Archives: Support

So today was the culmination of months of work from on of the LLTGL advocates, Holly Shaw, who’s been taking part in the Channel 4 young people’s campaign show Battlefront pushing Organ Donation. Her campaign – Be A 2 Minute Hero – based on the idea that it takes 2 minutes to sign the organ donor register, the same time it takes to make a decent cup of tea, has really captured the attention of many, many people.

Today alone the online registrations for the organ donor register have increased from the usual average of 200 a day to 3,200! That’s simply insane. It’s one of the biggest jumps the ODR has ever seen online. Not only that but since 1st April, the average sign up rate has risen from 200 per day to nearly 600 per day, another astonishing figure. Of course, the average number increase may be coincidence as it’s not 100% provable, but it’s a pretty staggering coincidence if it is.

Holly has been working incredibly hard for us since before we were a charity so to see her a) well enough, post-tx, to carry out such a massive campaign and undertake such massive amounts of work and b) brave enough to do it all on live TV and recorded for a Channel 4 doc when she wouldn’t even do pre-recorded media when she joined us is absolutely fantastic.

I went down to London after my day on the Easter Project at the Grove (more of which later in the week when I get chance to draw breath) to join the team for a celebratory drinks event to round out the day.

I arrived at 7.30 after a mamouth journey thanks to the frankly apalling service on London Midland, which I won’t get into here because this is a post about Holly and not some total failure of a train company who are staffed by incompetants and provide the worst customer service since Basil Fawlty but without the humour. When I got there the lady in question wasn’t actually there, having been whisked off to the Sky News studios to do a live interview about the day.

This was far from her first media coup for the day, having convinced the Metro to replace the “O” in their masthead with a heart and include a major organ donation story with photo to promote the day, as well as sitting on the sofa with Ben Shepard on this morning’s GM:TV and seeing articles either in or headed for both the Guardian and the Mirror.

When she got back, she also revealed that she’d had a phone call suggesting she look on the PM’s website where, sat at the top of the front page was a headline leading to this article on his support for her campaign. If that’s not a coup, what is?

It was a great evening for mixing, networking and general back-slapping for Holly and her Battlefront team, including Emily from LLTGL who provided invaluable support both in kicking the campaign off just after Holly had her transplant and latterly in seeing the Donor Day through with her all day in Canary Warf.

Holly’s Helpers all over the country set up Donor Desks in their local areas and the numbers from NHS Blood & Transplant go to show just what a difference they all made. It’s an astonishing achievement and I for one am hugely proud.

So, if you’re not already, stop reading this and be a 2 Minute Hero – put the kettle on and sign the organ donor register. Now.

As part of what I think industry and teaching call “continuing professional development” – in other words, learning new stuff – I spent my day today at the Castle Theatre in Wellingborough training as an Arts Award adviser.

Arts Award is a qualification that young people from 11-25 can take which can not only help boost their confidence and push them out of their comfort zone, but also, potentially, set them up for moving forward with a career in the arts. Encompassing all art forms from theatre and film to stone masonry (really), young people can do projects on Bronze, Silver and Gold levels to achieve certificates which will doubtless then carry weight with applications to Arts colleges, universities and – potentially – lead to avenues for employment.

It’s a great scheme and a really exciting thing for me to be able to deliver. Initially, I’m looking to set up a scheme within the Grove in Dunstable, but I can also register myself as an independent centre meaning I can run and assess young people on the award independently of a venue. It’s a great string to my bow and could open a lot of doors for me.

Yesterday I ploughed through a huge heap of work and finished off very proud of myself for getting through my to-do list, then had a really hard session at the Grove with the Youth Theatre. There are two participants who are really hard to engage and it’s totally baffling me – I don’t know what to do to get them into the fold. Having tried just about all areas of drama this term, the other practitioner in the sessions and myself are at our wit’s end trying to find out why they come and what they want from the sessions – it seems impossible to please them.

On a brighter note, the rest of the group really enjoyed it and seemed to get a lot out of it and we got some really good feedback to signpost where they’d like to go next term, which makes things much easier for us in eliminating the guess work from the planning process.

Got back and chilled out with K watching some random TV as she unwound after her exam which , after considering she’d probably just about managed a pass with 50%, she rocked up to uni today to discover she’s got yet another 1st. Can people please comment on here to show her that she needs to stop underestimating herself and realise that she’s actually pretty damn clever. Enough said. Love you.

It’s been an absolutely manic last couple of weeks, I literally haven’t had more than about an hour to myself in a single day since, well, actually, I honestly couldn’t tell you without looking back through my diary.

Suffice to say it’s been extremely hectic, but pretty good, too, I have to say.

Last weekend was spent with the Live Life Then Give Life gang, hashing out our plans for the next couple of years.  It’s a bizarre feeling to be mapping out plans that I actually believe I have a chance of being part of.  I’ve been so used to limiting my planning no further ahead than the next few weeks or couple of months, but now I find myself looking further and further into the future.  I have often helped people plan for things in the future – I’ve certainly helped Emma and Emily with it before, as I also did with K’s uni application – but I never really joined in with the expectation that I’d ever be a part of it.

