Robbo

Next morning the reliable shuttle bus arrived to take me back to the airport for the first of three flights that would take me back to Alice Springs and then on to Auckland via Melbourne. I envisaged a rather dull and tiring day ahead, but Australia had a surprise farewell gift for me.

Checking in for my flight to Alice I couldn’t help but notice a huge pile of luggage and equipment piled up in front of one of the check-in desks. At the heart of the pile there were large film cameras and a guitar case. The heap appeared to belong to a group of six blokes who were hovering nearby and engaged in animated conversation with each other. Was I in the presence of a rock band? I quickly tried to think of all the Aussie bands I knew. Men at Work and INXS were the only two that came to mind and they would surely all be much older than the six pack before me.

On closer inspection I discerned that the group could be divided in two. There were a couple of older, average looking guys, who I took to be some sort of crew, and four young, fit, good looking blokes. ‘The talent’, as they seem to say in showbiz circles.

It was one of those rare occasions when my plea for extra leg room for my 6 feet 3 inch frame was accepted and I got a row of three seats next to the exit over the wing all to myself. On the opposite side of the aisle, occupying the equally capacious seats and the row in front of them were the six amigos.

Their spirits were very high as they laughed heartily to the succession of one-liners they threw at each other. As the banter continued, so the division between crew and talent became more distinct. At the heart of it all was the guy sat in the aisle seat just across from me. He was incredibly good looking, like the sort of prat you see in magazine adverts for expensive aftershave. Except this bloke wasn’t a prat at all. He seemed to be very jovial and pleasant, the others clearly deferring to him and calling him ‘Robbo’.

As soon as the plane was in the air and the seatbelt sign was switched off there was a mad rush by the all female cabin crew to attend to the every need of our on-board celebrities. A giggly but gorgeous blond girl stood with her back to me as she poured herself over Robbo. Leaning in as close to her bum as I dare, I strained to hear the conversation.

‘Been on holiday?’ said the stewardess.

‘No. Working,’ said Robbo, in a smooth Australian accent.

‘Working?’ she echoed back to him. This was good. The attractive young lady was conducting an interview for me. I wanted to reach for my notepad but that would have been a bit obvious so I pretended to listen to my iPod instead.

‘We’ve been doing an ad for the Tourist Board,’ said Robbo obligingly. ‘Last year it was Melbourne and this year it was Ayer’s Rock Resort.’

‘Was it good?’

‘It was great, apart from all the bloody flies!’ interjected one of Robbo’s mates to all round laughter.

For the rest of the short flight the young men, and Robbo in particular, received an inordinate amount of attention from the cabin crew. It was a frustrating journey for me as the noise of the engines and my failing hearing prevented me from catching anything other than snippets of conversation. I still had no idea who these guys were. Leaning across and saying: ‘Excuse me, but who the hell are you?’ seemed a bit rude. What would Bill Bryson do in this situation?

As the flight neared its end and the coffee cups and empty peanut packets were all stowed away, all three of the female cabin crew gathered in the aisle next to me in a frenzy of flirting and autograph signing. Maybe the odd phone number changed hands too.

Time was running out. Managing to get the attention of the star-struck blond girl for a few seconds, I quietly asked her who these guys were.

‘They’re footie stars. They play for Melbourne.’

A second later and I was facing her bum once more. But no matter, I had the information I wanted and an idea began to form.

As the aircraft made its decent the cabin crew reluctantly peeled themselves away from their heroes and returned to their seats. I leaned across the aisle and spoke to Robbo.

‘Excuse me,’ I said, in a very English manner. ‘I wonder if I could make a very strange request?’ Robbo looked quizzical as I pointed to the overhead locker.

‘In my bag I have a gnome. He’s dressed in my football team’s colours. Would you mind having your photograph taken with him?’

‘Sure, no problem,’ said the obliging Robbo. ‘What team is it?’

‘Hull City, English Premier League. We’re second from bottom.’

‘No worries.’ I couldn’t tell from his expression whether Robbo had ever heard of Hull City. I suspect not.

Once the plane was on the ground there was a final rush by the cabin crew to obtain autographs and pictures while I slid out quietly and got myself ready outside. I took my camera and the fragile Wainwright out of my padded backpack and waited. A minute or so later Robbo clambered down the steps from the aircraft and broke into a huge grin as he spotted Wainwright.

