I am feeling bitter

Switzergent has gone to Norway for three days. This has its good and bad points.

I can cook food he normally hates e.g. liver (I love liver) good

I can buy bread he normally hates e.g. brown (I love brown bread too) good

I can fiddle on the computer to my heart's content good

But:

I have to put the girls to bed on my own when I am tired and want to kill them bad

I have to look after the plants - more heavy responsibility bad

and worst of all, while I am scraping dried Weetabix off Glory's high chair, Switzergent in Norway gets to go on a nature tour followed by al fresco dinner in the forest, surrounded by elk and beavers and ..*struggles to recall other Norwegian fauna*...stoats. stoats? bad bad BAD.

So I have no choice but to publish this picture:



in the interest of fairness.

Back to running business.

So big thank you to A.N Other for sponsoring me £50! Only another £950 to go, so please keep it coming.

Of course you can lend your support in other ways. For example
a) come and watch, point and stare, laugh and mock etc etc on the day itself
or
b) run it with me! Yes! What a good idea.. If 20km sounds a bit much you can do 10km or 4km if you've eaten chips all year.

In other news: Gloria is walking! She looks like Frankenstein, only cuter.

Happy birthday Scarlett!

She's my niece and she's 7 today!

Fancy a bike ride?

Imagine you have to build a tower out of 70 bags of sugar. Done it? Good. Bit wobbly, but just about standing. Now, knock it down and rebuild it again in a way that you can attach it to the back of your bike. Except pretend it's not sugar, but costly, life-saving drugs, fragile as well, so get rid of the wobbliness, please and come to think of it, wrap it in lots of plastic weave so it doesn't get wet.

Finished? Well, you can't stop for tea because now you have to ride your bike for about 300km to get the medicines to the people that need them. And look - sorry about the roads. And mind your back because there are still people with guns lurking who want to steal the drugs or kill you or both. Watch the -yikes!- snakes, too.

Let us now pause for a moment and look at this guy:




This Conglese guy actually does all that: it's his job. I'm sorry I don't know his real name. I wish I did; I'd like to know more of his story.

What I do know is that Medair supplies his drugs and bought the bicycle on which he makes these perilous journeys to areas that would otherwise be inaccessible. And he is just one of many incredibly brave people doing the same thing in Eastern Congo.

This year I'm running my 20km race for Medair's Congo programme and I want to raise £1000. Will you give me some money please? It's very easy to make a donation from the medair website.

Thanks everyone!

PS If you want to give, please let me know how much by comment or email so I can keep track of the lolly coming in. Merci.

Not only do I jog, I have children too!

I took this photo on the steps outside our apartment building; it's a nice summary of my golden-haired snow elf and her life at the moment.

Poor child, she probably can't wait to choose her own clothes. For now she's stuck with my rummage-in-the-cupboard, stick-it-on approach to fashion and my weakness for the hooded cardigan. Smart, well-fitting, tasteful, colour-co-ordinated garments really aren't my forte. The pink mac was her choice today, as she was convinced it was "pouring with rain."

But look at the bag! She does at least have an excellent grasp of the value of accessories in a girl's life. When we go for a walk, the bag is this season's must-have. It's stuffed with lego and finger puppets.

The baby pram is also verrrrrry popular right now. The chilly-looking doll is Clara; she has a boy doll called John, who sometimes comes out with us, but mostly lies face down on the floor of our cold basement, wondering what he's done wrong.

In the top right-hand corner you can just catch Glory, travelling business class.

The humiliation continues

Teenagers. Don't you just love them?

Yesterday I was waiting at the pedestrian crossing in my T shirt and lycra trousers (see? I am getting serious), jumping up and down and dancing, Rocky-style as I waited for the green man. Of course it looked silly, but I was mid-run, pumped, and was afraid that if I stopped suddenly my whole body would seize up and I would fall into a coma.

Along came a gang of youths cat-calling, whooping and making strange, gibbon noises, all directed at me, the strange, bouncing, lycra lady. Did I
a) whip out a can of mace from my sports bra and spray them in the eyes?
b) turn the other cheek, give them a radiant smile and say "I forgive your mockery. Jesus loves you, young scallys!"
or
c)stare straight ahead, turn beetroot and tried to change the lights with the power of my mind?

It was only when I got home that I realised I don't think I've ever seen a group of people in Switzerland get so excited in public.

And the last shall be first

I have started being a bit more earnest about my training for the 20km in April. On Tuesday I felt earnest enough to attend my friend's running club for the first time.

I arrived chirpy and enthusiastic 10 minutes early for the 7.30pm start. My chirpy enthusiasm ebbed away as I saw the other runners arrive. A sea of Spandex, muscles very Madonna circa Blonde Ambition, and mining torches on their heads. 'Running in the dark - mining torches, why didn't I think of that?', I whispered, fingering my baggy tracksuit bottoms and old jumper. The pack was led by a silver-haired, kindly man of near pensionable age. 'Phew' I thought, 'I'll have an ally in the old boy.'

We 'warmed up'. What I mean is, everyone else galloped off, yet still managed to casually chat to each other, while I lagged 20 metres behind the last pack gasping and wheezing and gulping the air, on my own, in the pitch dark, no mining torch.

Because they were friendly bunch, occasionally someone would come and join me bringing up the rear. "Bonjour!" said one lady, cheerfully, before asking me all about my life. "Oui!.......oui!....j'habite...........*gasp*...ici....*wheeze*" I said, thinking please no more questions, unless you want me to expire right here, right now.

After the 'warm up', we did 1 km sprints, five times. The leaders rattled off a load of numbers which didn't mean anything to me, but I did catch was this: the slowest of you should manage 1km in less than 5 minutes. Excusez moi? Have you lost your mind?

Who was slowest again, by ages? Who got the sympathy cheer at the end? Who thought 'yeah, sweet, but I hate you, you bunch of bastards' about the sympathy cheerers? Who woke up the next day and couldn't move?

Who is going again next week?

It will be worth it.

Another new look

You hated the green. "Insipid," "slurry-coloured", blah blah blah. Calm down, OK? (enough of the very defensive tone - ed)

Ta-daaa! Baby pink! Bubblegum! Flamingoes! Certain roses! All of Em and Glo's wardrobe!

Well, they'll like it even if you don't. (*slight harrumph*)