Marathon day dawned. I'd been to Marc's 40th surprise party the evening before (all lovely - Smiff needn't have bricked it...he loved every minute) but ducked out early for a hot bath/early night combo. Good job I did. When my alarm woke me at 6.50am, I felt like I'd been asleep about 10 minutes. Bloody exhausted. But it's a bit pathetic to think like that when one of your best mates is about to run 26 miles...met up with the Lucas/Driver clan at the bus stop:
As we got to Greenwich, Brummie was desperate for the lav (I'd already warned her that relieving yourself in the gutter à la Paula Radcliffe might result in her arse being splashed all over the Daily Star in a "Marathon Brummie Buttock Shocker" headline). She left us for the start, accompanied by me on kazoo playing the Rocky theme (tune of the day). We moved on to our first vantage point, a pub on the corner of the Tower Bridge road used as a base by Clic Sargent. The atmosphere was electric. We knew roughly what time she'd show up, so we started watching out.
A woman standing behind was looking for her husband. He was called Simon, and he'd be wearing the CS pink vest. Suddenly, she spotted him and we were all calling out to him. He ran over and gave her and her friend a kiss. When he'd gone, she burst into tears. And then so did I. She told me he was running for her little boy. I didn't need to know any more. It brought it home to me why so many of these people were running. It isn't about fast times, glory, being on tv...it's about a sense of personal achievement, having a go, doing something for a good cause close to your heart.
And then I spotted her. And we were all screaming. She looked amazing, hardly breaking a sweat! She ran over and we were all kissing and hugging (and blubbing, of course), and then she's off again. So we move on to our second and last vantage point of the day, another pub, this time on the Embankment. And this time it's loads busier, and I'm worried that her family and Screwy might not see her in the crowds. But I needn't have worried. Her mum spotted her first, and then she saw me and Screwy further up. More kissing, hugging, blubbing. We went off to sit in the gardens nearby until she got back from the finish. Max, Smiff and Marc turned up too, so we were quite a gang. Screwy did some filming, to add to a video diary he's been making for her. And then we all hooked up in the CS designated pub. Brummie looked great, really glowing and happy, but she said her feet were mashed and her knees were agony. What a woman and what an achievement.
Bravo, Brummie x
It's been a marathon weekend in more ways than one. My old friend Wardy had been over from Australia during my trip to NY and was due to fly back out of Heathrow following his stay back in his home town of Manchester. We go back a long way...countless gigs, nights on the piss and various other states of mind-mess. Catching up is great - I collect him from the station (handsome as ever) and we end up meeting up with the Old Punk, Blondie, Ali and Simon. Beer, chat, laughs, nachos later (sounds like a Big Red night to me) and it's 1am. How??? Time really does fly when you're having fun. Wardy and I carried on the catching up back at mine, over about a million cups of tea, until we noticed the birds singing and dawn breaking...perfect. When we finally surfaced, big fry-up was essential, followed by lazing in the park:
Yorkshire Terrier, Lancashire Hotpot
until time came for the lift to the train station for the journey to Heathrow. I know less can often be more, as the saying goes, but 24 hours just wasn't enough.