Clearly used to media attention, Robbo was an absolute pro. He held Wainwright aloft, posing and smiling for the camera. Robbo, it turned out was one Russell Robertson, a 31 year old retired Australian Rules footballer. He admitted to not knowing much about English football but said he hoped to come to London and see Chelsea play.

Later, when I had the chance to search the internet, I discovered that Robbo was one of Melbourne’s greatest goal kickers of all time. Not surprisingly, his personality and good looks had led to TV work and modelling. After singing on an Australian TV show he has even brought out his own album, Higher. To me he was a top bloke who couldn’t have been nicer when faced with a very unusual request from a mad pom..

Uluru (Part 2)

Kuniya woz 'ere

To climb or not to climb?

The sun sets on my Australian adventure

Seeing the sun rise at Uluru was one of my 20 gap year challenges and the one I regarded as the most spiritual. Even more so than visiting a Buddhist temple. When I added it to the list it was with a vague notion of experiencing some kind of primeval transformation. That as the sun rose over this ancient monument it would bring with it the dawn of a new understanding in my life. I might even become a nomad myself and decide to end my days wandering the earth, much like Kwai Chang Caine in the 1970’s TV series, Kung Fu.

As Sophie, Noona, Ronald and I set out on our 7 mile walk around the base of Uluru the light grew brighter and as the sun peeked above the horizon I braced myself for a life changing burst of inner illumination.

Nothing. Perhaps if I’d sat down for a quiet meditation it might have helped, but I don’t think the others would have been amused. And besides, it’s hard to free your mind when sat cross legged and eyes closed in an environment that harbours so many things that can kill you.

Not that my trek around this iconic feature of Australia was a failure. I may not have experienced a useful shortcut in my search for enlightenment, but the walk did allow me to gain an insight into the true significance of this 500 million year old rock.

I’m not sure if the TV series, QI, has ever considered it, but I can imagine the all-knowing Stephen Fry posing the question: ‘What colour is Uluru?’ This will be followed by Alan Davies blurting out: ‘Red!’ and the inevitable sound of the siren to indicate a huge blunder.

The true answer is ‘Grey’. What gives the rock its red colour is a coating of dust and sand from the surrounding landscape, which, being rich in iron ore, oxidises when it rains. In other words, Uluru is rusty.

This is one of the many things I learned from Sophie. Up close, the rock has many features that are not seen in the usual photographs. Our enthusiastic guide explained the significance of the various formations and overhangs as we went along:

‘The aborigine people believe in the dreamtime, when the earth was created. Before this time everything was featureless. The ancient ancestors, often in animal form, left their marks upon the earth and these are the features of the land that we see today.

‘Uluru is of particular spiritual importance. Not only was it formed by the ancestors but it is a sacred place where their spirits still roam.

‘Legend has it that one tribe of ancestors invited another tribe to a feast. But the guests were distracted by the Sleepy Lizard Women and never made it to the party. The hosts, angry at being snubbed, created a huge dingo from mud to attack the other tribe. A big battle followed and the earth itself rose up in grief, becoming Uluru.’

As we continued our early morning tour, Sophie pointed out the various rock features – hidden faces of the ancestors, curving rock formations created by the giant python, Kuniya and the round boulders that are her eggs. And several caves bearing ancient drawings such as large snakes and witchetty grubs, inscribed by the aborigines.

Sophie also told us that the name, Uluru, actually refers to a waterhole in the top of the rock. And here, for me, was the true revelation about Uluru. I had expected to see a sterile, sun baked rock, but in reality Uluru is a giver of life. It harbours a wide array of fauna – lizards, snakes, birds of prey and mammals such as possums, bats and dingoes. The various rock pools helping to sustain an abundance of life.

Sophie led us to the well hidden path that would take us to Maggie’s Spring. Shaded by trees on both sides, the walk along the path was cool and quiet. At the end there was an unexpected expanse of fresh water, a good 60 feet across. It is an area where the aborigines come to meditate and I could see, or even feel, the attraction. Here at last was my spiritual moment with Uluru. A few stolen moments of peace within its strong embrace.

Maggie’s Spring, or Mutujulu Springs to give it it’s native title, was named by William Grosse, an adventurer who was the first white man to set foot on the rock in July 1873. In true bum licking fashion, Grosse named his discovery after Sir Henry Ayers, the then Chief Secretary of South Australia. Grosse had a thing for one of Ayer’s daughters, Maggie, and duly named the spring after her in the confident hope that this would secure her hand in marriage. It didn’t. By the time Bill returned from his adventures to claim the one he loved she had found someone else.