Now things are looking brighter and brighter and my horizons are stretching further and further away.  It has just occurred to me that for the first time ever, I think, I’ve stopped worrying about whether or not I’m going to be around for things.  My cousin is just 6 weeks away from the birth of his first child and this time last year and for a good while before that, just the news of the pregnancy would have set me off wondering whether I’d ever get to see Baby P or not.  Sitting on the sofa tapping away now, I realise that the thought of not being around hadn’t even occurred to me up until now.  I guess this is what “normal” life is like!

Anyway, that’s the last couple of weeks.  Today was different again, being as I was engaged to speak at two different events in one day, both for the CF Trust.

First off, was back in an old haunt – the Mermaid Theatre (sorry, Conference and Events Centre) in Puddle Dock near Blackfriars, the very same Mermaid that supplied the venue for the enormously successful Laughter for Life event way back in February/March last year (for some reason I can never remember when it was without looking it up).

The event was a Parents and Carers conference that the Trust had laid on, this time for parents of teenagers following their enormously successful Under-12s conference previously.  I was engaged to speak, rather oddly for me, with my dad, which threw up all sorts of weirdness around having to “plan” what we were going to say.  Anyone who’s ever been to see me speak knows that generally, I just stand up and ramble for 10-15 minutes, but this time it was a joint presentation with Dad on teenage rebellion which was to last 30 minutes.  Nightmare.

Actually, it all went rather well.  The planing process was interesting in and of itself, sitting talking to Mum and Dad about how they dealt with the various ways I found to do myself a mischief back in the glory days of the 1990s.  I clearly put them through a great deal of angst through my teens, even though I don’t consider myself to have been a massively rebellious teenager (I’ve certainly come across many more people with CF who were far worse).

The speech went fantastically, though – we worked very well together as a team and managed to both entertain and inform the attendees, who seemed to spend most of the half-hour slot nodding in tacit agreement with everything Dad said about my various misdemeanors and rebellions.  Glad it helped.

Once that was over and we’d done a quick Q&A panel with the afternoon’s other speakers and spent some time chatting individually to some parents who came up to address specific points with us, it was then time to dith the grey one and for K and I to hop back in the car and head North up the M11 to Bishop Stortford, or there abouts.

One of the regional fundraising managers for the Trust had helped put on a ball for a couple with a teenage daughter with CF and had asked me to come and speak.  The very same Trust-lady who’d had me along to the Press Ball in Ipswich earlier in the summer, in fact.

The night was amazing – you’d have been hard pressed to find any hint of a credit crunch among the 150-strong crowd, who managed to raise by way of pledges and auction bids a total of £43,000.  Phenominal.

I was, to be honest, pretty diappointed with my speech.  The afternoon had taken so much planing I’d frankly neglected the evening’s event and didn’t allow myself sufficient time on the night to prepare myself properly and go over what I wanted to say and do.  That being said, I still received the usual praise from the people I spoke to, but I wasn’t pleased with myself for it.  Must do better next time, that’s how I’ve marked my report.

Still, it’s been a great day and I’ve enjoyed both events greatly.  The CF Trust has offered me so much advice and support for so long and through such tough times that it’s really important to me to continue to do whatever I can to help them and to offer, if I can, some crumbs of comfort or advice to people who may be struggling now.

Someone suggested this weekend that maybe I should think about getting myself on the after-dinner speaking circuit, which got me thinking.  If I was touring the country being paid for my time and talking to groups of business people for inspiration and the like, would I be as good at it as I am at the moment?  Is it the drive to inform and the will to get people to pledge ever-important donations for the work of the Trust or the transplant community that makes the speeches and talks what they are?  Would paid-for talks be able to engender the same passion and commitment?  I honestly don’t know.  Mind you, it can’t hurt to try…

I know, I know, I know – it’s been WAY too long since I last updated, but trust me, I’ve been busy.

I will endeavour to find some time over the weekend to give a full and proper account of the, frankly, crazy-busy and pretty momentous events of the last couple of weeks, but I just had to jump on for the last 5 minutes my brain is operating today to shout about Live Life Then Give Life, the award winning charity.

I’ve been somewhat remiss in not talking on here about our recent nomination for a Charity Times Award for Campaigning Team of the Year.  The Charity Times Awards is a prestigious charity-sector awards ceremony that recognises the best in not-for-profit work and those who support chartiable organisations.

Five of our six trustees managed to make it down to the Lancaster Hotel in London last night for the Black Tie dinner at which we were all shocked and delighted to be announced as winners in our catagory.

The judges said in their citation, “This was an outstanding campaign made up of many effective and innovative strands and appraoches, achieveing great sucess.”

We were all amazed to be thought of as the campaigning team of the year, although according to the sponsor there was only ever one winner, which is overwhelming and a great boost for all of us.

We had happily resigned ourselves to making the most of the PR opportunity that being nominated for such a renowned award in only our first year as a charity, so we were all overcome with emotion when we headed up to the stage to collect our awards.

The appalause and good will from the other charities at the ceremony made us realise how well thought of (and how much more well known than we had suspected) