The Doubleus

Triathlon

2011-07-31T13:06:00.001-07:00

The Doubleus were in Leeds visiting the Burdon family this weekend. As expected Jeff was once again a massive hit with little Daniel, who enjoyed his walk in the woods with "Big Jeff." True carbo-loading was forsaken in favour of a takeaway Thai and we were set!

Today was the Leeds Xpress Triathlon. Based at Leeds Grammar School, it was pool based, so we went off in waves.

Mark went off first because of his slightly slower swim time so, with this being my first event, I wandered around trying to pick up some tips from the different waves as they went out.

Daughtingly, despite having never done one before, I was seeded one wave down from the elite (just because I can swim a bit and had perhaps slightly underestimated my swim time). My big fear was getting out last after the swim, perhaps being able to just about keep up on the cycle but then being left for dead on the run.

This was pretty much what happened. I managed tumble turns for the first 200m, then an errant wave almost drowned me. But despite it being choppy, I was pretty much on target, and one of the first out of the pool. I found it tough to get going on the cycle and it was quite a hilly course but after 5k or so, I felt I'd found a rhythm. I managed to overtake a few, and in return was overtaken by a few (mostly by those with funny shaped helmets - well that Lycra is tight!).

When I got off the bike it all started to go a bit pear-shaped. Firstly I got delayed putting my socks on that I hadn't put on for my cycle... Do triathletes even bother with socks? Then my jelly legs wouldn't work. Then they cramped as I started my run. Then I got stitch!

Despite this I got to the end in 1hr 36. Not a bad time for my first effort. Only 8 minutes slower than marathon runner Mark: I was faster on the swim and cycle but sorely let down by my "run." There's nothing else for it: I'm going to have do some more running training as much as I hate it... and practice putting socks on faster!

Could also use a top tip for getting permanent marker off skin!

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Location:Leeds

Lochs and Glens

2011-06-23T01:15:00.001-07:00

The Doubleus have just returned from a trip to the past. During our cycle trip in South West Scotland with Pete and Jen we lived in wooden shelters and spent some time in the 1970s.

Read the full trip report on Doubleu Wheels.

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McAustralia

2011-03-04T22:01:00.001-08:00

The Doubleus have fled the European winter looking for warmer weather and brighter times. Australia always seems quite american to us: it might be the wide open spaces and blue skies, or that it's full of large, loud people. There are some differences though: you're not encouraged to shoot the wildlife and the loud locals are usually harmless. Even Ronald feels he has to try and fit in with the local "culture."

We've done the usual: Rocks, Opera House, Botanicals, Darling Harbour, Chinatown. We took the obligatory ferry out to Manly, to visit the beach and see the sights from the harbour. I even persuaded Mrs Doubleu to hire a bike over in Manly.

The route out to the north head of the harbour entrance was hillier than we thought and the midday sun warmer than we expected. Were we missing the snow in the French Alps? Not too much.

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Late Christmas

2011-01-16T10:41:00.001-08:00

The Doubleus have just spent the weekend in London visiting Maria, John and Fin, who is now walking. Jeff was his usual superstar-self on the East-coast mainline, and "enjoyed" celebrity status once more on the tube (Japanese tourist pushes Canon in face), but was a bit disturbed to find Fin pushing a pretend dog around. Not one to hold a grudge, JD quickly set about winning Fin's affections and was rewarded by Fin feeding him Mrs Ball's chutney flavoured crisps within 24 hours.

We enjoyed a late Christmas pressie session around Maria and John's living Christmas tree that was still up! Fin was very excited by his life-size Gruffalo, but not entirely sure about the disturbingly life-like baboon that Tony and Chris had brought over from Cape Town. We were joined on Saturday by Pete the Vet, who promptly pronounced, "That thing is gonna give Fin nightmares when he gets a bit older." I think he may be right, it's already given me nightmares: I spent a disturbed night on a camp mattress and woke to find myself under it's beady stare on a few occasions.

After the rigours of chasing down a bag thief on Friday at Heathrow, Claire wasn't looking forward to the yomp back across town to Kings Cross. Particularly since I had my picked up "the latest addition to the stable": a giant singlespeed I'd bought from Rob on eBay. However it was all gravy and we made our train with time to spare. Just hoping that the guard still has my bike when we pull into Newcastle.

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Crannog in Midwinter

2010-12-21T10:41:00.001-08:00

The Doubleus are going to be joined for Christmas this year by the Irving clan. Meyrick had a rather uneventful trip up from London despite the weather. On the other hand, the overnight flight that Tony and Chris took from Cape Town via Istanbul was one of the last to land at Heathrow before the snow and ice really took hold. Reward for this was a 2 hour wait on the runway followed by a 2 hour wait on the tube followed by a 4 hour train trip to Newcastle.

Feeling that they hadn't done enough travelling, after a few days this "hardened northern posse" decided to brave the snow, ice and feezing fog and venture up to the cottage at Gatehouse.

Temperatures of minus 12'c greeted us on arrival. But a crystal clear night sky with a full moon gave way to a very crisp still day with a perfect blue sky. So after a warming breakfast of porridge (what else in a Scottish winter?), we set off for our walk with Jeff in Laurieston Woods.

Jeff was a little perturbed to find one of his all-time favourite drinking streams frozen solid. Not one to let his spirits be dampened, he quickly got stuck in to a bit of ice skating! It looked such fun that by the end of the walk we'd all had a go!

The Weddoes play Bizarro

2010-12-21T09:46:00.001-08:00

I recently drove through a blizzard to see the Wedding Present play the hometown gig on their Bizarro Tour. I say "hometown," but David Gedge now spends most if his time in Southern California than Leeds (you can hire his Santa Monica pad whilst they're on tour). And I say "The Wedding Present," but obviously DG is the only member from the original line-up.

After dealing with ice and snow on the way to Leeds city centre, Mark and I met up with Simon and warmed ourselves on Thai food and Tiger beer, before we were treated to a storming gig.

TWP warmed us up with "Heather" from the "Seamonsters" LP and "Something and Nothing" off their first EP "from more than 20 years ago," Gedge said, "and I know what you're thinking: how do I still look so good?" I think the Grecian 2000 may have something to do with it, David.

They then launched into the complete "Bizarro" LP which was still stunning all these years later. Sadly we weren't treated to the B-sides from the singles (The Weddoes cover of "Box Elder" was the first Pavement song I ever heard), but we were treated to a few extras before the obligatory statement: "This is our last song. We are The Wedding Present and we don't do encores."

I can't wait for the "George Best vs The Seamonsters Tour" that must surely be in the offing.

An excellent night couldn't get much better could it? Well, yes. The purchase of an "All the songs still sound the same" T-shirt was followed by it being autographed by DG; no wait for a taxi in -5'c; Sierra Nevada Pale Ale waiting in the fridge; and a satisfyingly swift victory for England in the Adelaide Test.

Powder Hound

2010-12-19T14:16:00.001-08:00

We were woken at 5am by a whining Jeff Dog. His mountaindog genes were kicking in: he'd seen the snow and was desperate to be out.

After fortifying myself with porridge and strong black coffee, I was ready to hit the slopes (and by that I mean the hill at the bottom of Salisbury Gardens). It turned out I needed 2 dog handlers for the shenanigans I was planning, so Mrs Doubleu and the lodger both had to suit up in appropriate arctic gear.

After "giving" me on my snowboard a 50m head start, Jeff was released to chase me down. He quickly caught me as I speeded down the hill, and savaged my mittened hands before pushing me to the snow and leaping all over me. Repeat several times with no ski lift to get to the top: it was hard work and Jeff wasn't making it any easier with his newly acquired attack-dog skills... but I would have my revenge.

It wasn't deliberate but I ran him over! I felt dreadful when I realised I'd cut his paw open. Thankfully he didn't seem to have notice and even though he would eventually need staples, he was still galloping around, chasing snowmen, with a grin on his face.

Adirondack Wanderings

2010-09-19T12:34:00.001-07:00

Now that The Doubleus have decided they are not emigrating to Canada AND have seen Niagara, there was just one item left on their Canadian "bucket list": canoeing in the Algonquins.

Well, after the stress of selling the Highlander and the anxiety of waiting for the "check" to clear after we'd driven all the way to Pennsylvania to deposit it, we weren't going to drive back 4 hours north of Toronto.

Instead, we headed to upstate New York, to the wilds of The Adirondacks. Same canoeing, different lakes, difficulty with the pronunciation and perhaps less chance of being eaten by a bear. We set out from Floodwood Pond after a 5 minute talk from St Regis Canoe Outfitters: what could possibly go wrong?

A very mellow day followed with paddling across ponds, lakes and down creeks. We watched ducks swimming and a heron fishing. Even the 1/3 mile portage, where I had to wear a 2 man canoe as a hat, wasn't too bad.

All was going well and we arrived back at base on schedule (ie before dark). My arms were aching after a full day's paddling - but guess what: Mrs Doubleu's weren't! She's either super-fit or (and I suspect this is the most likely explanation) she was only pretending to paddle. Just one more lift up the bankside when: crack! I think I popped that rib again!

Niagara needs Viagra

2010-09-15T18:19:00.001-07:00

Or something like that. Mrs Doubleu was a little underwhelmed by Niagara. Apparently Victoria Falls are taller and wider. Me, I was blown away the falls are just a little more impressive than High Force in the Durham Dales.

The Maid of the Mist trip was a little tacky but worthy of the hype. It is the only way to really appreciate the power of these falls. And as a bonus The Doubleus are now proud owners of matching blue bin bags with arms and hoods, result!

The town of Niagara Falls, though was worthy of all the scorn Mrs Doubleu heaped upon it. Imagine Blackpool minus the sticks of rock, fish & chips, and the donkeys; plus a glut of generic chain "restaurants" and the super-obese some of whom were too lazy to get out of their cars and merely drive by with video cameras pointed out of moving car windows!

Some tackiness though can be a force for good.

Buffalo, NY

2010-09-12T14:03:00.001-07:00

Well, this is what greeted us outside the motel lobby as we walked to breakfast this morning. Turns out it's the opening game of the NFL season today. It's all gone a bit wild west buffalo bill round here. At least that explains the raucous tailgate party in the parking lot last night, but it would have taken a fair bit more to keep us awake. Even the bed bugs didn't manage that! Nope, not the classiest hotel The Doubleus have ever stayed in.

All this didn't put us off our game though. Reloading US mobile: check. Registering on Craigslist: check. Cataloguing all the gear: check. We even made $700 by 2pm... By selling $2000 worth of gear. Darn it! Feels very similar to Mrs Doubleu's Amazon "business".

To be fair though, she's been ruthless sorting her clothes. Maybe a quarter of the clothes she's never worn since I've known her have now made their way to charity shops. And even if the legion of DVDs I've made my way to Starbeck post office to send have only recouped an average of 20% what they were bought for (minus postage), there are benefits. I'm fitter from walking there so often, and there's more shelf space for all the books I haven't read yet.

Notes to self: 1/ you do not need to buy any more books for 2-3 years; 2/ Mrs Doubleu is not the only hoarder in our household.

Mrs Doubleu in worldwide culinary first.

2010-09-11T02:39:00.001-07:00

Never usually one to be too adventurous with her food, Mrs Doubleu appeared to be at the cutting edge of a new culinary trend this week.

As she baked her already world famous (at least in our house) cupcakes this week, Mrs Doubleu reached for the butter in the familiar silver and blue Lurpak livery. She was puzzled by the savoury smells coming from the kitchen and subconsciously blamed me for making a mess in the oven. Later I was frankly stunned by the garlic stench in the mixing bowl. Yes you got it, she'd only gone and used my garlic butter in her cupcakes.

Resisting the impulse to go the whole savoury hog and "ice" them with cream cheese and chives, they were served plain. They were unusual but not entirely unpleasant- basically cupcakes that gave you garlic breath.

They did pass both the Jeff and the Harv tests with flying colours gaining snorts of approval from both. Sadly neither of these gastronomes are known for their discrimination: just this week Jeff was caught eating another dog's poop and Harv, well Harv, shame-facedly admitted eating KFC.

Southwest Scotland

2010-09-11T02:07:00.001-07:00

The Doubleus recently had a long weekend in D&G. Well it was long weekend length but midweek. This lack of a Saturday and Sunday in the trip would explain why there was wall to wall sunshine with not one cloud spotted.

J-diggle was most excited to be back in the garden at Crannog, he had a superlative walk in Laurieston Woods (and happily failed to catch a red squirrel), but he has told me his personal highlights were: 1/ the end of an icecream cone at the Cream O Galloway; and 2/ a small piece of haggis-stuffed chicken wrapped with bacon in a whiskey sauce followed by a walk on the beach at Kippford.

In a vain attempt to get Mrs Doubleu back on her £4figure mountain bike, I had booked us a mixed level skills class. After our initial assessment, Ruth from bottle-green biking purred that I was "very smooth" but that Mrs Doubleu was in a "class of her own."

So whilst Mrs Doubleu was put through her paces, I trackstood (?) for literally seconds at a time. Mrs Doubleu was tired by this point and had to have "a rest" (read: fudge) whilst I was talked through "railing berms." Then things reached another level for me as I was taught the "manual" - I was so good at this I manualled off the back of my bike whilst clipped in, cracking a rib. Skill.

Smooth? I'm still not entirely sure if she was on about my shaven face or my chat but it would appear not to be my biking skills.

Amsterdam again

2010-09-11T01:35:00.001-07:00

Well, here we are in the executive lounge at Schipol again. Last time for a while I reckon. A fairly daunting trip ahead of us but triffling compared with what we've been through recently.

It's simply a matter of flying to Buffalo (on the anniversary of 9/11 for crying out loud!); cataloguing an entire flat's contents that are in storage in a lock-up; photographing then listing them on craigslist; collecting a 4x4 from Toronto and bringing it back to US to sell; closing Canadian bank accounts; seeing Niagara; driving to Pennsylvania to close US bank accounts; spotting some Amish folk; and possibly visiting the Adirondacks. After that it's simply a matter of packing what we can then selling everything else or having an effing huge illegal bonfire!

Just another regular relaxing Doubleu-style vacation then.

Reefer Porn

2010-08-29T19:38:00.001-07:00

What is reefer porn I asked myself? Is it The Dude sitting in a smog of his own pot smoke in The Big Lebowski? Or the latest Howard Marks book? Nope. You want the dope? It's what I typed into someone's medical records today!

I'd meant to type "refer prn" but as I watched my hands dance over the keyboard like squirrels on speed, I realised typos were a real danger as I watched "reefer porn" appear before my eyes.

It's a struggle to keep to schedule even when things are running smoothly and when things get away from you, entering the notes is one area where you think you can make up time.

So today, I noticed that rather than controlling a patient's blood pressure I'd typed: "BO controlled." One man had had regular "stolls" rather than stools (giving alarming mental images of the stollen cake I'd eaten on the coast to coast a couple of years back and my sudden realization of it's similarity to the stool I'd turned it into 3 days later - it was that heavy).

All easily explained to the nice lawyers as typos, I'm sure, if I ever had to refer to these entries in court. All of this however, paled into the insignificant today as I heard myself say "nice even breasts" to a women whose chest I was examining. I meant "take nice even breaths," your honour. Yeah, right.

Tronno 2

2010-08-23T06:03:00.001-07:00

"Jeez its flat," is all I could think as we flew in to Toronto. Toront, as mis-said by the Japanese, or Tronno as it's known to the locals, sits in an epic flatness that out-Norfolks Norfolk. It is slightly hillier, only slightly - but it is spread over such a big region that seemingly bunked off Topography 101 whilst at the University of Landscape.

After a quick sleep at Ed and Lucy's kindly loaned condo, we headed south in our Not-So-Smart Car. Sure we were helping the planet, but who was helping us amongst these 18 wheelers, Hummers and monstered-up pick-ups? Next stop Buffalo, New York.

The US Border Patrol were polite but oh-so-slow, and it took them 150 minutes to decide that we weren't actually al-Quaida in disguise.
"What address will you be staying at?" said the uniform.
"Well, we're actually just popping to a lockup to collect some stuff. We'll be here less than 12 hrs."
"Do you know the address? I guess I'd better put that on the form," was said with disbelief that anyone wouldn't want to stay forever in his land of plenty and I suspect a suspicion that as illegal immigrants we may try and live in a lock-up garage.

After surveying just exactly how much junk we have in storage, it was time for a quick vehicle change, then we were headed north in a much more appropriate automobile for survival on these roads: the Highlander (I wonder if they make the "there can be only one" car sticker I want?).

Back in Toronto we checked out the neighbourhoods: Little Italy, Greektown, Little India, Chinatown.... Is any of it Canadian? Yes, The Beaches, a waspish enclave that's perhaps a little too new age: Starbucks sits proudly on the corner dishing out it's caffeine hits whilst it's downstairs for "dessert" where they do a roaring trade cleaning out the toxins you've just ingested.

Over the bar

2010-08-20T06:48:00.001-07:00

Just a quickie about this Pittsburgh institution. Over the Bar styles itself as a "bicycle cafe" which here in Pittsburgh means ten beers on draft and a serious line in burgers, nachos and enchiladas each with it's own not-completely-sequitur cycle-related name: the "Granny Rings" being beerbattered onion rings and the "Fixie" being a no compromise, no-variations-permitted plain burger. The PGH (portobello mushroom, gruyere and ham panini) is the local hipsters favourite with its 50c contribution to bikepgh.org - the cycling advocacy organisation. Anyway etc, you get the picture.

Earlier in the week I'd ridden Frick again then later in the week North Park, gotten lost, wandered along a rail road a la "Stand By Me", developed cramp and a poison ivy rash. So, 90 mins of world cup qualifier boredom, a Moab burger and 2 not-quite-pints of draft Sierra Nevada later, I was ready to meet Mrs Doubleu after her last day at UPMC Childrens, feeling that my 'Burgh biking education was complete*.

*The author reserves the right to, at some point in the future, possibly as an unsupported bikepacker, return to Pittsburgh and complete the 330 mile off-roader to Washington DC. Yes, Mrs Doubleu, that is for your information and I will require pickup in DC, please.

Toront 1

2010-08-16T01:03:00.000-07:00

It started so well: the out-of-hours powers-that-be allowing me to still work my overnight shift (€A$H) but leave an hour early to catch my plane. I did my best to scupper things by leaving my iPhone and charger in Durham when I was clearly going to need it to meet up with Mrs Doubleu in Schipol. She'd caught an earlier airmiles funded flight (-too much transatlantic living... but I wouldn't be complaining later as I entered the calming oasis of the executive lounge in the wake of her shining gold card).

So after a quick detour via home (Hi Jeff! Hi Max!) to dump my doctoring gear, I realised this essential kit was missing and rang work. I was informed that Andy, a kindly ECP, was hotfooting it to Newcastle International with the offending items. Cue comedy scenes: as Vicky in Durham, with a phone to each ear (yes, very 24) directs 21st century Andy on his mobile to the payphone where I'm anchored seemingly in 1989 (yes, I know... a payphone!!!?!).

Andy handed over the brown envelope, bulging with iPhone and charger, then we both sauntered to the short stay carpark to beat the reg plate recognition camera system "20 minutes for £1" cut off deadline. Wheelspinning to the exit, I then left my engine running, as I ran back to help Andy out (no change) by throwing £1 into the paybucket.

Panting and a little clammy, I was back at security after a 10 minute run back from long stay parking. Hand luggage only with a preprinted boarding card, I took the contents of the package and stuffed them in my carry-on bag as I stood in the queue for the scanners, trying to blend in amongst the St Tropez, faux Gucci and crop tops. Good to see such keen eyes for suspicious behaviour at security.

I touched down in Schipol and as we taxied in to the gate I received a text with precise directions to the rendezvous where I offloaded the contents of the package to Agent Mrs Doubleu who was getting dangerously low on charge herself.

As I explained my actions to Interpol later, as I nursed my coffee in the holding cell, "Real spooks wouldn't use iPhones- you just can't depend on the battery life..." or was that just my cover story. "And anyway, what do you mean the airport art gallery is closed? I wanna see those cows!"

The "Way Back When" Machine

2010-07-12T07:43:00.000-07:00

So we've finally gotten around to squandering some of our hard-earned on a flickr pro account. It will (hopefully) act as safe back-up refuge for all our digital photos... and what's more - it we can share (some of) our photos with you out there! Here they are.

In what is surely destined to be a futile attempt to de-clutter (is that a verb now?) our existence, I have digitised all the old negatives I could lay my hands on, including those taken by my old friend, Uncle Peter, when we had a year back-packing through the Americas and working in Oz.

The cream of the crop will gradually be released to the general public and will from this day forward be known as "Mike's Way Back When Machine."

Enjoy here.

Summer in the City

2010-07-11T10:46:00.000-07:00

The Doubleus have just travelled down on the train again with Jeff dog to visit Maria, John and Fin in London. It was slightly different this time: a plan which needed military precision had been concocted whereby I would get on the train Mrs Doubleu and Jeff had already boarded in Newcastle when it reached Durham. Claire would have my ticket and I would need only to find the right carriage.

Well being on-call, and the need for an urgent home visit put paid to that plan, so I had to buy another ticket and meet the gang when I reached King's Cross.

The weekend improved from here on in, with excellent weather throughout. It was great to catch up with Maria and John; and Fin was pleased to show us his new teeth and blueberry eating skills.

We lunched outside with Rob and Laure one day, and barbequed the next at Maria and John's where we were joined by Meyrick, as well as Kat and Ju.

Despite the abundance of South Africans in Southfields, and even at this BBQ, it somehow fell to me to be in charge of the cooking. So, much to Ju's disappointment, the burgers and bangers were cooked the traditional British BBQ way: reduced to charcoal on the outside whilst still retaining salmonella on the inside.

Mercy, Mercy

2010-06-28T07:42:00.001-07:00

Overnighting at Charles de Gaulle, to save £1000 on the airfare, I couldn't help noticing the yanks. Well one couldn't: each of them in the hotel bar weighed twice as much and spoke twice as loud as the europeans. Sadly they had almost nothing to say and certainly weren't interested in the football.

You could see the disbelief, and possibly terror, as they were given the menus. Only three main courses? Salads differing in ingredients rather than which creamy dressing they'd be smothered in? Their protestations were met with a gallic shrug.

Me, I went for the entrecôte. Now I know that it is physically impossible for a French chef to cook a steak any more than medium. So I ordered mine well done... and it came perfectly medium-rare served on a wooden board with a garden leaf salad in French dressing, accompanied with typically good bread and superlative French fries. The French and food, eh? And this was an airport hotel. Doubleu tip: if you want medium ask for it to be burnt.

One sleep later and I hopped onto the bus back to CDG and again at the next stop there was another American embarrassing the English speaking world. "Are you the shuttle to the airport?" he yelled slowly to the driver. Well no, he'd be the driver of the shuttle, wouldn't he? And did the bus not have "aeroport shuttle" emblazoned on it? Yip, looks foreign.

In a quite unfrench manner, the driver humoured this chap's poor grasp of English. "Wait here!" said the tourist as he dumped his leather fanny pack on the floor of the bus and scuttled off after his other bag. He returned hauling a huge wheely bag after him.

As he crawled aboard, he sang out, "Mercy! Mercy!" Now I suspect he was trying to say thanks to the driver, but he sounded more like a mediaeval penitent.

Let's be frank: if this guy was going to insist this bag that he could barely wheel was his "carry-on" luggage, well no, there was going be no mercy.

Four go mad in the country.

2010-06-14T14:21:00.001-07:00

The four were Pete on a rare foray north, Jen on a rare foray south, Paul from south of the river and yours truly. The madness: to cycle up the Tyne Valley to Horsely on the hottest day of the year so far.

With military precision we left an hour late, after some unnecessary bike fettling. It was so hot we'd stopped for bitter shandy within an hour at Newburn. Mrs Doubleu (who had a work deadline / didn't fancy it) was given the rendezvous coordinates after we'd passed Wylam, and headed to Horsley by car to meet us for lunch at the Lion & Lamb (without Jeffdog who was doing his rug impression in the kitchen because of the heat).

We hadn't counted on such an incline from Ovingham up to Horsley... but it is called the Tyne Valley for a reason, I suppose. Despite our slow sweaty progress, I was still surprised to see Mrs Doubleu already sitting in the beer garden. She is not famed for her sense of direction, and if she were to be a superhero it would almost certainly be Albatross Girl - destined to wander the planet!

We'd missed the lunch time and I expected to have to "put up" with pork scratchings and mini cheddars. Not at the Lion & Lamb though, with us being late for "lunch" we were offered superlative pub fare rather than the usual foodie-gastro nonsense.

Filled with scampi and chips and lager shandy (perhaps lighter, we felt) we set off for the return journey. Downhill to begin with, getting speeds up to 35mph, we made good progress breaking only for a 99 halfway (with monkey blood in my case).

Thoroughly shattered, we arrived back at a balmy Rosebery Crescent, cracked open some beers and fired up the barbie. Despite his relatively lazy day, Jeff was still adamant that deserved his share!