Uluru not only sustains wildlife but humans too. It is amazing just how much greenery there is to be found around the rock and among the various bushes and trees there is much ‘bush tucker’ to be found for those in need of food. Uluru may have a massive spiritual and cultural significance for the aborigines, but it also has a far more practical one too. It is, in effect, nature’s larder. A place of last resort where life-saving food and water can be found.

Fortunately for me I was spared a diet of witchetty grubs, honey ants and berries as the resourceful Sophie had provided a very pleasant breakfast for us. Never before have I eaten cereal and yoghurt in such splendid surroundings.

As our journey progressed and the sun and temperature rose, we came to the most controversial feature of Uluru. The climb.

It was never my intention to climb Uluru. Apart from the controversy, the summit is 1,142 feet high. In the late morning heat it was hard enough to walk on the flat earth without straining up a rock slope that has a 45 degree incline in places. To make the climb easier a local businessman and his mates concreted steel poles into the solid rock back in 1962. The poles are linked by a sturdy chain to allow the adventurous and foolhardy to haul themselves up. From the bottom it doesn’t look difficult but by the time of our visit there had been 39 deaths on the rock, mostly caused by heart attacks. Why is it that people will drive to shops and park as close to the door as they can but give them a steep slope to climb and the promise of a nice view and off they go?

The day we visited the climb was closed anyway, as it often is. The winds making it even more dangerous. When Uluru was given back to the Anangu in 1985 one of the conditions was that people would still be able to climb the rock. The number doing so is in decline owing to the growing awareness of Aborigine culture and the significance of the climb to the indigenous population. There is a very polite sign at the foot of Uluru that reads:

‘Our traditional Law teaches us the proper way to behave. We ask you to respect our Law by not climbing Uluru.

‘What visitors call 'the climb' is the traditional route taken by ancestral Mala man upon their arrival at Uluru in the creation time. It has great spiritual significance. We have a responsibility to teach and safeguard visitors to our land. 'The climb' is dangerous and too many people have died while attempting to climb Uluru.

‘Many others have been injured while climbing. We feel great sadness when a person dies or is hurt on our land.’

Despite this it is estimated that about a third of visitors to Uluru still choose to climb up it.

Sophie, who was very passionate about the rights and traditions of the Anangu, told me that sometimes she has guests who protest about all the fuss made over climbing Uluru.

‘The rock was there long before the bloody aborigines’, was a typical comment made by one young man on one of her tours. To her amusement the others in the group turned on the youth and staked him out naked in the burning sun. Or perhaps they just tore into him verbally, but that was what she was wishing they had done.

With my reporter’s nose for a good story I asked Sophie about some of the unfortunate fates that had befallen those climbing the rock.

‘A young couple decided they didn’t want to come down from there the normal way and decided to make their own way down. Inevitably they got stuck and had to be rescued by helicopter. They were eternally grateful to the ranger who saved them until he fined them 4,600 dollars for breaching the national park law.

‘Then there was the guy who camped out for the night on the top of Uluru. He would have been ok had his torch light not been spotted by the rangers. Next day he got a hefty fine too.

‘But my favourite is the guy who decided to climb up there wearing Crocs, those light shoes made of rubber? He got so far before the rubber began to melt and stick to the rock. So he took off the Crocs. But then his feet began to burn on the rock. So he sat down. Of course his bum then began to burn too. In desperation he took off his shirt to sit on and then managed to get 2nd degree burns on his chest and shoulders.’

I can’t help but notice a look of what seemed to be glee on Sophie’s face as she told me this.

By midday we had completed our circumambulation of Uluru and I was relieved to step into the air conditioned comfort of the Land Rover. I was very pleased to have made the acquaintance of Uluru and we both promised to keep in touch, but I knew that this was just holiday talk. It hadn’t been the spiritually uplifting experience that I had expected. Thanks to Sophie though I had learned a lot about this famous Australian icon and I was glad that I had taken the time to walk all the way around it and witness its many hidden secrets instead of just taking a quick picture from the view point as so many tourists seemed to do. I was also glad that I had made Uluru the goal of my Australian adventure. From the manmade wonders of Sydney Harbour Bridge and Opera House to the natural wonder of Uluru, it had been a fantastic journey. Time though to move on to an entirely different world and one where I was guaranteed a comfortable bed every night even if I did have to share the room with a man known for snoring.

