Sporadically, my colleagues have been pestering me about writing a new blog entry and showing me up with their own ramblings. I've returned after months of bloglessness, for which I have no excuse, other than 'it seems too much like home work, given that I write for a living. But i've actually got something mildly interesting to write about this weekand the next. I'm doing a three day, 180 mile bike ride from London to Paris to raise money for the Cystic Fibrosis Trust. I'll be going with my friends Elly Farmer and Polly Goode, who I grew up with in Lutterworth, Elly's boyfriend James Baker and colleagues from London law firm SJ Berwin. I'm like one of those terrible hobbyists....got all the kit - paniers, special cyclilng shoes, a camel pak which sounds slightly rude but is just a ruck sack with a tube that dances around in front for your gob when your cycling and trying to chase it with your mouth like a big fish chasing a little one. It's a welcome distraction from the searing agony in your thighs...
Made it to London with the new bike and managed to negotiate several different train stations until I arrived a Tulse Hill, Norbury where Pol lives. Feel embarrassingly protective of my new bike and have actually found myself lovingly stroking the aquamarine shimmering paintwork (it's not blue, alright..?) A bit sad. If I was a bloke, people would say it was a thingy extension. Also got some shoes that clip into the pedals to make cycling more efficient - it means you make use of hamstring muscles more, but risk toppling off sideways into the angry traffic of two great big het up European capitals if you forget to unattach yourself. Had a massive dinner at a Portugeuse cafe, got a DVD out and went on facebook obsessively for about an hour. Weird because Polly wrote something offensive on my wall and then hovered over me, laughing while I tried to think of something offensive to write back...but it just wouldn't come to me for some reason...Just you wait Goode.
 Pol has just finished her packing.  She packed and everything was still well heavy so we spent about 20 minutes weighing shoes, lotions and socks hand to hand. We removed the packaging from blister plasters, ditched a chunky necklace and an eye liner. Loads lighter now! Pol's gone off on her bike to practice with one panier - she reckons the ones she bought are a bit heavy. She might have to do the whole ride on a bit of a lean, but at least it will be lighter. Pol just pointed out it's a lovely evening, wouldn't it be nice to go out and get drunk.. but no. We've got to be strong. Pasta tonight, early bed, up at 6am and into the padded cycling shorts.Smeared in 'chaff guard.' Dear God, what have we let ourselves in for.... 

You can't walk down the street these days without spotting young men with their hair straightened and smooth smooth skin. As if it's been moisturised...Curiously sexless lads with perfect nails and bizarre Toni and Guy bird of paradise haircuts that probably cost about £90.  I'm writing this because I've just read an article about a self tanning moisturiser for men. Now, I'm not against blokes making fashion statements by femming-up.  Respect to the young gothic male who wears eyeliner. And if young  lads want to coat their nails in nailvarnish then that's fine. New York Dolls? Hand-made men-sized womens clothes? Not sure if I'd want to bring such a bloke home to meet the folks, but they still looked..sexy. Beneath the pouts and gigantic tottering heels they still powered their guitars and had raw animal magnetism. So confident were they, in their sexuality, they could dress as tarty librarians in killer stilettoes, tongues in cheeks and still, still make you want to have their babies.
But this tinted moisturiser thing, these manicures, these hair straighteners bother me a bit. Because it's not about making a statement. It's not about competing with other men by being witty, or good at sports or talented in one particular direction. It's about seeing who can look subtly better by spending longer and longer alone in front of a mirror. It's about getting in touch with the inner narcisist. And the inner consumer... What does all their testosterone do while they've got their heads cocked with clumps of hair frying in the straighteners? It probably rants and raves, plunges it's hands into it's pockets, it glowers, it hits walls. Forgive me if this seems overtly sexist.. but it's an instinct thing.
I used to find the sort of man who had rips in his trousers for years and years really attractive. Devil-may-care men who would go fishing, wipe their hands on their jumpers and then go down the pub.They were natural, I didn't feel pressured to spend too much time on my appearence. Easy. Maybe my tastes are slightly more sophisticated now, but the principal is still there. But now, even those blokes who I knew and loved are falling into the cluttered dressing table trap. 
 Marketing folk have tapped into men's vanity in such a big way that it has made some of them a bit..well, sexless. We're watching them dissapear into a bottomless pit full of newly packaged brands, airbrushed male models and a myriad of products stopping just short of 'Adidas Sport lip plumper for men and Muscle Man lash definer. Some of the younger ones appear more and more obsessed with how they look - tweaking their carefully moulded hair into striking shapes, pouting more, tugging at their straightened locks. Worrying about dry skin and cuticles. Bordering on the pathological. Gyms are full of half-developed 15 and 16 years olds gaunt and sweating on the exercise machines desperately trying to cheat time into giving them the bulk they will acquire in a few years anyway. It's sad.
I first sensed the change that would swell cosmetics companies coffers about five years ago when a male friend sidled up to me in boots with 'genius marketing' in a bottle. Some 'really-normal- blokes-name', greasy mulch hair product in 'dull hues' with 'sporty flash of colour on it' for doing something to your hair with a technical -possibly an engineering - term involving words like 'structure' or 'galvinise'. He gave me the money to buy it because he was embarrassed. I'm sure he wouldn't think twice now.Generally, maybe, the beauty bar has been lifted and women are expected to spend proportionally longer and more and more quids on the way they look. So men are naturally following suit. 
But  I couldn't fancy someone who spent longer on their appearance than I do. I couldn't fancy someone who was worrying about how straight their hair was looking. I couldn't wake up in the morning with someone who left a brown mark on the pillow where their face had been (sorry, it's my tinted moisturiser rubbing off). If you've been in the sun you've been in the sun. Simple as that. But if you've not been in the sun, if you've been sat in your room rubbing tanning lotion onto your face then... it's just odd. I don't think this stuff is particularly good for women, but a least women have the excuse that they are keeping up with their outfits - which are generally frothier, flowerier and more colourful than men's clothes. And women tend - tend - to be judged on their appearences more harshly than men.
Since I first took the p*ss out of my sister for wearing fake tan which made her resemble Donatella Vesace carved out of a giant chip, I vowed never to wear the stuff. And every time I hear her hair crisping in the straighteners it makes me shudder. Maybe I just ressent the cultural pressure to look good. And now it's the norm for men too? I'm feeling a bit left behind. Probably shows too... pass me the vitamin e age defying eyelid elixa will you..?

