Relativity...

I was pretty pleased with myself lastnight. I decided to get off my arse and play 5aside football, with most of the students and a couple of IBMers - its a game I don't really enjoy playing, because its full of, well fast footballers. This means, when and if you get the ball (very rare) you have to pass it on, or run with the ball as soon as you recieve it. Its also a mechanism to find people's weak spots, and basically, for crap people like myself, to have the piss taken out of me. I felt lastnight I couldnt do anything right, and thats not me being negative, its the trust god damn it. I had my back on goal, had a ball passed to me, knew someone was free on my right, so passed it perfectly, only for him to miss, but - but - people shouted at me that I should have shot. Minutes later, I took a curling in shot from the left wing - and people say I should pass - meh - football for you.

Pete and Vince had invited me to play the slightly later game (8 til 9) so by the time I got home (7.15) I decided that enough was enough, and I wanted to take things into my own hands and I was going to play a 2nd game in 3 hours.

I do like playing this slot (although its a little late in the day for me) mainly because you do get the space, you do get the time on the ball (time & space = more confidence = more time and space .... etc etc ....). Its been a while since I turned up for this slot, but was met by loads of handshakes, welcomes and asking how "Geordie" has been and where I've been. So, we play, I megsy an old bloke, giving me more confidence, had a couple shots on target, and probably had the better game there, even tho I'd ran around for an hour already.

Anyhow, heres where the relativity thing comes in. When I got back, I had a call from a mate of mine, Een. I tend to only ever get calls from him, if his lass is up the spout (hi Sarah), Headley has managed to get himself into even more debt or Big Brother is about to start. Thats not to say we don't keep in touch, its to say, he reads my blog often and doesnt need to call me to find out whats going on.

Anyhoooo, turns out, he was at Gatwick Airport, about to take a flight. Where ? The Sahara Desert to run in a race.

The Sahara Race is a self-supported footrace across 150 miles (250 kilometers)
of the Sahara Desert in Egypt. The race consists of six stages, lasting 7 days,
with distances ranging from 10 to 50 miles (20 - 80 kilometers) per stage. There
will be checkpoints conveniently positioned along the course every 7 or 8 miles
(10 - 12 kilometers). Competitors are required to be fully self-supported
throughout the event and must carry all their own food, gear and clothing, which they will need to complete the 150 mile (250 kilometer) course. Water (including hot water) and a place in a tent will be provided daily. Generous cutoff times will be established daily so that anyone walking the course can complete it. A
limited number of three-person teams and individuals will be accepted.

Excuse me ? Isn't that just mental ? He's a 31 year old man, with two kids, lovely lass of a wife - and he's running 150 mile in the desert. Anyhow, after feeling good about myself, I felt a little deflated, that I've probably done like 0.03% of what he's going to do, in a better climate.

Good Luck Een!