broadcasts on the telly. The vast majority of those viewers won’t be cyclists themselves but you don’t have to be a cyclist to enjoy watching the spectacle of the Tour. I can testify to that, having been an excited spectator standing at the roadside in years gone by; I know nothing about cycling but I was thoroughly wrapped up in the atmosphere and loved every moment of the whole thing. Much of the attraction doesn’t lie with that moment or two when you see the cyclists whizzing past; it’s all about the build-up, the tension, the camaraderie, the rivalry, the final sprint to the finish each day and the post-tour celebrations. It’s not quite on the same scale, but the same can be said for a wee local running event, called the Tour of Fife!

Now, you’ve probably not heard of the Tour of Fife as it’s obviously a much smaller affair than the Tour de France but the beautiful settings and scenery, the enthusiasm of a small bunch of supporters, the sheer guts and determination displayed by the athletes, the time and effort put in by the organisers and the quality of home-made baking at the post-tour celebrations all combine to put this event - for sheer feel-good factor - right up there alongside its famous cycling counterpart! It’s a series of five races held over five consecutive days and has to be one of the most unique events on the Scottish running calendar. The sport of running depends heavily on volunteers from local clubs organising races and the team at Fife AC certainly do their bit. Not only do they organise more races than any other club (in fact, they put many other Scottish clubs to shame!), the events that they do organise are done with unbridled efficiency and enthusiasm, which are two of the most vital ingredients for a successful sporting event. (It was also a guy from Fife AC that organised the Chariots of Fire Beach Race back in May.)

This is the first year that Alex and Ross have entered the Tour, and we weren’t quite sure what to expect when we pulled in to the car park of Falkland Community Centre on the first night last Wednesday. Falkland, by the way, is gorgeous; it’s a wee picturesque medieval village and it’s as if someone, about three hundred years ago, drew a big circle round the centre of it and wrote ‘Do Not Touch’ in big letters. For once, the planners seem to have paid heed ever since. Anyway, shortly after arriving, we met up with a few of our club mates. Although only four members of Central AC had signed up for the Tour, they made a great wee representative group of each of the age categories. There was Ross (an under 20), Lewis Millar (a senior), Alex (a young vet), and Bill Gault (an older vet).  Lewis is a fantastic runner. He was in his late teens when we joined the club around nine years ago and we’ve enjoyed watching his attitude and performances mature over the years since. Like most of Central’s elite athletes, he’s now a great role model for the youngsters and he’s played a big part in supporting Ross over this past year or so. As far as the Tour was concerned, we were looking forward to seeing Lewis – hopefully - regain the series title, which he won the last time he took part in 2009.

As the boys went off to collect their numbers the car park soon filled up with an eclectic bunch of runners getting ready to do their thing. I couldn’t help smiling at the sight of men in suits - having driven there straight from work - piling out of their cars, stripping off, pulling on their vests, greeting their club mates then rubbing Vaseline between their thighs and on their nipples (yes, you did read that right) to complete the transformation from businessman to running man!  



Getting ready to Go

After registration, we headed up, in the early evening sunshine, to the grounds of the majestic Falkland House School for the start of the first race of the Tour. And, what a lovely place it was to start the whole thing off! The school’s a bit reminiscent of a mini-Hogwarts and the surrounding field’s home to a big family of inquisitive horses (adorable wee foals included).  I love the buzz around the start line of a race; the athletes gradually gathering together to form a big huddle, most of them proudly wearing their own Club’s colours, heads bobbing up and down as they jump around to keep warm, looking down to check that their numbers are pinned on securely and bending over to check that their laces are tied tightly, some breaking out for a last gasp stride or stretch, then all shaking hands and a last bit of banter before quietening down, leaning forward, putting a finger to the ‘start’ button on their watches and waiting for the gun (or hooter, or even voice shouting ‘Go’!)

