Getting the Gonads

There's got to be more to life than running.

Actually, who am I kidding? That's been part of my problem....indulging in all the other temptations life has to offer and missing out on the running part. In fact, I've possibly indulged a little too much in online political comment just lately and might not be in my current situation if I'd decided to don my running shoes and deliver my political comment on foot and in person. And while I'm on the subject of running shoes I should tell you that according to Richard Cronin, the author of the excellent blog, The Beirut Taxi, all I have are 'shoes, a bottle of wine and a strong self-belief that anything is possible as long as you want it hard enough.'

But as well as running shoes I have other sporting footwear to accompany me in my love of wine and deluded self belief.

Whilst metaphorically clad in my boxing boots but literally glugging wine I had the recent good fortune to come across a website called My Boxing Coach. If you have any interest in the Noble Art I recommend visiting the site. It's an absolute gold mine of information and advice and is run by a Scouse geezer called Fran Sands.

Fran is a rare breed. He's from Liverpool but appears to lack the innate desire to enter Debenhams whilst wearing a big overcoat with deep, empty pockets. And, indeed, to leave Debenhams a short time later, at speed, with the pockets full.

Neither does he spend his days watching re-runs of Jeremy Kyle while awaiting the arrival of two important documents in the post. The first being his dole cheque and the second an acceptance to his application to be a guest of Jeremy Kyle.

On the site, Fran often replies to my critical comments (I prefer to think of them as cheeky rather than offensive) which are usually based on the regional stereotyping of the Liverpudlian. Fran's latest cutting riposte was to grant me free access to his newest product based on the premise that I need the money to 'enlarge my collection of Chas and Dave records.'

Here is an example of Fran's excellent coaching advice:



If you care to visit Fran's site you'll encounter pure pugilism in its most artistic form. No mention of dirty tricks like leaning on your opponent, striking him with the elbow after he deftly avoids your hook, or kicking him in the bollocks.

I am a devotee of Fran's site and thank him for the paucity of dirty tricks because I feel a little like I've been twelve rounds with Roberto Duran right now. Not as a result of trading blows, however, more due to the unfortunate outcome of being hit by life's little upper cuts.

The latest kick in the bollocks was to arrive at my place of employment (from where I am officially banned.....unless completing outstanding work) to discover that the leave I had booked for Mrs Mac's race in July has disappeared into the ether. Assuming I return to work after the Carpet Parade on 14 July, I will be mixing it with the natives of SW11 on the 16th rather than sweeping the Clyde Stride.

In another post I might have termed this 'ironic' and attached a video of an attractive Canadian woman with a mouth so large she could have made a fortune in porn (!!). But it really is just a fuckin' kick in the bollocks, so enjoy.