The Diary of a Demented Man.

Part 6.

Bangor, Friday, 14th April, 2006, early evening

Realising that my date with destiny draws ever closer, I determine to extend the run tonight. The streets are unusually quiet – then I realise its ‘cos all the pubs are shut. Well, as my wee jaunt does take me past many of the watering holes of down town Bangor, I can assure you that there appears to be the odd dimly lit back room with a side door slightly a jar! Surely not for those who fancy a jar…no…I think it must be the cleaning staff.
Tonight the longer scenic coastal route will stretch as far as the beach at Ballymaconnell. Such is the leisurely approach to this newly extended version of death by tarmac that it should hence forth be known as the seaside shuffle.
Decide to adopt the Forrest Gump approach tonight – damn the distance – just keep running. Sixty two minutes later I am pleased to report that I stopped running, partly out of boredom. Wait ‘til Grumpy and Mad Bad John hear about this tomorrow!
Off to bed early – I have an early start and a long and uncertain day ahead of me.

Belfast, Stena, Stranraer, Girvan, Anniesland, Ladies loos, Firhill, Vomit Express, Long and Winding Road, Stena again…..Saturday 15th / Sunday 16thApril 2006

Glasgow 17 Ulster 28; Well, what else do you expect me to say?

Bangor, Easter Monday, 17th April
It is against my religion to run on high days and holy days!

Bangor, Easter Tuesday, 18th April

Today was a high sort of holy day also!

Bangor, Thursday, 20th April, 2006, 22:00

In a belated attempt at damage control I strike out bravely along the winding route of the seaside shuffle in the gathering darkness. Midway round one can experience the closest Ballyholme gets to the Santa Monica Boardwalk – a shattered concrete walkway dimly lit from the distant street lamps of the esplanade high above. And far ahead I can see the pulsing sweep of the Copeland Islands Lighthouse as its beam of light warns curious mariners to stay away from Donaghadee. In this regard it is apparently very effective. It is reportedly six miles from Bangor to Donaghadee, but as I have no urgency in going there, I shall run in another direction.

Bangor, Monday, 24th April, 2006, 22:35

Meetings, meetings, meetings! So much to do and so little time to do it. So, much later than planned, and armed with the very latest technological musical gizmo, programmed by my former personal trainer, I set out to pound the streets of the town, in my gutties, in the dark, in the rain, over a six mile course! They said, “run to rock music” and they are right. It may not quite be a scene form Rocky and the “Eye of the Tiger” but if it gets me twice round the course I will be a happy man. And so it came to pass that, 67 minutes later, a soaking wet, bedraggled, footsore kimble jogged determinedly round the last corner, on the last street on the last lap, up the last hill and past the last lamppost in the last hour of the day, six weary miles stretching out behind him!

Roll on the first day of May!

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