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I woke up on Monday feeling less than brand new. My legs did not want to move and my head was a bit thick; the combined effects of the annual Adelaide ‘fun’ run and ensuing hospitality.

The run is a 12km affair from the middle of the city to the beach and attracts all sorts, from Commonwealth Games athletes to 95 year olds who are happy to walk it with their great grandchildren. In all 30,000 people took part and it was great fun.

It was a hot day, even at 8.00am, as we all jostled around the start and stumbled along the main boulevard of the city. It took a while for the numbers to thin out and there were plenty of trips, oaths and collisions along the way. All very entertaining.

I have always felt that running is a bit dull if you are not chasing a ball around and I worried that the distance might drag a bit; but far from it. With the crowds cheering us on and bands playing along the pavements all the way to the beach the time seemed to fly by and I felt I was running pretty quickly.

All of which was a total illusion. The clock said I had achieved what might charitably be called a leisurely pace as I trotted in at 61 minutes and 26 seconds. I was a bit disappointed not to get under an hour but still pretty pleased with myself as the 2091st fastest person in the race. This pride lasted until about 5 minutes after I arrived at work when my boss merrily pointed out that his 71 year old uncle had gone round in 55 minutes.

There’s always next year though, and he’ll be 72 then so maybe I’ll get a bit closer!

The inevitable barbecue followed as a group of people from the gym sat in the sun complaining about their aches and pains and how they would run a better time next year. It was only supposed to be for a couple of hours but, I suppose predictably, took all day and a couple of cases of beer.

After all this strenuous work, I thought a spot of fishing would put some balance back into life and took my newly acquired rod to the jetty.

It goes without saying that I caught nothing, but that’s really not the point. Standing on the pier with fishing tackle gained me entry to a select club; a club where ancient Greek blokes reeling in undersized fish acknowledged me with an almost imperceptible nod. I was one of them for a couple of hours.

Membership of this club also gained me a private audience with the mad bloke on the pier who was pulling out ever larger crabs while telling me ever taller stories. I let his monologue wash over me as a pod of dolphins played a little out to sea, a pouch of pelicans swooped low over the jetty and I waited in vain for a bite.

We’re going to have another go at fishing today, this time with Mandy to provide the sound effects!

Meanwhile, good news at last on the curry front. It seems there is a decent Indian restaurant in Adelaide, in fact it’s pretty bloody good. It is also liberally decorated with cricket bats signed by teams from the last 30 years, apparently it is a tradition for the players to adjourn here during the test match.

Of course all this makes it a pretty expensive night out as well, but it didn’t seem to matter so much as the door to a future of decent curry opened and another one slammed shut on the world of bland, brown slop.

Cheers
M&W