Mmm... Calzone

2010-06-13T17:53:00.003-07:00

I love Calzones, me. And I've decided to photograph every one I eat from now on.

They make me happy.

Beard Resurgence!

2010-06-13T17:53:00.001-07:00

They are back!

Firstly congatulations to the Argentinian football team. Not for the fine football or the skills of Messi, but for the wonder of Diego Maradona's beard. Silver and black: it somehow manages to combine the look of a handlebar moustache with a bonafide Van Dyke.

Not to be outdone, Thomas, my stepbrother, recently married sporting a fine beard. Melissa, his wife, seemed unperturbed and continued with the ceremony at Westminster Central Hall. I can't imagine Mrs Doubleu being so lenient; I can however, imagine her waiting at the top of the aisle whilst insisting that I go and have a quick shave.

Melissa and Thomas had a great day and were whisked to the reception in a white london cab. The rest of us made our way there on a much classier mode of transport, a lovingly maintained Routemaster.

Finlay Oliver Pedra

2010-06-13T17:39:00.001-07:00

After Melissa and Thomas jetted off to Bali, we scooted down to the south coast. I enjoyed a traffic free London as I picked up Mrs Doubleu from Heathrow at 6am Sunday morning. We had a "no, after you" moment as I surprised Claire in the airport and she sadly took a few seconds to recognise her husband. Next stop Brighton.

JD wasn't impressed by the pebble beach or the crowds but I'd like to think he won't forget his first ever boerwors. However, as it didn't even touch the sides on the way down, I'm not sure he even registered the taste!

After a pleasant lunch with family and friends, it was time for Fin's christening. I'm not sure how much of it he took in, but he sure enjoyed his christening cake. Fueled by pure sugar he then started to crawl for the first time.

Later that night he practised his skills on his rocking fire-engine, and had a word with Jeff about their future plans as a rodeo act. What a day!

The Bear of Rodborough 2

2010-05-16T03:05:00.000-07:00

On Sunday, before heading north, we called in on the Greigs at their country retreat. Alex was on good form, surveying his laaand, and Sarah looked amazing 3 weeks after having "Little Ted." Edward was the usual placid baby the Greigs are famed for, and the spitting image of William and Oliver at that age.

Oliver is turning out to be quite a character with a cheeky grin that is always saying: "You can pin nothing on me." William had a bit of a fright: we didn't realise he was in the garden when released the "bear" for a runaround. JD bounded down the garden to say hello, mouth open, tongue lolling, prompting tears and accusations that Jeff wanted to eat him. Oliver soon got the message from his big bro, and by the time we left, he was also convinced that dogs eat people.

The horses in the next field came over for some carrots from the boys, and Jeff jumped up, paws on the fence, to sniff noses and exchange pleasantries. He still wants to be a horse (or maybe a cow) when he grows up.

We made up with William by lauching his rockets with him (awesome toy - I want one!), but Jeff was determined to be cast as the big bad bear by chewing any unattended toy he could find in the garden (not strictly bad behaviour- all the toys in our garden are his!). We left presents of furry toys in our wake as an appeasement and headed north.

Next stop: Manchester, so much to answer for, and home of Harv, Sarah and Holly. Now then, Jeff and Harv are friends going way-back, but Jeff was enjoying cultivating his badboy image. He was "too big" for Holly and not popular with the cats, Beryl & Dave, either. Holly was eventually persuaded to pet Jeff and there is hope for his rehabilitation, but what is fascinating is how much more comfortable Daniel Burdon, age 2, is with Jeff despite the size discrepancy. This seems to be simply because he's grown up with Amber who, although technically a dog, has no teeth and would be lucky to weigh 1/10th of Jeff. The only thing fierce about her is the halitosis.

The Arnolds

2010-05-16T03:01:00.000-07:00

We had a great time at Laure and Rob's wedding: amazing venue, super food and from what I can't remember, excellent booze too. Well what else would you expect from a half French wedding? They even had a cheese course.

Laure of course looked stunning and Rob scrubs up pretty well too. If the ash cloud plays it's hand well, their 2 week Seychelle honeymoon could turn into a month! Congratulations!

It was great to catch up with the rest of the gang too. I had my first ever oyster, and so did Mark - who, in one of my most evil practical jokes ever, I persuaded was starting to have an allergic reaction.

"You're starting to get some blotches there, Mark. What, you've never had oysters before? We're miles from a hospital here. Seafood allergies can be quite extreme. What were you thinking having your first oyster ever out here?" With some back up from Dave and Danny, we almost had him convinced for 1/4 an hour.

The Bear of Rodborough

2010-05-16T01:58:00.000-07:00

That was the name of the hotel we stayed at: and we heard rumours there was an actual bear prowling the corridors. You guessed it: Jeff dog was allowed to stay.

We were down for Rob and Laure's wedding and hopefully to catch up with the Greig family and their newborn too.

There was another wedding party at the hotel each night. And on Saturday, the reception had gotten out of hand. When I was checking out: I heard the manager explaining why the hotel bar hadn't been open late... guests already too drunk... fire extinguishers... reception bell rung for 2 hours... guests breaking into the kitchen for food, etc.

Things had been relatively quiet in our wing until 3am. At that point a clearly inebriated man was pounding on his own room door, yelling, "I'm standing outside MY room". We presumed his wife to be inside, too drunkenly sound asleep to hear him.

We could though, and so could Jeff. He wasn't about to let that drunken a-hole mess with our beauty sleep. He gave a series of such loud, deep growl/barks that I could feel my innards vibrate, and there was instant silence from the corridor (I like to imagine the drunk skulking off to sleep in the rock garden to dream of bears). I settled Jeff down with a special stick he had selected from the grounds earlier, and we all got back to sleep.

I had hoped to get a picture of Jeff in reception the next morning standing on his hind legs, next to the 2 stuffed bears. A police line-up type shot was what I had in mind, but with the amount of bark and twig scattered all over our room, paying quickly and leaving seemed most prudent.

Thai Tees

2010-05-01T12:44:00.000-07:00

Not Tyne-Tees, you heard right.

Pipes Parkin recently let on that he now felt "too old" to wear his Red Bull T-shirt. You know the one, everyone who's been to Thailand has one: white with blue piping at the collar and cuffs, Red Bull in Thai script across the front. The fact of the matter is that DP could still fit into that T. We're not all so lucky.

On the way back from their round the world jaunt, Maria, John & Fin picked up what they thought would be the perfect gift of a T-shirt combining my love of wacky Thai T-shirts with my well known coffee obsession.

What they forgot was that a large Thai man is not as big as a large Englishman. Could you just pop back and exchange it for me?

UCI World Champs at Dalby

2010-04-27T14:33:00.000-07:00

This weekend all the champs were there. Steve Peat, Chris Boardman and of course me and Jeff. We stayed with Mark, Jo and little Dan in Leeds. This time Jeff was banished to the downstairs hall: his moulting hair having previously conflicted with the cream bedroom decor, but he made a big hit with Dan.

As far as the riders went, it was the Lycra clad whippet brigade... that lot are seriously fit and some of the ladies in Lycra were "very fit indeed."

Saturday saw the juniors riding on a course that was pretty technical, and steep in places, for a cross-country course. During the afternoon we borrowed some tools and got Dan's pedal-less bike set up correctly. Now he could reach the floor more easily the smiles started: it should improve his balance and make the transition to a real bike easier.

Mark was running the Sheffield half marathon on the Sunday, so he followed the "usual" pre-race routine of Dominos pizza and lager. And I did my best to scupper these exemplary preparations by serving up breakfast of massive portions of brioche french toast with caramelised apples and pears.

Dave and Adele camped over near Dalby and I met up with them for Sunday's main event: the elite riders. These racers were unbelievably fast, and we found some good vantage points to watch events unfold, favourite being the aptly named Worry Gill.

During the ladies, we were walking between viewing areas when a Dutch rider came pelting down a relatively benign section screaming, she dismounted cyclocross-style and ran to the barrier yelling for a surprised-looking bearded man to pull her arm. "My shoulder is out," she said and when he failed to sort it out, she looked around saying, "Its easy. Anyone else?"

Step forward Dr Mike. Yip- definately a right anterior dislocation, I gave a pull with a little internal rotation but didn't feel the tell-tale clunk. But before I could say anything she was suddenly smiling, and back on her bike. "That's it! Thanks." And she was gone. Dave saw her later with a sling - which she wasn't using, chatting happily with a mobile in her right hand.

The men's race was superexciting (can you tell there were lots of euro-racers there?) and the top 3 riders traded positions in the final laps of the course before battling it out in a sprint finish.