The first race of the Tour – the Black Hill Race - got off to a brilliant start. What a sight it was; 160 or so runners flying off down the sweeping driveway accompanied by horses and foals galloping alongside them till the runners disappeared off into the woods and the hilly trail beyond. From a spectator’s perspective, there wasn’t much else to see, so I enjoyed blethering to Bill’s wife and daughter for twenty eight minutes or so when, to our delight, we spotted the distinctive yellow and blue of the Central vest running back up the driveway towards the finish line. Lewis’s bid to take the Tour title had got off to a flying start with a comfortable win. From then on, we cheered in a steady stream of runners as they battled their way up the drive to cross the finish line. I hadn’t really known what to expect, as far as placing was concerned, for Ross but I was over the moon to see him come round the corner in fourth place overall and first placed junior. Alex (‘that was bloody torture’) and Bill got off to good ‘Tour’ starts too, with their own private battles going on further down the field. It’s not all that long ago that Alex was coming in ahead of Ross in the longer races and it makes me so proud to watch Ross now doing what Alex used to do for him; run back down the field or hang around at the finish line to cheer his auld Dad in! The boys went off to ease their muscles off in the cool wee stream running through the Estate while I stayed on to give the tail end competitors a clap in as they finished. Running, like cycling, for most people is about keeping fit, being part of a brilliant community and achieving your own personal goals, whether that means coming first, last or somewhere in between. The placings might be different, but the sense of personal achievement’s just the same, whether you’re up there on the leader board, in the midst of the pelaton or bringing up the rear.

Since the races were all around the same area in Fife, Alex and I had decided to make a wee holiday of it, so, after a wander along one of the woodland trails, we headed up to St Andrews to stay for a few nights (where, incidentally, f***ing seagulls, as told previously, meant that we didn’t get the best night’s sleep while on tour!). Ross couldn’t take time off work, so we said our goodbye’s before he drove off back home to Stirling.



Lewis and the yellow vest

Thursday night’s event was another trail race - this time in the beautiful grounds of Hill of Tarvit Mansion House near Ceres - but this time not so hilly and more of a spectator-friendly affair, with the route taking the runners three times round a mile and a half loop. There was a similar atmosphere on the second night but, noticeably more ‘Hello’s’ and ‘How’re you doin’s?’. One of the nicest things about the ‘consecutive night’ factor was that faces became more than just familiar and we all, runners and supporters alike, got to know each other a wee bit better as the Tour progressed. When Lewis arrived, he was presented with the Tour Leader’s yellow vest! Brilliant! Lewis was a bit peeved that he’d gone home and needlessly washed his club vest – unlike his junior club mate, who’d decided that, in a similar vein to some of the golfers during the Open who don’t shave for the duration of the competition, it would be unlucky to wash his vest during the Tour! Well seen his mother was on her holidays in St Andrews instead of being at home to insist that his manky vest got washed!


Start line Day Two

 As the runners gathered at the start line, we were all pretty amused to see one of those wee green John Deer’s coming up the hill towards us. You know what I mean? It’s like a sort of posh person’s beach buggy. As it drew closer, we were even more amused to see an elderly chap, who looked like he’d stepped out of some kind of time-warp, driving said buggy. He pulled up to the side of the gathered runners and we got to see him in his full glory. He was wearing tartan plus fours, a tweed jacket, bow-tie and bunnet, yellow socks and a yellow checked waist-coat (think Rupert the Bear) and Brogues. In his hand was a very old hickory golf club. Aw man, it was brilliant! So, out he steps from his carriage and wanders over to chat to the gathered runners and organisers. It turned out that he’d been invited along to start the race. I never did find out exactly who he was, but he was very obviously associated with the National Trust’s Tarvit Estate in some way. He gave a really interesting wee spiel, explaining that the Kingarrock Golf Course was owned by the family that owned the mansion house back in the early 1900’s and that it had been closed during the war so that the land could be used for much-needed crops. The 9-hole course was restored and re-opened in 2008 – but it’s a golf course with a difference! It’s a public course (he told the runners they’d be welcomed along for a game whilst wearing their running gear – I loved that!) but all players are provided with original hickory clubs and an old golf bag. I couldn’t resist having a wee look on the website and just loved some of the descriptions of what to expect: staff will provide you with a “Spoon, Driving Iron, Mid Mashie, Mashie Niblick and Putter, together with helpful advice on play ... the more gentle sport will be rekindled in the most beautiful of Scottish settings.” It almost made me want to go play golf..!