VET'S BLEEDING KNIFE - mmm, not sure about this one, so I've gone for two options. An ex-Vietnam vet's knife and a veterinarian's toolkit.


CHINA PUDDING DOLLS- these hollow, unjointed mid-19th century dolls were baked in Christmas puddings. Whoever recieved the slice with the doll in, would DEFINATELY be pregnant within a year. 'Joining the pudding club' is a term derived from this custom.


A LADIES leg pipe tamper is a tool used to squash down the tabacco in a pipe when the smoker wants to relight it. The ladies leg shape has been popular since the Jacobean times, when it was made of pewter.

From a press release.
A 'Pilot Training' launch event will be held in Harborough Congregational Church Centre by South Leicestershire Council for Voluntary Services (SLCVS).
Volunteers - including charity shop workers and playgroup leaders- will have the chance on July 18 to join SLCVS elite squad of fighter pilots - a fleet which rivals the RAF's finest.
Volunteers will have their reaction times assessed and tested for how much G-Force they can stand in a jet simulater.
There will be tea, coffee and a free buffet.

For anyone who has been living in a cave for the past few days, it's been very hot and lovely. But if it's any consolation, you will have escaped the hoards of insects that come out with the sun and suck our blood and jump in our tea and flutter against our sleeping faces at night.
I have a fairly ambivalent relationship with insects. One one hand, even the smallest bug creeping/flying/scuttling into the wrong place (eye/toilet roll holder/tomato i am just about to eat) can trigger an internal bomb of panic, fear or overwhelming disgust. On the other hand, a lot of them are beautiful, really fascinating to watch and useful. I stopped killing them ages ago because, they have just as much a right to be here as we do, blah blah blah. And some of them only live for a day, so i don't mind suffering the odd explosion of insect related panic to let them have a 24 hour ball on earth.
But last night, a daddy longs legs came to a sticky end and I was glad. He (may have been a she-daddy) was dementedly whirring above my head for ages before I went to sleep. Seveal moths and a fly too, but I didn't mind them so much. (Prejudiced aren't I?) The thought of swotting him flitted through my mind and out again, as I remembered they only live for a day..let them enjoy it...
So I closed my eyes to it and when I opened them again..excellent..  it was suspended, Matrix-style, in mid air -caught in a web. A spider had done my dirty work for me and I was glad!  Went to sleep soundly after that. 
I didn't kill it because i wanted it to live out the rest of his short life, but when it was faced with being eaten alive I was glad that it wouldn't be disturbing me. Does that rule out good, insect preserving intentions?  

Big cats. The other day, I enthusiastically delivered the news to news editor Maria that friends of a  neighbouring farmer, who were camping in his field, had spotted a panther. He knew it was a panther because he judged how big it was by clocking it against the fence post (quick as a flash.. )When he got to the fence he measured one..two...three rungs..  Maria sort of raised her eyebrows and asked if i had any pictures and.. well... no. .
Anyway, the other dark, dark night I saw a dark, dark feline with a vast swishing tail slip accross the yard. It turned it's great head and stared at me with these flashing yellow eyes before leaping, 4.5 foot onto a stable door!
Yes. You've guessed it. It was a BIG BLACK CAT. Long of tail and agile - easily mistake for a panther by someone who wants to believe. Or maybe my neighbour just has very very small fences. 
A friend has a theory about all this. He reckons these beasts exclusively visit places where not much happens, slighty boring towns and villages throughout the British Isles. So they can get into the local papers. And after their 15 minutes of fame, head off to their generic 'wild cat dens' to gnaw on human femurs. 
Local person: "Oh not another Lion attacks in Kimcote! I was hoping there would be an Open Gardens report in this week..."
I'm hedging my bets on the big black cat I saw being the source of panther rumours. But this doesn't really explain the kangaroo sightings round my way. My sister mentioned to me that her boyfriend Loic had seen, what she could only desribe as a kangeroo, leaping accross one of the fields. As big as a huge dog, with a long cat like tail, high body and a lot of bounce. As we were returning from the Fox in Lutterworth on friday night she yelled, 'THERE, THERE - THAT KANGAROO!'

