Sunday 3 June 2007

Blackpool Marathon Race Report

Mike Mackay has just returned to Sussex from Lancashire where he competed in the Blackpool Marathon. Here's Mike's report:

"Eee what a gradely weekend we've 'ad.

Me and our lass went up t'Blackpool for t'weekend for to take part in t'Marathon. And, eee I tell ya. We've had a smashing time.

We took t'charabanc (see t'picture below) up t'coast on Saturday after we'd finished work at t'Mill. Our lass scrubbed herself up - looked like she were dressed for t'Bingo she did - and we got on t'Bus and set off for t'Blackpool. Eee it were a long way - but we kept ourselves occupied by counting these black and white things in t'fields. I thought they were statues - our lass thought they were cars. Turns out they were summat called cows - I thought cows were what you 'ad on Sunday for t'lunch, I'd no idea they stuck 'em in fields for you to watch at.



Me mam had made us both up a snap tin - and we had such a lovely surprise when we opened them up when we'd got to Lamberhurst - she'd only gone and made us our favourites. Pigs trotters (see t'picture below) and me bestest, bazzingist butties. Ay - tongue and jam. Eee we were so appy me and t'lass that we just sat there smiling at each other. At least until our lass got a bit of tongue gristle stuck in her teeth - she stopped smiling then and went a funny colour for a bit.



Anyhow we carried on and I'd made us a flask of Bovril which we supped as we went round that new road near London - they call it the M25. And you'll never guess what? They've only gone and built a bridge over t'river at Dartford. Not only that - they've dug a bloody big tunnel too - my, that were a real thrill for us two. Me mam's corned beef and tattie pasty kept us strength up as we went past a place called Luton but that's probably the last we could remember as our lass were still struggling to get t'bit of tongue gristle out of her teeth. I told 'er that gargling with Mackeson wouldn't clear it.

It cleared the three rows in front of us mind. And I 'ad to spend the rest of t'journey trying to calm her down. Trouble is see, she normally only has a glass of Cherry B once a week when we go down t'club - so she's just not used to four pints of stout. If she weren't telling me how much she really, really, really loved me, she were trying to find t'driver and t'conductor for a fight. "I'll tek the lot of you's on" she kept shouting.

In the end I had to knee her in t'groin to keep her quiet. And I wrapped her up in some gift wrap I found down t'seat of t'coach (see t'picture below). And eee she did look peaceful and she slept like a shift worker all t'way t' Blackpool.



We arrived in Blackpool about four o'clock on Sunday morning and, after a couple of Clitheroe Meat Pies and Peas, we were right ready for us Breakfast. Our lass wasn't feeling too good mind and kept saying she must have eaten a dodgy radish but she did OK with her runny eggs on toast in a smashing little cafe we found on t'Prom.

Then she were poorly again.

I were mindful of the fact I'd got to run a marathon so took it easy for breakfast. There were some of them soft southern puffy types eating what looked like rabbit muck to me - but I soon showed what athletes are made of. I polished off two Specials - egg, bacon, sausage, toast and the works - and after two burps and a small escape of wind I were ready to tek on t'world! I had me picture taken (see below) and off we went.



Our lass weren't feeling too bright as we approached the start line so I asked this taxi driver if he knew were Mecca were. "Aye sir" he said. So, I says - "could you tek our lass there and prop her up for three and a half hours and I'd pick her up later". Funny bloke though. He said something about Mecca being reserved for 40 virgins and that there weren't a cat in ecks chance of our lass getting in there without a special permit. "For God's sake" I shouted (I were vexed) "I just want her to have a bit of quality bingo time whilst I get on with this here marathon".

Anyhow, after taking her picturev on t'beach ( see below) I shoved her into a prize bingo booth near to t'Tower and, eee, she looked ever so happy when I left her. I stuck a pig’s trotter and cow heel barm cake in her handbag and gave her a peck and off I trotted off t'start.



Talk about a race though. I strapped on my boots - you should have seen some of them soft, southern wussies - they were only running in PUMPS! PUMPS! I ask you - next thing you know they'll be wearing them puffy skin tight trousers next! Anyhow, I slipped on me size 10 Timpsons, gave myself a last grease down with duck fat, put t'bobble cap on - waited for some local Mill Owner to fire t'gun (see below) - then it were head down and off I ran.



And, do you know? I kept on running and running till I could run no more.

I did all right too, you know - finished the thing in just over 3 and a half hours. Collected a right proper medal (see below) for me efforts - which is a pigging bit quicker than any of them soft southern puffy types could do I'll tell you!



Anyhow, I'll not be back for a while yet.

Our lass is having her stomach pumped tomorrow so I've invited t'kids round to watch.

Well, we've no telly now have we - so it gives 'em summat to do.

Sithee"

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