Run Fat Boys Run...

Ah, the smell of Ralgex. The costumes that pass you. The oggy chant. The 10 mile ache. The man on top of the bus stop with his hose. The outrageous rock band playing on a roundabout. The hoards and hoards of supporting people. The strange, compelling and captivating desire. That's the desire to complete the Great North Run 2010. It's pretty tough for an old man like me whose legs now feel like Michelle Mcmanus has sat on each one and lifted her own chubby legs off the ground. You can't help not enjoy it though despite the anguished pain (the run that is not the rolly-polly-on-top-of-legs-lady). I managed a leisurely time of 2:20 this year in the 30th run. Myself and my brother Lee raised money for Cancer Research, his time was 1:59, he was always the better runner, I got the looks though. So far we've raised £558.

Along the way I shook hands with our local lad, Ant from 'Ant & Dec', passed a man carrying a fridge on his back, a man running in cowboy boots, a fireman with an oxygen tank, a Flintstones car, running bananas and many other crazy runners. Oh and a few fellas running in Speedos. Why can't it be women doing this? That way I might've knocked 10 minutes off my time.

We were lucky to have VIP passes so we got to mix with the 'stars' afterwards. David James, Ray Stubbs, Scott Mills, Molly and Graham from Corras and more. They all insisted on talking to me of course but I had no time for them as I had a pint and a homemade cottage pie to get down my neck. It was great to see the girlfriend at the end of the race too. She came running over to me, bless her. That was her run...(2011). X

If you live in the North East, you need to run this race. It's not really about the race, it's just a one-off, emotional and uplifting experience. Your legs will finally recover but your memory of the run and all its surroundings will last forever...

The lost stag

Stag and hen parties are much more varied now. Sometimes even the stag doesn't turn up. This happened on the one I've just been to in Ibiza. He turned up for the flight but not the main night out. That's because we broke him the previous night. They call him Boy Wonder, but the only thing to wonder about is if he's a man or not? Poor Alex, the pace was too much for those little legs. Hey, we all had a great time though, a good laugh, some sun, drinks, shots, sunbeds, wonder women bikinis, hand puppets, pole dancers, Norman Wisdom falling into bins, weird dancing, promotion girls and crap toasties. There was even a fella who genuinely looked like a cross between Bruce Forsthye and Alf Garnet. I couldn't get a photo of him though as I reckon he would've decked me with his trademark pose.

It was also entertaining to see that the Spanish like to name their shops after some of the British tourists in Ibiza though (see left). Andy B reckons they just sell sh*t, that's him having one on a sun lounger in my black vest.

Putting the pasty amonst the pigeon

I’ve blogged the Greggs institution before and suggested it’s becoming the staple diet of the North East but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’s about to become international as I noticed that there’s an outlet directly opposite Newcastle Central Station where so many of our international visitors must arrive. But imagine their surprise and bewilderment to be greeted by a pigeon pasty. This store has bullet proof type glass in it too, just for making those visitors feel extra safe in the early hours. So what next for Greggs?

• The 18-30 Greggs holiday?
• Greggs airlines with the famous logo on the tail?
• Greggs Airline food?
• Greggs branded flip flops?
• Greggs drop-in medical centre?
• Greggs PHD’s?
• Greggs phones with a free HOTline?
• Greggs haircuts (in the style of a lattice pasty)
• Greggs crèches (for obsessed obese kids)
• THE PIGEON PASTY