Jeff was the biggest champ though: very well behaved at the Burdonhausen, calm in the crowds, not too frantic near the fastfood stands and petted by at least a thousand people! Superstar.

Revenge of the Lamb

2010-04-27T13:09:00.001-07:00

I forgot to give Jeff his explicit warnings today at Cocken Woods.

He therefore felt at liberty to locate his previously-wrestled-over putrid leg of lamb and scurry off into the undergrowth to enjoy his interupted meal (well, it was the approximation of scurrying that a 50kg dog will do).

Snack time over, he erupted from the undergrowth to scare another dog walker. "It was just a big black shape coming at me - I thought it was a bear," she said.

I have news: there have been no bears in County Durham for at least a thousand years. There is however, a very naughty dog at large.

Two's Company 2

2010-04-27T12:48:00.000-07:00

Another Berner! Little Darcy who is only 18 weeks and still looks like a stuffed toy.

There's a pic of the two frolicking coming to this spot when the pc is fixed.

She was very playful but had to concede she couldn't match JD for size or strength, and rolled onto her back to show her submission. She had so much fun doing this that she kept rolling onto her back as we walked away up the beach, with her owner moaning that he'd have to clean her before his wife saw what a state he'd let her get into.

Two's Company

2010-04-21T13:09:00.000-07:00

On the way home from work, Jeff and I stopped for our 3rd walk of the day in the woods that were the site of the fateful GLI (garlic lamb incident). For once he listened to me as we "this way"ed, "come on"ed and "leave it"ed on our way past the presumably, by now, even more putrid lamb remains. I suspect this had more than a little to do with the fact that he was knackered from his 2 previous walks.

We'd heard rumours there was "a big dog that looks like yu-ers called busta or summat" from an errant cyclist. Errant on 3 counts. Firstly, we were on a public footpath - so no bikes allowed. Secondly, if you were going to flout the law then the sketchy singletrack through the woods and down the steep riverside banks was surely worth getting busted for, not the flat track we were on. Thirdly, Oscar (not Buster), although unneutered and 4 years old, wasn't like Jeff at all: he wasn't as handsome, he was a full 2 inches shorter and was nowhere near as regal looking despite also being a Berner.

I was on the phone to Adele when Oscar arrived and had to cut the conversation short, fearing a Godzilla moment as the heavyweights clashed. Sure enough it appeared Jeff was remembering his puppyhood as he ruff-and-tumbled with the other Berner, for once asserting his dominance. Usually Jeff is so soft- he was ganged up on by the beagles in puppy class and recently was embarrassingly submissive to a black lab 4 months his junior. But this time things were different: I was almost proud as he mounted Oscar "asserting his manhood."

Now it's time for a superfluous shot of Claire with her puppies on display:

Back then we decided on Jeff (left) and today, as the giants rumbled in the jungle, leaving "rubble and ashes" in their wake, I was glad we'd slept on it and decided not to get two puppies!

Lamb, Garlic and Doodles.

2010-04-19T04:15:00.000-07:00

What threatened to be a mundane trip to work at the Out of Hours yesterday was given a dramatic twist. I'd decided to walk Jeff's legs off prior to work so he would be tired and hopefully settle down to sleep in the car overnight. We stopped in the woods just outside Durham.

It started as just a routine walk in the park: Jeff sniffing this n that, birds tweeting in the woodland and sheep bleating in the field next door (though such walks are something I won't ever now take for granted - thank you ankle, you're getting there). Routine that was until Jeff took off deep into the wild garlic.

The reason for this burst of activity was soon apparent as Jeff Dawg plucked a semi-putrified lamb carcass from the undergrowth. Eyes wide, tail straight-up and wagging with new-found vigour... the game was on!

After 20 mins of chasing, and hide and seek, I was in danger of being late for work but eventually had Jeff cornered by fences in the woodland. A playful growl, head down, he attempted to barge past me.

Now, I don't think that Jeff knew I was once captain of the Durham School 4th Rugby XV (played 3, won 3, banned for violence and alcohol). Nor that I had once been called onto the pitch for 15 of the most scared minutes of my life when reserve for the 1st XV. He certainly wasn't expecting the re-emergence of my tackling prowess: but I took him down and as he went, the lamb carcass shot from his surprised jaws smearing what can only be described as "gack" down my leg. As we rolled in the muddy undergrowth, the stench of wild garlic was overpowering as the spring growth was crushed, staining my trousers.

I'm not sure what I would think if I needed to see a GP overnight and he had muddy, garlic-stains on his knees and stunk of wet dog and rotten farm animal, but at 3am I soon found out what Harvey the Golden Doodle thought. I had turned my back for only a moment, when I felt a paw on each shoulder and a thrusting at my waist.

JD is in the dog-box.

Revenge of the Lawn

2010-04-18T07:11:00.000-07:00

No, not the Richard Brautigan novel from 1963. It's the stunning progress of Claire's reseeding experiment.

There's a few bare spots, but on the whole there's no denying the progress. Enjoy the evidence of Mrs Doubleu's green thumbs. Jeff and I will be. I'll get the hammock set up and Jeff will get the bangers on the barbie.

In Schiphol everything is fine...

2010-04-14T13:50:00.000-07:00

...in Schiphol everything is fine, you got your good thing, and I got mine.

And in my case, the good things are stroopwafels - a bumper pack of duty free stroopwafels.

Next question: how do I shift the 5kg I put on because of my ankle?

Fashionista

2010-04-04T05:22:00.000-07:00

Well I'm here in Pittsburgh visiting Mrs Doubleu for her birthday weekend before I start back at work. The sun is blazing down, it's 28'c and the view outside is very different to the snowmageddon wasteland that I surveyed 2 months ago.

After the airport shuttle run that Mrs Doubleu can probably now do in her sleep, we stopped at Walnut Street for lunch. One Southwestern Chipotle Club sandwich later we were back out on the street when Mrs Doubleu noticed a dress in a shop window. A quick circuit of the racks revealed many dresses that were "No" but still an armful of potentials.

We had worked our way through to the last one without success, but I had high hopes for this little black dress. "I really don't like asymmetric necklines," she said giving me a twirl. Now the thing was, I couldn't remember any of these dresses being asymmetric.

Sure enough, Mrs Doubleu had put her own spin on the little black number and tried it on sideways! No more dress shopping alone - it would appear there are additional obstacles to finding THAT dress!

The Green Shoots of Recovery

2010-03-31T09:27:00.000-07:00

Its not about the economy, stupid. Its the lawn. I thought I'd check it out today so I can fill Claire in on the progress when I see her this weekend. The soil is drowning in seed, but all we have so far for our efforts are a few sporadic shoots.

I'm hoping that the proverb "from the acorn does the mighty oak grow" has some relevance here, and I'm sure Jeff having a few days holiday with Anne can only help the lawn's chances of recovery.

The Doubleus get political... not!

2010-03-31T09:10:00.001-07:00

As these three posters from the "Make Cameron History" project show, contrary to accepted wisdom, politics is alive and very much kicking. A website where you can make your very own Tory faux-slogans - genius!

Of course it's the usual Punch 'n' Judy, beauty-pageant, lowest-common-denominator politics of the tabloids, but still, fun just the same... Check out mydavidcameron.com and make your own.

Still, I'm sure we'll be very bored of all the parties in a month's time and begging for any one of them to put us out of our collective misery and take over.

Maybe not her though...

The Joy of Skype

2010-03-29T05:20:00.000-07:00

Not entirely sure what we did before this came along. Video calls were non-existent and even regular overseas calls were expensive, tinny and subject to erratic delays.

We got skype set up when Mrs Doubleu was in Boston for 6 months but the internet with the mentalists wasn't that good and we struggled even just to talk on it.

The past year though, it's been a revelation. Absolutely essential for keeping in touch with Mrs Doubleu whilst she's been in Pittsburgh. I'm used to her yelling for me from the other end of the house, but now I can hear her dulcet tones hollering across the Atlantic. And they call this progress?

I first saw Fin, my nephew, at 2 days old on skype when he got home from hospital in London. Since then I've stalked him by skype from Joburg to Cape Town and then onto Sydney. He is one well travelled 8 month old!

Blissed-out Feline

2010-03-28T09:42:00.000-07:00

It turns out that being a house-cat with changes to the household (Jeff's arrival and Mrs Doubleu's recent comings and goings to the States) puts Max at increased risk of stress. And as this is one explanation for his scratching, we thought we'd give Feliway a go, hoping the facial pheromones would calm him and give the leather sofas a well deserved rest.