Anyway, back to the Tour. The old chap in the plus fours started the race off and, again, it was a fantastic sight as the runners charged off down the hill then disappeared off in to the woods. This time, however, they’d pass the same spot another two times before sprinting to the finish, and it was possible to move around from one part of the route to another, so there were ample opportunities for cheering them all on. Now, I’ve been a Race Director, runner, supporter and race marshal on many different occasions so counting how many laps have passed should be a straightforward process for me. So, how I managed to be standing like an eejit waiting for Ross to pass me one more time – when he’d already passed me three times - is still a mystery! (I must take this opportunity to publicly apologise to the poor marshal that I got angry with for not keeping me right when I asked him if the leading runners had another lap to go; “No, they’re on their last lap now. They won’t pass here again” he said. I made the mistake of saying, “Are you sure, I thought they had another one to go?” He said, “Hm, yes, I think you might be right.” So, I stood there, right beside him, like an eejit, waiting for my son to pass one more time before I sprinted over to see him finish. It wasn’t until Roberta - Bill’s wife – shouted over, “Hey Jane! Why are you not over at the finish?! You’ve just missed Ross coming in third! What a brilliant run!”, that I realised my mistake. Needless to say, being the say-what-you-think kind of person I am, the poor marshal got a wee bit of an ear-bashing – but I did immediately apologise to the poor soul, and I’m doing it again right now, publicly; mainly because I don’t want to be banned from next year’s Tour for bad behaviour!)



Alex and Ross after the finish I missed!

I didn’t even make it over to the finish in time to see Alex come in, which was also pretty frustrating, but it was good to hear that he’d felt better during this race than the last one, and he’d managed to push himself a bit further up the board. He was sitting in a very respectable peloton position! Lewis ran another blinder to extend his leading position and Ross had a great race to take third overall and retain his position as leading junior. Further down the field, Bill Gault had also had a good race – despite having both knees fairly heavily strapped. We were keeping a wee eye on the Over 65 category as we knew that Bill was in with a good chance of winning.  It was really easy to keep track of all the results for the duration of the Tour thanks to the lively and informative forum on the Fife AC website. Results, reports, the leader board and terrific photos were posted really quickly after each race so that everyone could keep up to date with their times and positions.

So, that was the second race over. It had been another great night and we made our way back to St Andrews knackered (it’s hard work this spectating lark) but full of chat and looking forward to the next stage of the Tour. Ross went off in the opposite direction back to Stirling as he, again, had to work the next day.



Brian, the devilish race organiser

The Tour wouldn’t have been the Tour without an uphill Time Trial event – and what an event. On Friday night we drove from St Andrews to the outskirts of Falkland then drove for one and a half miles up a very steep and never-ending tarmac hill to the East Lomond car park. After a wee while of standing and admiring the tremendous view at the top, the Tour participants jogged the mile and a half down to the bottom of the hill.  Then, they were set off in pairs, every 30 seconds, to run against the clock back up to the top again. The aptly named ‘Up Hell Time Trial’ is described as the Alpe d’Huez of the Tour. Not being an expert on the Tour de France, I had to ask what the Alpe d’Huez was and, in doing so, discovered that the comparison’s perfect. It’s one of the killer mountain stages in the cycling Tour and it’s also renowned for the antics of the over-enthusiastic spectators, sort of like a Glastonbury Festival for cycling enthusiasts! Similarly, the ‘Up Hell Time Trial’ is an absolute killer stage in the Tour of Fife and is renowned for the supportive spectators and the antics of the Tour organiser! Dressed as a red devil, and sporting a big water pistol and very loud air horn, Brian charged up and down the hill in the back of a bright red Smart car convertible. While the rest of us spectators were clapping, shouting and cheering the runners on as loudly as we could to help them up the absolute killer of a hill, Brian was jeering at them, scooshing them with water and blasting them with his air horn! And, the runners all seemed to love it – it was good fun (well, it was for me standing half way up the hill watching) and it seemed to take their minds off the task in hand for a wee spell.

Getting ready for battle on the hill!

The list showing who each runner was paired with for the time trial had been posted on the forum during the day. We’d assumed that the pairings would be based on times from the first two nights, so it was a pleasant surprise to see that Alex and Ross had been paired together. I thought it was brilliant that they’d set off at the bottom of the hill at the same time – even though I knew there’d be a bit of a gap between them at the top! Ross had a fantastic run and was only two seconds off the junior record for the event. Aw, I was so proud of him. Lewis looked to me as if he was just out for a wee jog when he passed – it was a fantastic display and he too was only a few seconds off the senior record (which is held by Andrew Lemoncello – the talented Scottish athlete who’ll hopefully be flying the flag for us in the marathon at the 2012 Olympics). I was hoarse by the end of the evening from shouting encouragement to all of the athletes – I was totally in awe of every one of them. What an achievement to run up that bloody horrible hill, especially after running a hill race and trail race the two night’s previously. Brilliant!

Ross came back to stay at the flat with us for the rest of the Tour – as his working week was over – so we had a really lovely meal out after the time trial; enjoying a few beers and catching up on all the chat from the previous three nights. We were all looking forward to the fourth race – the St Andrews Beach Race - mainly because we have such happy memories of the event that the boys took part in earlier on in the year, but also because it was the only race in the Tour that we wouldn’t have to drive to! 




