Silverstone & the British Grand PrixPhill and Soph persuaded me that it would be a good idea to go out to The Pizza Hut for tea one Friday in June. Truth be told, I didn't need asking twice, so we pitched up at Kirkstall and got on with demolishing three enormous pizzas.
While we were waiting for them to arrive, Phill and Soph exchanged knowing looks and passed an envelope across, saying that it was an early 50th birthday present. I froze, knowing what it was even before opening it. Indeed, it was tickets to the race, but for all THREE days and I'm not ashamed to say that a piece of stray grit made my eyes water with excitement.
Well, we went and had a brilliant time, staying close to the circuit and seeing all the action, but what made it really special was the fact that Sophie, bless her heart, had agreed to miss one of the Ilkley shows so Phill and I could go (that's a big thing for her, as the partnership was just coming together) and one of my colleagues at work had helped Phill to organise the Friday off without me knowing.Spain
We were in Andalucia for my 50th which, like all the other days we were there, was red hot (30+) and relaxing.
We rented a villa with a pool, in the middle of the hills about an hour north of Malaga. Everywhere was bleached brown, there having been no rain for four months, and we hardly saw a cloud for the two weeks we were there. My attitude to the application of sun cream was slightly more responsible than usual: no choice, really - the sun being of full-on industrial strength - but Phill used gallons of the stuff, plus all the after-sun products imaginable. She was, therefore, particularly outraged when I went brown instantly and she not only took longer, but adopted a mottled look which the rest of us decided was similar to the outline of several minor central-European states.
My attempts at Spanish (at this point it's worth stating that I've nver been to Spain before) met with general approval from those locals we met and were aided above and beyond the call of duty by Elena, the friend Sophie brought along with her.As you can see from the pic, it was an idyllic place and we can't wait to go back; not least to visit the Alhambra palace, which is jaw-droppingy beautiful.
Unlike all our previous holidays together, we had only to travel to Yeadon to take the flight, something which made the whole thing much easier and less tiring. I really don't envy Phill's up-coming long-haul from Heathrow to St Louis.
Leeds Rhinos
Well, I suppose it had to happen. The irresistable lure of testoesterone leaking out of every pore, the sight of finely-honed torsos, glistening, oiled thighs - no, not a Friday night in Bar T'at, but a Friday night at Headingley (or Headingley Carnegie, as we're encouraged to call it). And, no, this isn't me erupting from the closet, but Sophie developing a sudden interest in professional sport.
I'm happy to go along with this because 1) it isn't football, and therefore is reasonably affordable, 2) it isn't football, and therefore we are less likely to be surrounded by foul-mouthed racists, 3) it isn't in Bradford, 4) I enjoy it and it's something we can do together.
Now, when I were a lad (and, keeeerist, the sound of that does nothing other than encourage me to go for a walk in the woods with a bottle of scotch and a revolver loaded with a single bullet) mum and dad took me to see Leeds FC play Hull KR FC. It was a bright August Saturday, I think, and we stood in the bottom of the South Stand. Leeds won 45-5, something I remember because John Atkinson (no relation, but I wished he had been) scored five tries. Years of Leeds United and, later, Liverpool and Sheffield Wednesday (the last two being guilty mistresses) erased any affinity there may have been with Leeds RL, but it's pleasant to go back and have a look. Of course the game and the men who play it have changed out of all proportion, but the sport's accessability and distinct lack of B.S. (when compared with football) make all of this very easy.
So what's coming up? Well, it's going to be a very busy couple of weeks...
Last night, Soph and I went to Headingley to watch the Rhinos get to the grand final, then next Friday I have the day off to drive Phill down to Heathrow, from where she flies to St. Louis to see her best friend, Debra Crowe - the two of them manage to pick up where they left off, years apart. On the following day, Phez is moving to a new yard - so that will be stressful for all concerned, him included - and then (if we can get tickets) Soph and I will be off to Old Trafford for the grand final. We'll have the week on our own, which will be good in some ways but miserable in others (hate it when one of us is missing), but the next Saturday we're off to London to stay over with my totally brilliant sista (Gail) and her fmaily before picking Phill up from the airport early on Sunday.
I'll keep you posted. Probably.
