I did my annual charity work today, generously giving my time and energy by watching Lucy (and her sister and mum) do the Race for Life. I really am quite the philanthropist. Few people give as much as I do - standing around in the sun. I should win one of those mawkish tabloid-wankfest Pride of Britain awards. I'd like that.
It was hot and humid, and all the runners did a superb job. I don't think I would have been able to complete the race, even if I was using someone else's legs and car.
As only women are competing, there's a weird atmosphere there. It's definitely a really good thing - so many people race (loads of money must be raised), and there's a feeling of community and fun, rather than the intense one-upmanship that my gender might bring to the occasion.
But it is strange that, to cater for what must be a wide range of individuals from different social and ethnic groups, they need to lump everyone into one big gender-based lump.
They've created a very specific female aesthetic. Everyone wears pink. There's upbeat pop music. One of the bouncy energetic announcer people (from a local commercial radio station, I think) described it as the biggest hen night they'd ever seen. Which is a terrifying prospect.
I wonder if some women feel a bit annoyed by all the pink and pizazz and the muffled roar of feminine enthusiasm. I wonder if there were any goths there...
Of course, there probably were, but they were happy to go along with the majority, to have fun and raise money for a good cause.
In the end, I view the Race for Life just like I view the theatre and the fire brigade: I think it's important and positive, and I'm very happy that it exists; I just don't really want to get involved.
If you are impressed by my accomplishments, and would like to give some money to Cancer Research, you can sponsor Lucy (who I suppose had something to do with it) here:
http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/lucystone6
She's so close to £200, it would be a shame not to make it.
***
After the race, we went through town. At some point - I'm not sure when - a small, silver letter 'A' became stuck to my sweaty head.
It was confusing. It was also very difficult to remove. I wondered if I had been made some kind of tiny silver Captain America. If so, they'd chosen the wrong man, as I'm not tiny, silver, American, or a Captain, and I don't have a tiny silver shield.
***
I've had this song going round in my head today. It's a beautiful lazy summer song, for when you can barely move due to the heat:
Joanna Newsom - You and Me, Bess
I also like to put videos on my blog to break things up a bit. I wonder if some people come to my blog, see a massive wall of text, and just get put off. I should be appealing to people with short attention spans. Because I'm one of them.
So, just for those of you that can't concentrate, here are a series of snappy blog segments:
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Legs? You betcha!
***
Some kind of stage play, where the main character (Richie Northwark) consumes a whelk.
***
Politically correct discussion of gypsies, undercut by mock offensive remark.
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Audio clip of table tennis song.
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Self-pity.
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Unsatisfying "surreal" list.
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Badly drawn picture of a Welsh helicopter (poor resolution).
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Snappy, smug conclusion.
***
How was that? For all of you with long attention spans, just read all of the above at once. There is a secret code hidden in the above, the cracking of which will lead you to the location of a buried golden galleon.
[Just to save you some time - there is no code.]
(The latter is part of the code)
No code.
Code.
Node.
Or?
Mm.
Bye!
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