Well as you can see it seems to be working. 3 days in and Max seems to be slightly friendlier, more laid back and less destructive... and let's be blunt: a little blissed out at times!

This afternoon he sat at the back door watching wood pigeons and collared doves whilst less than 2 feet away, Jeff was watching him. We haven't seen that before!

The Bertenshaw-Douglas Dog Wrestling Service

2010-03-27T08:26:00.000-07:00

Just a quick note of thanks to the Bertenshaw-Douglas Dog ~~Walking~~ Wrestling Service. First a warning: if they offer to walk your canine friend, do prepare well in advance. You wouldn't want to answer the door in your striped pyjamas without even having had a sniff of caffeine, would you?

Well let me tell you that punctuality is just the start of it, their service really is second to none. Not every walking service offers an infant for your dog to play with, or an older dog for yours to harass, but the BDDWS does! And as far as the wrestling itself goes, they are not afraid to get down and dirty with your hound, as the muddy paw-prints on Catherine and Simon's shoulders attest. Their fee is modest and payable with cake or biscuits.

As always, the proof is in the pudding: the pooch is pooped, too tired even to play with his new turkey.

Espresso-based beverages

2010-03-25T13:24:00.000-07:00

I started easing myself back into working mode today with a 6 hour training day. I got a lift down with Christine as I still can't drive. But all seems to be hopeful for a return to work date of just after Easter.

Christine is just as hopeless a caffeine addict as I, so making good time on the way down we stopped for a Costa. Cappucino for her and flat white for me. To go. The caffeine jolt was just enough to get me through the day. Am I gonna need an espresso-based beverage every day when I get back to work? It's possible.

The most fun all day was the wager on whether we'd make it back over the Tyne by 16:45. At stake the complimentary free coffee card I "earned" in Starbucks last week when my coffee order was momentarily delayed. Christine hoped the cop-car mimicking properties of the pale mondeo with roof rails would be enough to give her a clear run, but I was suspicious that the Peppa Pig window shades would give her away as a civilian.

It looked like being a close run thing but stationary traffic past Chester-le-Street meant I was soon certain I would be keeping the free coffee voucher, but increasingly less confident that Jeff would "hang on" for his first day home alone in a while.

I don't know how I ever doubted him: these days he's such a good big-boy. He held on even whilst bouncing around the kitchen with excitement at my return, before bounding outside and happily emptying both barrels onto Claire's attempts to rehabilate the lawn.

Over by over...

2010-03-23T15:07:00.000-07:00

Fame at last... but a very minimal kind of fame.

I've always been a big fan of the guardian OBO's slightly off-the-wall and not-strictly-cricket coverage. Now I can follow on my iPhone when I'm meant to be asleep, which is what I was doing the other morning when Mrs Doubleu caught me talking about her.

One question though: if this is Bangladesh, how severe is the iPhone OBO induced insomnia going to be against Australia at the end of the year? Oh, and I'm really going to have to up my game if I want a mention during The Ashes.

Premature Egg-jaculation

2010-03-22T08:52:00.000-07:00

Dave and Adele were our house guests this weekend. The activities were basically: eating, sleeping (Dave), followed by more eating, then some snacking and drinking. Now Cadbury would have us believe that creme egg season runs from Jan 1st until Easter. We're not adherents to this religion but such was the gluttony on show that we polished off all the chocolate eggs that Dave and Adele had kindly brought with them well before Easter!

Claire, Dave & Adele burnt some of that chocolate off on Friday during a brisk walk on Bamburgh Beach with JD. Me, I was plotting my next meal - a baguette in Alnwick followed by a visit to Barter Books. Buying WW2 propaganda mugs was the limit of my exertions.

Adele put us all to shame by getting her road bike onto my turbotrainer. She checked it wasn't seized up with inactivity and gave it a good thrashing. The turbotrainer has had a harder time before... supporting my weight, but Saturday was its first real work-out. Thank you! Dave tackled my inertia and DIY-ed the cupboard under the stairs. Thank-you!

After that, all that was left to do on Sunday was cook caramelised apples and pears to top the maple syrup smothered brioche french toast. We then stopped off at Colman's for Fish & Chips before Dave and Adele headed south.

I really need to get on that bike and I'm hoping for the all clear from the physio in 2 weeks time. The only worry now is that I'm sure I read somewhere that those minimalist pedals have a maximum rider weight.

We need a scarecrow...

2010-03-18T01:53:00.000-07:00

Or more precisely a scare-garden-birds. Mrs Doubleu has decided we need grass where the lawn ought to be. Last years turfing experiment has been written off as a disaster, but I can't help feeling it wasn't the turf's fault.

We did water it, but so did Jeff. He also pooped on it, dug through it and my personal favourite: found the corner of the turf and enjoyed lifting the whole thing as if it was a rug. Added to this were the insults raining down from the magnolia tree (note to self: develop ecofriendly weedkiller made from essence of magnolia leaves and petals).

As reparation we've decided to try reseeding. Mrs Doubleu was very brave and went to the orange place (B&Q) on her own. The lawn is now "immaculate." That is, if the desired look is grass seed mixed with compost and soil. Unfortunately to the garden birds it all just looks like lunch.

We're hoping the 10 seed mix with aniseed will remind them that only the seed on the bidrtable is theirs for the eating. Oh, and thanks once again to the Flapjack-Pipes-Parkins for the birdtable wedding present - its what every young ornithologist dreams of..

Graveyard of Eviscerated Creatures

2010-03-15T09:06:00.000-07:00

That'll be the backyard then...

Not only have Jeff and the magnolia tree ganged up on the lawn, but the back garden is starting to resemble something from a childhood nightmare.

The lawn has suffered the combined torment of magnolia leaves and petals on top of JD's pee, poop and an unfortunate digging habit. Add to this the combined gardening skills of Mrs Doubleu & I, and you are left with 3/4s of the lawn in a perilous state (i.e. it's mostly dirt now).

The back garden is the scene of past triumphs for Jeff. Such as the day he discovered he could barge through the hedge into the neighbours garden, and stole not one, but two wooden ducks. I returned the ducks on the first occasion, but Jeff sensing an opportunity, stole them again as soon as I left to visit Mrs Doubleu in Pittsburgh last autumn. Both Harv and Meyrick who housesat over that fortnight are quite laidback chaps, and their horizontal status denied the ducks any hope of repatriation. By the time I got back the pair were still recognisably duck-shaped, but neither had a head or legs!

Today, now that its been dry and I'm more confident of my ankle, I've had a bit of a clearout of Jeff's toys from the garden. It was a sombre affair. Most have been brutally savaged, often missing their eyes - sometimes their faces or even whole heads, with innards chewed out through the wound. Even his new big green frog, of which he is particularly proud, has lost its "rebbit!"

Square Eyes

2010-03-14T06:08:00.001-07:00

Well, after 8 months with Mrs Doubleu in Pittsburgh and 8 weeks into recovery after ankle surgery, I am discovering that there is a limit to how much TV is good for a person. All I didn't need was for the physio to tell me last week was that my nothing was overdoing it a bit, and I have to work much harder at doing nothing for the next 3 weeks.

So I've seen all of The Wire, Being Human, Black Books, Green Wing, True Blood, Heroes, Flash Forward, Peep Show and of course Gavin & Stacey. I've worked through 4 series of HIMYM, 2 of the Big Bang Theory and most of Battlestar so far, with the latest series of 24 awaiting us on the hard drive. And of course let's not forget Dexter, with the 4th series finale just about causing Mrs Doubleu and I to tear our hair out the other night!!!

Unfortunately I've also seen more Homes under the Hammer and Cash in the Attic than I would care to admit to. I even mistakenly tuned to Jeremy Kyle last week - just for a moment, but still a step too far.

In an attempt to break things up I've watched women (& unfortunately men too) clad in lycra ski, skate, shoot & slide in Canada (- well done Amy). I've been keeping tabs on the Premiership despite Newcastle's abscence... and haven't England done well so far in Bangladesh. Jeff's joined in too, keeping an eye on the Spanish footie for me, or at least that's what he said he was doing when I found him in the kitchen chewing on the remote with the TV blaring. (Don't worry Maria, I've ordered you a replacement!)

Anyway I hope to be allowed to play outside again quite soon... and by that point I'm sure I won't want to see another TV for quite some time. In the meantime, further suggestions welcome...

I signed up for no heat, not no water.

2010-03-09T13:15:00.000-08:00

Mrs Doubleu being back this side of the Atlantic, we decided to head up to Dumfries and Galloway for the weekend. We toyed with the idea of going to Ireland but decided we'd save that until some time when I would be able to walk around. The cottage was without heat, the 70s style blown air system gave up the ghost in autumn, but we figured a scattering of hot water bottles and winter weight sleeping bags and we'd be good as good as camping.

What we weren't expecting was wild camping, but a pipe in the loft had obviously blown in the cold spell and as soon as we turned on the water we had a shower coming through the roof. Water off. A quick trip to the Spar and we were set up with a few gallons of drinking water... and haggis flavoured crisps.

When in D&G, we have certain customs that have taken on almost religious significance and importance.

Firstly, I must have haggis: usually from The Masonic Arms, served in slices as a stack with potato cakes and drambuie sauce; but at a push I'll take it from The Godfather Plaice served in batter with chips heavily laden with "solansors" (salt and sauce - a kinda brown sauce watered down with spirit vinegar).

Nextly: Mrs Doubleu must have ice cream from Cream O Galloway. Usually honeycomb crunch and caramel shortbread. At least once a day, sometimes twice. For the duration of the stay.

Lastly (and this is a new one): we have to walk the legs off Jeff dog. Well, it was all down to Claire this time- walks in Cally Palace Woods, Laurieston Woods, and Sandgreen Beach. Well after all that Jeff was properly pooped and even slept through a young stag appearing in the garden!

Blue Sky Thinking

2010-03-02T10:15:00.000-08:00

Well we awoke to clear blue skies today and despite a hard frost, temperatures quickly rose to 7'c. So what do you think we were we thinking?

Let's hit the beach!

Jeff is owed more than a few long walks and now Mrs Doubleu is home for a few weeks, there is no excuse. So after a luxury breakfast of Mike's world famous brioche french toast, we drove north to Alnwick. We noted that the Cheviots were still white with snow but headed to the beach at Bamburgh anyway.

The scene we met, as well as the tide app on Mike's iPhone, confirmed that we'd managed to time it just right for a very high tide! So Mike and his ankle retired to the Rav with his copy of Whitelines and the sound of thunderous breakers to keep him company.

Mrs Doubleu set off for a brisk dune walk towards the castle, hoping for a beach to reappear in time for the return journey. Jeff was off lead and in his element, racing up tussock here and down dune there until...

Jeff charged down a 10ft sand cliff to be met by the foaming sea. He made a sharp about turn to clamber back to safety but as he climbed the sand gave way under his 50 kilos. As he fell back to the beach he was swamped by a breaking wave.

Jeff didn't panic but for just a moment Mrs Doubleu might have, with visions of having to jump in. But by then Jeff dog was back by her side shaking himself dry. "That was nothing," thought Jeff, "Didn't Daddy tell you about the day I fell in the River Wear?"

Mary, Mary, quite contrary...

2010-02-28T09:41:00.000-08:00

As many of you will know, I'm currently off work, as well as off my feet. Yesterday I had a little trip down Memory Lane to the life of an on-call GP of yesteryear... You know, oncall from home 24 hrs a day. Dr Finlay stuff.

Pipes Parkin was away to the Big Smoke this weekend, being organiser-in-chief for the stag weekend of the Great Lorenzo. Mrs P was home alone with Baby Mary, when she noticed a rash at bathtime. One panicked glass test later, Mrs P phoned her local "tame" GP. Me.

I dusted off my thermometer, found my stethoscope and wondered if I had any penicillin handy. Mary was very well in herself, smiling, chatty and very pleased to meet Max, whilst Jeff was gutted to have to stay in the kitchen.

It was an unusual rash so we thought Mary would be better seen by the paediatricians because, being "just a GP" I wasn't completely sure what was going on. Well Mary spent 24 hours in the shiny new RVI with the clever doctors and their blood tests, and we still are not completely sure what's gone on.

I'm fairly certain, though, that Mary is just being contrary - she's got that kind of smile.

Max averts disaster

2010-02-25T11:54:00.000-08:00

The hot water has been decidely tepid lately. Thorough investigation revealed that despite Mrs Doubleu using the hairdryer as an emergency personal heating device, the radiators were in fact still working pretty well. It was clear though that at least one part of the combi boiler was not working.

We arranged to get a man in. An appointment was booked. He came. A part was ordered. Time passed. Then the man came again, and went - wrong part. Today he came back with the right part, fixed the boiler and had a self-congratulatory cuppa (strang, mulk, wi twa shuggas - part Geordie, part Glaswegian he was), then he foxtrotted.

I tried to make my lunch but kept being disturbed by Max. I suspected the racket was direct insubordination secondary to having been locked in his room during the plumbing procedure. It could also have been the chorizo I was having for lunch - that can make Max a bit cranky when he thinks Jeff might be ahead of him in the queue.

But no, Max wasn't hassling me. He was miaowing (which is rare) and trying to force way into the cupboard under the stairs. I chased him away a couple of times, but he was persistent, so I opened the cupboard to find water streaming from the boiler.

"And they don't think I'm smart enough to be an outside cat," thought Max as he settled down with his blankie, satisfied with his Lassie-like efforts. Meanwhile lunch was on hold as I tried to get hold of the plumber, again.

Good Session

2010-02-25T00:54:00.000-08:00

Mr & Mrs "Pipes" Parkin had me round for tea yesterday... I took the soup: North African spiced butternut and lentil; they rustled up a chicken and bacon risotto; then, just as we had all decided there was no room for pud, DP remembered it was session night.

Hot foot down to The Brandling Villa for trad music. A sturdy old pub "under new management" - usually a phrase that fills me with dread, but on this occasion they seem to be getting it right.

Not only do they tolerate, nay, encourage the session but they have live music regularly, real beer, Hoegaarden, illy coffee, a good menu - and fresh from the extravaganza that was their sausage festival: The Big Pie Weekend is coming soon. 25 kinds of pie, 30 ales & 25 ciders... A recipe for success? I think so.

The session was its usual lively self but of course there was disappointingly no foot-tapping for me at the moment. I think I'm going to need a drum.

That's my mouse

2010-02-24T03:30:00.000-08:00

Well the gloves are off, Ladies and Gentlmen.

Max was playing happily with his favourite catnip flavoured mouse (or is it a chinchilla?). First he wrestled with it on the bed, next he cast it onto the floor then practised his pouncing on the landing. He chased it down the stairs and that's where it all went wrong. In his excitement Max forgot that he shares downstairs with a bigger carnivore, nay, an omnivore.

It was not witnessed, but by breakfast the next morning the mouse wasn't damp - it was wringing wet. Wringing wet with what was surely dog saliva. It wasn't even chewed. I suspect Jeff went to sleep with the thing in his mouth, sucking every trace of catnip from the small creature.

Posing the "What's this?" question to Jeff produced the usual pavlovian response: head down, mournful eyes BUT wagging tail. Mrs Doubleu's doing: he knows no-one can stay mad at him for long, and even as he's told off he's wagging his tail for the cuddle that will come after.

Max looked on from the stairs. He was shaking his head in disappointment. The usual refrain:"Why did you have to bring that creature into our house, our home?"

I dried the mouse out. I even flexed and worked it to soften the crusted dog spittle. But the little mouse is no longer Max's favourite. After I'd finished my efforts at restoration he took a few tentative sniffs, turned about in dismay and retreated to his chair, comforting himself by kneading his blankie that Jeff has not yet spoiled.

Jeff hits 50

2010-02-20T03:44:00.000-08:00

That's 50 kilos, folks.

Mrs Doubleu has been a bit worried that she couldn't feel his ribs very easily. Then Pipes called Jeff "barrel-shaped." A walk to the vets confirmed he's hit a half-century, up 7kg since August.

This has almost certainly been because he's still been growing, he's now just 16 months, but still - the last thing we want is a fat dog... so the treats will have to be rationed. It appears though, that treats will still have to used, if today's performance is anything to go by.

Mrs Doubleu let Jeff have some off lead time in the snow at the park today. He stayed close for a while but then took off up a steep hill through the trees. Mrs Doubleu chased and rounded a corner to see Jeff homing in on a dog training lesson. Imagine if you will, a dozen dogs, all off-lead, sitting nicely in a line next to their owners facing the class leader. Imagine 50 kilos of Bernese Mountain Dog excitedly bouncing into the group then licking, nuzzling and jumping on these dogs. Order vanished, chaos ensued.

The last the class saw of Jeff was Mrs Doubleu persuing him down the hill again after he'd spotted another group of dogs to harass / greet. For that class, I think Jeff will be forever used as an example of how not to behave.