Uluru (Part 1)

Up close and personal

Noona, Ronald and Sophie

One of the ancients

Ayer’s Rock resort is a purpose built tourist facility that cost in the region of £60m to build. The first tourists arrived in 1958 and the resort itself was developed in the 1980’s. It can cater for 5,000 visitors at a time and is permanent home to about 550 people. The free shuttle bus from the airport gave me a fine tour of what the resort has to offer. A mixture of modern hotels, souvenir shops, a tourist information office and a very good supermarket.

There appeared to be some form of bee keeper’s convention going on as virtually every other person I saw braving the afternoon sun was wearing thick netting over their head. Those that were not heavily netted were all very friendly and waved furiously as the bus went by.

My own accommodation was very much at the budget end of the market – the Outback Pioneer Hotel. Part hotel, part hostel, it was far from luxurious but had everything I needed and best of all I was given a 4 berth room all to myself for my two night stay. Freedom to snore and no mad Germans to shake me awake.

Having parked my backpack in my austere but functional room I covered myself in sun block and set off on foot to explore the resort. I hadn’t gone very far before I too began to wave my arms frantically, as I was beset by a huge number of flies. I made my way hurriedly to the tourist information office and took refuge from both sun and flies in its air conditioned comfort. 15 dollars procured me a sturdy net to cover my head and shoulders and I was able to step outside protected from winged invaders but feeling pretty stupid. The thick net flapping around my face only marginally less annoying than the constant attention of the sodding flies.

All the guidebooks will tell you one thing about Ayer’s Rock Resort – it’s bloody expensive. Being in the middle of nowhere means two things. Firstly, every commodity has to be transported to the resort, adding to the costs. Secondly, once you arrive at the resort you are a captive with little by way of choice when it comes buying essentials. I made my way to the supermarket braced for a shock and clutching a fistful of dollars. But I was pleasantly surprised. The supermarket was well stocked and had special offers just like any other; I was able to buy enough provisions for my stay for under fifty dollars (about £25). Back at the hotel it was much the same as anywhere else I’d stayed, with very welcome cold bottles of beer costing only five dollars.

I did set an alarm for the next morning – for 4.30 am. Despite the early hour I was quick to get out of bed and full of excitement. I had reached the culmination of my Australian adventure and was about to embark on a trek the most iconic feature in Australia – Uluru. I am not religious, but I do love the atmosphere of places of religious significance. In Beverley, the medieval market town where I live, there is a beautiful minster that dates back to the thirteenth century. It is one of the most peaceful and tranquil places that I know. I had huge expectations of this place of spiritual meaning and that was why I had made it the goal of my travel across Australia.

Before the white man came there were over 500 aborigine tribes in Australia and one of them, the Anangu, have been the traditional custodians of Uluru for over 36,000 years. Historically the Anangu were a nomadic people who lived off the land. A remarkable feat when you consider the harshness of the landscape. Astonishingly, members of the tribe were still living the nomadic life as recently as 1968.

Despite such a lengthy association with Uluru, the rock was formally ‘handed back’ to the Anangu in 1985.

By 5.15 I was waiting outside the hotel, with my daypack laden with water and the sky above still dark. My guide for the morning, Sophie, soon arrived in her well equipped Land Rover. We were being joined that morning by just two others: a lovely couple from the Netherlands called Ronald and Noona. Ronald was a retired lawyer and we picked them up at one of the more luxurious hotels. I doubt you could get a beer there for five dollars.

The resort is about 12 miles from Uluru so it only took about 20 minutes to drive there and park up, ready for our 7 mile walk around the base of the rock, or monolith as it is sometimes called. I had always imagined Uluru to be oblong in shape, a bit like a loaf of bread. I thought this as every image I have ever seen shows the rock from the same perspective. In fact, Uluru is a very irregular shape if seen from above.

There is a very good reason why photographs of Uluru always show it from the same viewpoint, as Sophie explained:

‘Uluru is a sacred place to the Anangu people. It is central to their beliefs and certain parts of it are used for sacred ceremonies.

‘Traditionally, there are areas which only the men are allowed to see and areas that only the women can see. As we make our journey the sacred sites are clearly marked and the taking of photographs is strictly forbidden. The reason for this is so that the aborigines do not inadvertently see images of the forbidden sites.’