Me:"Erica. It's not a kangaroo."
Erica:'But it looks like a kangaroo'
Me:'It's probably a fox. Or a muntjack deer.'
Erica:'But it's got a massive tail and bounces like a kangaroo!'
Me:'Maybe it's a hare.'
Erica:'It's none of those.'
Me:. Think about it. It's not a kangaroo. It's anything but a kangaroo."
 
And so on. Wild cats who were released into rural Britain in the 1970's after the government stipulated that owners needed licences to keep them may well be breeding.  Their ranks may be swelling across the UK. They may even be hiring wild cat funeral directors to dispose of their dead. But if my sister can (partially) believe that the long tailed animal bounding into the hedge was a large antipodean marsupial, then folk could mistake a big black cat for a BIG BLACK CAT.


 

Had the following conversation with a slightly camp supermarket cashier this morning.
Him: I hate sunshine.
Me: Why?
Him: Because it gives me a migraine. And then everyone says 'wear a hat!' (theatrically resting the back of his palm against his forehead) But THEN all the heat stayed in my head and aaahhhhhhh...
Me: Oh right. That's pretty strange.
Him: Yeah. My favourite weather is rain. But it made me go blind once.
Me: How did it make you go blind? Was it acid rain?
Him: No, I went out one night and put loads of Tigi hair products on my hair and forgot to wash it. And then it rained and it all went in my eyes. I had to have my eyes pumped with water. I was going to sue!
Me: You were going to sue Tigi?
Him: Yeah - but i lost the medical sheet. The sheet that said what had happened.
Me: (Gathering up shopping, heading off into the morning gloom) Enjoy the rain then.
Him: (Burst of raucous laughter followed by straight face)Next please..

Wowzers. Had a very disapointing early afternnoon, followed by single most exciting Sunday activity of of my life. Missed interview with D list celebs which I had been (annoyingly) nervous about for a few days, but then had a razz around on a scrambler bike on an abandoned railway embankment
Bascially, was on my way back from trying to meet Ian Beale, Jeff Banks and Daley Thompson who were doing this charity bike ride and due to stop at the Royal Oake in Bitteswell at 2.30pm. Got their at 1.30pm and they had just left, but met a few of Ian Beales friends- one who introduced himself as surgeon to the stars. I asked how many stars he had cut up and he said he wasn't really a PLASTIC surgeon to the stars but was mates with Adam Woodyatt (aka Beale) and was a surgeon. Had raised £5,000.They were two hours ahead of schedule-hence missing the interview- and loads of other people had also turned up to meet their D list heroes and been disapointed. But - minor celeb power- they are set to raise £50,000 for the Rhys Daniels Trust- this  charity who buy homes next to hospitals for the use of families with terminally ill chidren.
Anyway, my rival reporter and (unfortunately likeable) nemesis Lutterworth Observer reporter Simon Ward had pipped me to it and got a few interviews, from what I hear.
So went home in a real arsy and decided to go for a soul soothing bike ride. On Lutterworth outskirts,  heard a motorbike whizzing around the old central railway embankment,  and someone calling my name. It was Martin, this lad I went to school with,who had just bought a scrambler. He lives in a strange little house on the old Rugby Road with his girlfriend Kaz and a character called Worzel who is based in a converted ambulance on their drive and makes sculptures. Has just finished a giant sculpture of two hare's boxing, make of cars jacks!
He asked if I wanted to have a go on it, but to be very carful because it was his pride and joy. Was so careful drove too slow, skidded in some mud, lost balance and dipped my be-shorted bare legs into a massive nettle bush, only just managing to wrest control of the bike. So he offered to take me on the back and we went all the way up the embankment, over ditches full of puddles, along precarious paths through the trees which line the banks. It was absolutely stunningly exciting. Nearly came off a few times- we were doing proper jumps. When i finally disembarked I was shaking like a jelly on a tumble drier but completely happy.  Got covered in mud and had to tell my mum and dad I had accidently cycled through a deep puddle. Anyway, the anger and frustration at narrowly missing meeting a bunch of D list celebs had completely gone. (Until tuesday I guess) I think a bit of danger really does you the world of good. 
....Later....just got back from pub with my brother Jez, sister Erica and Loic, her boyfriend. Have always laughed at Erica for being a dead ringer for any member of Hanson and was extra funny tonight, because a 6.3 overweight bloke came in who looked exactlly like giant Hanson member and consquently, her...