Modified Brostrom (3)

2010-02-17T10:13:00.000-08:00

Well it wasn't quite the "Eureka!" moment I'd hoped for. But I am now in my walking cast a.k.a. the moon boot.

The nurse in the plaster room with a BMI of >50 took off my fibreglass cast. One minute - my foot and ankle, indeed up to my midshin was secure in the cast, the next it was nestled safely in her warmth (cleavage? abdominal folds?) as she worked with her electric saw. Then - free! but feeling decidely vulnerable.

Friends had informed me that my lower leg would be: thin like a sparrow's and/or pale like a corpse's and/or scaly like a lizard's and/or withered like a crone's and/or very hairy like a werewolf. Thankfully none of the above was true. It is slightly thinner than the left at the moment with some minor dry skin. Nothing to get too excited about.

The orthopaedic registrar who saw me today was more of a grunter than a talker, but the scar looks very neat and my ankle didn't flop around in the breeze, so I'll forgive his poverty of speech for now. Still gotta keep the crutches for now though, but I am allowed to gradually start to put some weight through my right foot when its in the moon boot.

Modified Brostrom (2)

2010-02-17T07:33:00.000-08:00

Last time I did my ankle, 8 years ago, I had private physio for 3 months and was treated a little like a walking wallet. She did however strap my ankle in a weird fashion with flesh coloured tape and thus give me the confidence to still go scuba-diving in the Egypt. In fact a week of finning around the Red Sea seemed to achieve more than she ever did and 2 or 3 months later things appeared to be back to normal until...

This time. I decided to go with a private orthopaedic opinion as I had another scuba trip I had to check I was going to be fit for, this time to the Great Barrier Reef. The modern waiting room, smart 3 piece suit, natty brogues and carefully matched shirt and tie all inspired confidence but made me consider that I was paying a little too much for this appointment. It was decreed that I would be fit for my scuba trip, road cycling was unlikely to make things much worse, but I did need an MR Arthrogram. I decided my pockets weren't deep enough for a private scan and booked my liveaboard dive trip instead, knowing with a degree of confidence that my NHS scan would take place some time well after I returned from Australia.

In August, the radiologist said my ankle would feel "funny" and when he learnt I was medical, he was certain that I'd want to see the contrast injected into my ankle. He was wrong on both counts: when he injected the additional 8ml of fluid into the ankle that already contained its usual 2ml of synovial fluid it didn't feel funny- it felt like I'd just injured it all over again. The fact I was was watching this on a TV monitor as it happened wasn't interesting, it was nauseating. To add insult to "injury" the staff in the MRI room misheard me and I was subjected to half an hour of earspliting 50s music in a vain attempt to drown out the VERY NOISY scanner as they scanned me every 5 minutes to see where the fluid was leaking from.

I had ruptured my CFL and torn my ATFL, and was listed for an arthroscopy and EUA as a warm-up for a bigger definative op that the surgeon was almost certain I'd need. The "warm-up" anaethesia went well and I can just about remember telling the recovery nurse that I had a "big doggie." Results: Yup, the joint was very unstable and yup, I was starting to get mild arthritis from it slipping about all the time despite my best efforts to compensate. I liked to imagine that when I was anaesthetised my foot was like a freshly landed wild salmon, flopping about and hard to get a good hold of because of my desperately unstable ankle - those anaethesia drugs always give me full-on dreams.

So I was listed for a modified Brostrom's lateral ankle reconstruction and finally had this just after New Year 2010. This all seemed to go smoothly and apparently I'm likely to be back to premiership foootball in 6 months. Post-op recovery was initially swift, out of hospital within 48 hours. I had the initial recuperation period with Paul and Fi as Mrs Doubleu was in Pittsburgh and neither Max nor Jeff was deemed responsible enough to look after me. Jeff dog was boarded out with Anne, and Max left with a suitably large pile of food. I was very well looked after: my nails were painted by Freya and my lego skills encouraged by Dylan. The fact I was immobile and therefore a "captive playmate" all the better as far as they were concerned.

There followed 6 weeks of complete non-weight bearing on my right foot. So I've really just about had it with crutches.

Seriously, I go back to clinic this morning and I'm expecting to get the cast off, be fitted with a walking cast. I'm hoping to throw away my crutches in what I'm imagining will be a scene of almost biblical fervour, hallelujah and salvation.

To be continued...

Modified Brostrom (1)

2010-02-16T23:48:00.000-08:00

I've just about had it with crutches.

Don't ever take your ankles for granted. Seriously, you rely on them more than you realise: walking, running, cycling, swimming, climbing, and snowboarding. Believe me, even taking a cup of tea from one room to another is a major undertaking on axilla crutches (tip: flask and backpack).

No doubt many of you are aware of the ongoing saga of my right ankle. Sprained often in childhood, once badly playing squash 8 years ago, and then properly knackered in November 2008 on a midweek Beamish Oddsox mountain bike night-ride.

Instant nausea at the time of the injury (embarrassingly but luckily only 200m into the ride) gave me a clue this was a more substantial injury. After a couple of hours of rest, ice, and elevation, I struggled to remove the mud-caked gore-tex sock. And as soon as I did, my ankle visibly swelled to the size of a melon in front of my eyes. "Yikes!" I thought.

Mrs Doubleu was preparing a presentation for work the following morning and thus not best pleased at my request for a lift to A&E. Needless to say, said A&E was full of Mrs Doubleu's least favourite patient demographic: drunken, vomiting, teenage girls. Despite the retching, Mrs Doubleu admirably soldiered on, preparing her talk on her laptop at a safe distance from the spew, whilst I had X-rays and painkillers.

The X-rays showed "no bony abnormality." I couldn't believe this, given the pain and swelling, so I asked the casualty junior if he could have my films checked by the registrar on duty as I was "a GP and everything". Now in all likelihood, he went for a cup of coffee, then came back and told me they'd been checked and were fine, but hey, I felt better about it all.

So when it didn't settle down, I had physio. I had a week's boarding in Whistler to get through. It did seem perverse though, to be icing the bastard after a morning in the snow. But the thing just didn't settle, no matter how much I tried to convince myself it was slowly getting better. It plateaued by May, by which time I could cycle on the road and pay for it with a day of swelling. Running, climbing, boarding and mountain biking had much steeper payments.

To be continued...

Insomnia

2010-02-11T17:35:00.000-08:00

It's 02:09 and despite insufficient sleep the night before last (poor judgement - late coffee) I am awake.

Since then I've survived the limo ride through the relentless snow to the airport, a Quiznos sub and the overnight flight from Pittsburgh via Paris to Newcastle. It helped that once again I was treated like minor royalty, wheeled to the front of every queue and given 3 seats to sprall across for the transatlantic leg. Mrs Doubleu also had 3 seats and sensibly decided to catch some sleep.

I couldn't help myself with the seat back video entertainment system and despite my better judgement watched The Damned United (good), Funny People (so-so), the Invention of Lying (oh-no) and Dexter (episodes exactly where we'd left off - a sign?). So, no sleep there then despite the room to stretch out.

I crashed out almost as soon as we had said our hellos to Max and Jeff. Some amazingly vivid dreams followed, many of which featured sirens, buzzers and bells. Claire's walk with Jeff lasted about an hour longer than planned and yep, she'd spent at least half an hour leaning on the doorbell in the freezing cold. Well if you will go walkies without housekeys...

Anyway what was I saying? You're awake when no-one else is and feel the need to prattle on to the blogosphere... There's an app for that.

App: blogpress.
Diagnosis: jetlag.

Snowmageddon

2010-02-09T10:40:00.000-08:00

Well that's what they're calling it over here... 2-3 foot of snow here in central Pittsburgh, PA. - the most for 20 years or so. They've had more in DC - the most for 90 years. Still: snowmageddon? There's nothing like American hyperbole, is there? Having said that, it is a little more impressive than the 1.2cm of snow that regularly grinds the UK to a halt.

Claire has attempted, and failed, to dig her car out with the bread board so its hiking to work for her at the moment... and me, I'm getting cabin fever. Crutches and ice on the sidewalk do not mix. Still, I managed to brave the conditions for bar food and 2 pints of Yuengling last night. I really had to earn that deep fried zuccini.

Ok, so I just looked out the window and its snowing again. Not so good since we're hoping to fly back to Newcastle-upon-Tyne tomorrow. Snow - please just stay away until 6 tomorrow night, then you can dump as much as you'd like.