Things that seemed like a good idea at the time.
1.Buying and then attempting to install a metre-long vinyl sticker of the lyrics to the chorus of daughter #1’s favourite song on her bedroom wall. Pompeii by Bastille, since you ask.
Bought it off the internet, arrived the next day, watched the detailed and informative online ‘how-to’ video guide twice, attempted to temporarily fix it to the wall with spaghetti-like surgical tape and cursed the day I ever saw the damned thing on eBay as it wouldn’t level up then fell off with monotonous regularity.
In normal day-to-day life yours truly is fairly dexterous, but put a spirit level in my hands and suddenly my fingers are about as useful as cows’ teats.
After 10 minutes of impotent rage and words the nice young shoegazing indie boys who wrote the song would never use, I called down for the boss who watched the video and stuck it to the wall like a professional in less than half an hour.
To be honest, I only bought the thing because daughter #1 walks around the house belting it out at the top of her voice.
But she is thrilled with it. And now all her friends want one. And their mums and dads can install it.
2.Applying for and then getting a place in the Great North Run.
Five minutes after crossing the finish line last year and while queuing for my T-shirt and medal I told a woman behind me that if she saw me there again she could shoot me.
The 13-and-a-bit miles on the day isn’t the seventh circle of hell you might imagine – if you’ve done the training. The atmosphere on the day puts extra miles in your legs that you never knew you had.
But the training, oh my giddy aunt. There’s only one way to train for running a half marathon, and that’s running – preferably four times a week for three months, at least four miles each time.
It’s a real ball-ache, literally. You ladies wear sports bras to stop your, how can I put this, boobs from jiggling around so much. But after a four-mile slog in the heat to Lancaster University and back my balls felt like Rafa Nadal had used them for serving practice.
3.While running, firing snot out of one nostril like a 1970s footballer. Not as easy as it looks.