There are no sacred sites among the facet of the rock that appears in all the photographs. Of course, another reason that all pictures of Uluru look the same could be that they are taken from the designated viewpoint, to which there is easy access by road. Photographing Uluru from another angle would mean venturing into the unforgiving landscape and risking a meeting with one of those 18 species of deadly snakes.

What's that, Skip?

The sun sets over a familar icon

Flaming June is here and we are on the final leg of our journey together. As I write I am waiting for the 'For Sale' sign to be erected outside my house. The man came yesterday to calculate the energy certificate. A hundred quid a pop and he was only here 15 minutes! I'm definitely adding 'Energy Certificate Bloke' to my list of possible career opportunities. Doing 2 or 3 of those a week would do me nicely.

Just over three weeks until my final challenge - the Humber Bridge Half Marathon. I went on my longest training run to date last Sunday - 10 miles, which I managed in 90 minutes. In fact, that's the furthest I have run in my life. Even when I was a very fit 20 year old I never ventured that far. So, fingers crossed, I'm on target to complete the run in under 2 hours. The weather will be the critical factor.

I'm also running over the bridge this weekend as it is the annual Humber Bridge 10k race. I ran it last year and it was very pleasant. This year it is more of a training run for the big event, although I am aiming to run it in much less that the 56 minutes I took 12 months ago.

So, as promised, let's complete the antipodean travels before I sign off this blog for good.

Cue Jack Bauer voice-over -'Previously on Middle Aged Gapper...'

Our journey to date has taken us from Sydney, home of some very big bats, westwards to Adelaide. After an unsuccessful attempt to swim with dolphins we took the Ghan train north to Alice Springs and are about to venture to our final goal in Australia - Uluru. The story continues...

For the backpacker there are two ways to travel from Alice Springs to Ayer’s Rock Resort, a distance of roughly 300 miles. The first is to take a 6 hour bus ride through the desert. The alternative is a 45 minute plane journey. Both cost about the same, but the bus journey does stop at a camel farm.

Back in Blighty I had opted for the flight. Once I was in the outback I began to regret this decision as I felt I was cheating on the backpack experience. A comment by Emily, the girl on the Ghan, made me wonder if I have might have made the right decision after all.

‘I took the bus out to Uluru. We must have passed about five hundred dead kangaroos on the way.’

‘Five hundred!’ I said, incredulously, sure that I had misheard.

‘At least. They’re all along the road. It’s the people in the big 4 wheel drives with the bull bars on the front. They knock the ‘roos down without even stopping.’

I was brought up in the era of Skippy the Bush Kangaroo. How many people would still be trapped down the old mineshaft to this day were it not for Skip’s warnings, conveyed in a weird clicking sound to Sonny Hammond, the young son of the National Park Ranger? To witness mile after mile of dead Skippys was something I was happy to avoid.

Also, the bus left Alice at 7.00 am, whilst the plane did not leave until 2 pm, thus affording me the opportunity for a rare lie-in. My German roommate, Rudolf, however, had other ideas.

At precisely 6.05 am of the day of my departure for Uluru I was shaken awake very violently.

‘What the f...’

‘Excuse me,’ said the agitated Rudolf. ‘I thought I heard an alarm. Are you going on a tour?’

‘No,’ I said sleepily.

‘Ok. Das is gut.’ Rudolf replied and climbed back into his bunk to resume his slumber.

Fully awake, I pondered on what had just happened. I was certain that I had not set any alarms and only Rudolf and I were in the room.

The bane of men’s dormitories is the snoring. There’s always at least one snorer, usually more. For this reason I wear good earplugs whenever I have to share a room. Had I been snoring? Had Rudolf awoken me under the guise of alerting me to a mystery alarm in order to get a decent lie-in himself? Clever old Rudolf.

My German roommate may have dropped off into a deep slumber but I couldn’t. I got up and lazed around the hostel until it was time for the shuttle bus to the airport.

The flight was pleasant and afforded my first glimpse of the distinctive red rock that was the goal of my Australian trek. And not a dead ‘roo in sight.

As the plane made its final approach and I gazed out at the barren landscape below I noticed something odd. We were climbing.

The captain’s voice came over the intercom:

‘Sorry about that everyone. There’s a very strong wind blowing, making it dangerous to land. Hopefully, it will ease off and we can make it down. It might take a few attempts though.’

The next few minutes tested the sickness tablets I had taken to their limits and despite an outside air temperature of 37 degrees centigrade I managed to break into a cold sweat. Our skilful captain managed to touch down on the second pass and I wrenched my clawed hands from the arm rests.