Ross and Bryan sprinting to the finish

The race on Saturday was a straightforward 4.25 mile out and back race along the gorgeous west sands of St Andrews. Just like the Chariots race in May, it was a spectacular sight – this time on a beautiful sunny evening – to watch the runners disappear along the beach then gradually, twenty minutes or so later, appear back, first as wee specks in the distance. Lewis won this fourth event, comfortably again, and Ross – with me shouting like a banshee – managed to come in ahead of the excellent runner from Corstorphine AAC,  Bryan Clark, who’d finished in front of Ross in every race so far. It was a terrific achievement and, failing a fall or such like, guaranteed him third place in the Tour overall and first Under 20 spot. Alex felt he’d had a really good run, but was a wee bit disappointed when he saw the results. The difficulty with being in the peloton is that there are too many runners to keep track of and it’s not easy to see who’s doing what round about you. I was as proud of him as ever though. Bill Gault almost pulled out of this event at the last minute as his knee was really playing up but, as would’ve been the case with most of the mad running fraternity, he decided to give it a go. He did incredibly well considering the pain he was clearly in – and I’m sure the obligatory dip in the sea felt great afterwards.

It was with a bit of a heavy heart that we made our way to Strathmiglo the next day for the last event of the Tour. It was a bit sad, not only because the Tour was nearly finished and it had been such a fantastic experience, but because our wee holiday was nearly over too! Just like the first race, this wasn’t a great one for spectators till the very end – but it was still lovely to chat to all the folk standing round about, especially Brian (the devil) whose enthusiasm is totally infectious. If only every athletic club could have a Brian in its ranks!



Nearly all done!

The last race was called The Twisted Chicken Run. I have absolutely no idea why. Alex tells me there wasn’t a chicken in sight, and the route didn’t really twist as such – I’m sure there’s probably a good reason for it, but I forgot to ask on the day and I can’t seem to find any clues anywhere on the website. The runners lined up at the bottom of a hay field then ran for just over 5 miles – the route took them up onto a trail then up a steep hill before striding it out the same way back down. It was fun watching the runners tearing down the last stretch at the side of the field to the finish. Lewis finished the Tour just as he’d started, with a comfortable win, and Ross had yet another superb run to come in third. Alex came flying down the hill with a huge grin on his face – possibly because he knew I was taking his photo, but probably because he knew he didn’t have to race again the next day! We hung on to cheer Bill down the hill before heading in to the local community centre for possibly the best post-race spread of yummy cakes and sandwiches I’ve ever seen. (The spread was really just for the runners; I did offer a spectator’s donation but the lovely lady serving the tea said the spectators were just as important as the athletes. It’s not really true, but I delved unashamedly into the cakes anyway!)

The prize-giving ‘ceremony’ was really lovely. No big winner’s podium or champagne getting sprayed around the room; just one of the guys from Fife AC saying a few humorous words of thanks, paying a fitting wee tribute to a member of the running community who was supposed to take part in the Tour but who sadly died earlier on this year, then announcing the winners of each age group and presenting them with their prizes. Although Ross was first junior, he was presented with the overall third prize (which suited him down to the ground as I’m quite sure the junior prize wouldn’t have included a case of cider!!) and I was just chuffed to bits for him. Bill had managed to hold on to first place in the ‘over 65’ category and received a well-deserved cheer when he hobbled up to collect his prize. And Lewis was such a worthy winner of the Tour – he’s the first to have won it twice and, hopefully, he’ll be back next year to defend his title. Although Alex didn’t win a prize in the ‘over 45’ category, he wasn’t left out of the Central prize-winning team as he was awarded a spot prize of a wee dinky key-ring and skipped cap! It was a big haul of prizes for such a wee team and they all did their club really proud.

As for this lowly spectator, well, I loved every minute of it (apart from missing the finish on Day Two!). I’m so proud of Ross but his achievement was just an added bonus to what would’ve been a thoroughly enjoyable event no matter what place either him or Alex had finished in. It’s back to that thing of simply thoroughly enjoying spending time with like-minded people, watching folk push themselves to beyond what they thought were their limits and, basically, having some really good fun! The boys are mad keen to compete in the Tour of Fife again in 2012 – and the thought of that alone is enough to make me feel really good! Vive le Tour!




Ross and his biggest fan!

Team Central