Monday. I am gutted. Yet again in a major international competition we trail in the wake of the Germans. We were stuffed. No question. I've said it before and I'll say it again. We will not win the Eurovision Song Contest unless we bring back either Cliff or Lulu and, come to think of it, they could also add pace and guile to our back four.
I made it to Carnwath yesterday in time for the kick off and settled in The Bush Inn in front of the big screen with a copy of Scotland on Sunday providing cover. A couple sat next to me and made themselves comfortable for the match. We're off! After a few shouts and groans he turns to me and says "You English?" and then the cat is out of the bag. "Right" he says and shuffles in his seat, sticks his chest out, sits up a bit more and folds his arms. Now we really are off.
And so it starts. As the Germans score the third the word spreads that there's an Englishman in and the room fills with locals with newly discovered German heritage. The banter is relentless but good fun. When the score hits four one, I can offer no further defence (your turn to do the back four joke) and I finish my pint and order a last one. Out of the corner of my eye I just catch a head nod and then my money is no good and the pint is paid for. End of the game and I pop to the toilet and when I return there's a new pint for me and no-one to thank. In total this happens four times. Rather churlishly I suspect this is a ploy to keep me there to answer for Culloden, The Highland Clearances, inequitous use of oil revenue and Gordon Strachan's loss of form (post 1985). I gladly fess up to it all and also agree to pay for the refurbishment of the Forth Road Bridge.
Eventually I escape and head to the local Co-op to buy the ubiquitous Scottish hangover cure Irn Bru (made from girders allegedly) ready for the morning. If you haven't tried this and wish to do so then do the following: put three sugar cubes and two pieces of bubble gum in your mouth, wrap your lips round the end of an industrial strength soda siphon and turn it on. That's Irn Bru.
Whilst in the Co-op, the following conversation takes place:
Local lad: "Are you the Englishman who was in the pub?"
Me: "Yes"
Local lad: "hahahahahahahahahahaha"
Me: "Please don't buy me any more beer."
Local lad: "hahaha.... what?"
Up early to ride to Dunkeld just north of Perth. Weather is warm and sunny and the scenery and route are unbeatable. The solitude of the lanes is very welcome but the highlight of the day is crossing the busy Forth Road Bridge. This was an important milestone for me on the ride and now I know I'm close to my goal. Three more days and about 240 miles to go. I just hope both me and the bike can hold out.
The real results (following video review):
Germany 4 England 7
Distance: 130.27 km
Cumulative distance: 1240.62 km
Ride time: 6h 9m 8s
Max speed: 74.7 kph (Woohoo! beat the previous best of 71.9 kph whilst on a training run with (honorary Ironman) Jim's son, James, coming off Dartmoor. Still yet to hit the elusive 80 kph though).
I made it to Carnwath yesterday in time for the kick off and settled in The Bush Inn in front of the big screen with a copy of Scotland on Sunday providing cover. A couple sat next to me and made themselves comfortable for the match. We're off! After a few shouts and groans he turns to me and says "You English?" and then the cat is out of the bag. "Right" he says and shuffles in his seat, sticks his chest out, sits up a bit more and folds his arms. Now we really are off.
And so it starts. As the Germans score the third the word spreads that there's an Englishman in and the room fills with locals with newly discovered German heritage. The banter is relentless but good fun. When the score hits four one, I can offer no further defence (your turn to do the back four joke) and I finish my pint and order a last one. Out of the corner of my eye I just catch a head nod and then my money is no good and the pint is paid for. End of the game and I pop to the toilet and when I return there's a new pint for me and no-one to thank. In total this happens four times. Rather churlishly I suspect this is a ploy to keep me there to answer for Culloden, The Highland Clearances, inequitous use of oil revenue and Gordon Strachan's loss of form (post 1985). I gladly fess up to it all and also agree to pay for the refurbishment of the Forth Road Bridge.
Eventually I escape and head to the local Co-op to buy the ubiquitous Scottish hangover cure Irn Bru (made from girders allegedly) ready for the morning. If you haven't tried this and wish to do so then do the following: put three sugar cubes and two pieces of bubble gum in your mouth, wrap your lips round the end of an industrial strength soda siphon and turn it on. That's Irn Bru.
Whilst in the Co-op, the following conversation takes place:
Local lad: "Are you the Englishman who was in the pub?"
Me: "Yes"
Local lad: "hahahahahahahahahahaha"
Me: "Please don't buy me any more beer."
Local lad: "hahaha.... what?"
Up early to ride to Dunkeld just north of Perth. Weather is warm and sunny and the scenery and route are unbeatable. The solitude of the lanes is very welcome but the highlight of the day is crossing the busy Forth Road Bridge. This was an important milestone for me on the ride and now I know I'm close to my goal. Three more days and about 240 miles to go. I just hope both me and the bike can hold out.
The real results (following video review):
Germany 4 England 7
Distance: 130.27 km
Cumulative distance: 1240.62 km
Ride time: 6h 9m 8s
Max speed: 74.7 kph (Woohoo! beat the previous best of 71.9 kph whilst on a training run with (honorary Ironman) Jim's son, James, coming off Dartmoor. Still yet to hit the elusive 80 kph though).
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