As I stepped uncertainly onto the runway the heat punched me in the face. The surrounding landscape reminded me of the images I had seen of the surface of Mars. Except Mars isn’t plagued by thousands of sodding flies.

One month to go...

If you've ever wondered where I got the name 'middle aged gapper' it was from a TV show a few years ago that featured 6 people in various stages of middle age who went to various parts of the world to undertake activities normally associated with younger people whilst on the their gap year before or after university. What I found interesting was those who put time and effort into helping others had more rewarding and sometimes life changing experiences than those who opted for the adrenalin junkie activities.

Amazingly, my gap year is almost at an end. Looking back I don't regret a minute of it. I have been so lucky to travel to wonderful places and to have had the health and fitness to enjoy so many activities. But if the opportunity ever arises for another gap year then I will definitely focus on doing something that makes a difference to the life of others.

One of the most touching experiences of my gap year was the visit to an orphanage, near the shores of Lake Bunyoni, Uganda. I am now a sponsor of one of the children - Appa, or Paul as he is now known. Being Paul's sponsor is very rewarding as I receive regular updates and pictures from Crystal who runs the orphanage. I wish I could do more though.

A recent email from Crystal shows how the new classrooms are developing and the building of a new water tank. If you want to find out more about the project then the link is:

http://www.mindfulmarket.com/Home.aspx

I'm training for my first half marathon at the end of June and I am tempted to seek sponsorship in support of the orphanage. I don't like sponsorship though. I hate asking people for money and then there's all the emotional blackmail that so often comes into play. It's just too ugly for me and I believe that people should support charity as they wish and in privacy without pressure.

I have decided though that should my book ever be published then a percentage of any profit will go to support the orphanage. That gives me added incentive to finish the book.

As the gap year ends, so will this blog. It began as a 15 month project and I am now 14 months into it.

My plan is to finish writing about my travels in Australia and New Zealand and publish them on here over the next few weeks.

I always imagined that my year would end with one last journey but I haven't got the appetite for it. I've lost count of the number of beds I've slept in over the last 11 months. It's a lot and my own bed holds a lot of appeal as a result. What I have loved most about this year has been my total freedom. No boss but myself to answer to and definitely no boring and pointless meetings to attend. To send myself out on another journey just because it's on my list is contrary to what I'm about. Having said that, I am planning another trip to Germany for a few days in the summer. To Hamburg this time. And who knows, I might just get the urge to stay longer and take the train to Poland, Switzerland or Czechoslovakia for the hell of it. That is what being a middle aged gapper has been all about. The sheer enjoyment of it.

Live long and prosper.

19

Apart from posting bits of my supposed book on here I have been very busy over the last three weeks. Well, busy for me that is.

The episodes you may have read on here were edited and submitted to Hull University as the final submission of my degree course in Creative Writing. The classroom part of the playwright course with Hull Truck also came to an end. I now have 3 months to write my play and submit it for feedback and consideration for performance. Exciting stuff.

Not quite so exciting has been the long list of tasks that needed completing around the house. As you may know, my motto is: 'Never put off until tomorrow what you can do the day after that.' Consequently many tasks (usually the ones that involve a paint brush) that I should have done last year were still outstanding. But they are nearly all done now and my house looks the best it ever has since I and the kids have lived here. And all so someone else can get the pleasure of my labours.

The first estate agent came to visit yesterday and the second one is coming next week, so I expect to have my house on the market in the next couple of weeks. According to my schedule I am about 3 weeks behind, but for once my lethargy and procrastination have worked to my favour as the new government have scrapped the dreaded Home Improvement Packs that all people putting their house up for sale had to pay for. Hurrah!

My staff appraisal went well and I seemed to pretty pleased with myself overall. There was some debate over the 20 challenges I set myself though. In the end I agreed with myself that 19 of them had been achieved, albeit some are a bit dodgy.

Swimming with dolphins just didn't happen, despite two attempts. But my death defying bungee jump in New Zealand more than made up for Flipper's unhelpful attitude.

Appearing on TV didn't quite go to plan either. I had hoped to appear on the Weakest Link but despite getting through the audition the important call hasn't come. Well, I say it hasn't come. I did receive a phone call in last December and when the young man at the end of the phone asked to speak to me I took it to be another of those horrible call centres that try to sell you all kinds of rubbish you don't want. I put the phone down and ever since I have been wondering what that young man was going to say had I let him. Might he have been inviting me to record the show? I'll never know.

Thankfully the Sky cameras broadcast me saying very rude words during the two minutes of silence on Remembrance Sunday, just before kick off at the KC Stadium last November. So I'm claiming that as my TV appearance.

Getting Wainwright photographed with a celebrity was also very difficult. Russell Robertson, a recently retired Aussie Rules football player, did me proud on the plane from Uluru to Alice Springs. He may be a legend in Australia but he's never appeared as the star in the reasonably priced car on Top Gear so that rules him out as a global celebrity. Still, he was a nice bloke and the air stewardesses were virtually throwing their knickers at him so he must have something. Job done.

That's 19 down and 1 to go. The outstanding challenge is the most physically demanding of all them - to run a half marathon in under 2 hours. That may sound easy, but I am not a natural born long distance runner and I have never run anywhere near that distance in my life. Not only that but the course I have chosen is a difficult one. My original hope was to participate in the Great North Run but I missed out on the entry process whilst I was in New Zealand. I chose instead the Humber Bridge Half Marathon. People who have run it tell me it is hard. Especially the 9th mile, which is all uphill. My longest training run to date is around 8 miles and I was pretty tired after that. To run a further mile up a hill would have killed me. Add to that the fact that I am prone to back injuries and both my knees are now feeling the strain of all the running I have done over the past year and it all adds up to one thing. My chances of succeeding in the final task are slim.

I have just 5 weeks left to get myself fit enough for the challenge. Watch this space.

Don't watch it though for the next few days as I am heading off to the Lake District, where, among other things, I will be catching up with the lovely Lynn and Angelina who I met when my son and I took part in an activity holiday in Turkey last summer.

Live long and prosper.

Watery Farts

Montecatini, is a spa town, where no fewer than 9 spas come to the surface. The place to find them was a large park, about 5 minutes from my hotel.

I sauntered along there on my first morning in town and having meandered aimlessly through the park I came to an interesting, mock renaissance building - all columns and ornate plasterwork set above a cool marble floor.


The entrance fee also allowed me to take the waters. Intrigued I paid my 13 Euro and asked the very attractive lady at the entrance what I did next. I was to take a glass and help myself to the spa waters flowing endlessly into numerous sinks.

The very large auditorium was open to the sky but there was shade around the sides and numerous tables to sit at and relax. People were sitting with their half pint mugs of water and reading the Sunday papers or listening to the music. On a raised stage a piano player and guitarist in suits and ties, played along to yet another very attractive lady who was dressed in an off-one-shoulder chiffon dress whilst singing in a very accomplished and soothing manner. All in all it seemed like a brilliant way to while away a Sunday morning. I took out my holiday reading (Dan Brown, Deception Point), found a shaded table and made myself at home. All I needed now was a refreshing glass of water and I was set.

I took my glass to the spas and began my sampling. ‘Taking the waters’ was interesting. Imagine someone taking a hosepipe and trailing it from the local swimming pool to the above mentioned area of tranquillity. The water already has an unnatural, chemical taste. On its journey between pool and sink various things are added to the water. These appear to consist mainly of rotten eggs and salt. Now take a sip. Sorry, I forgot to mention, the water is also very hot.

As I said people were actually drinking this stuff from half pint glasses. The waters are reputed to bring long life. I drank enough to barely add another 3 minutes to mine. It was horrible.

On further inspection I realised that the spas had different labels: Leopoldina; Regina; and Tettuccio. Presumably from different sources. The pipes the waters flowed from were also marked red and blue – bloody hot and not quite so bloody hot.

I looked for a spa marked 'Lager', but no such luck. So, in the interests of good reporting I started at the left and worked my way along the spas. I discovered that the above words stand for: Ghastly; Disgusting; and Tolerable (in tiny amounts). I took a small amount of the latter and returned to Dan Brown.

What followed was a very pleasant, yet slightly surreal, hour being serenaded by a blonde beauty whilst sipping a mild fart dissolved in warm salt water.

Footnote - That's the first 10,000 words of what is intended to be my book. Or should I say of the first draft of my intended book. What I need to do now is finish the book and then re-write it. I suspect that much of what you have read here over the past 3 weeks will be edited out.

I'm having my staff appraisal meeting with myself later on today. I'll report next time how it went. Fingers crossed - I can be very hard on myself.

Live long and prosper.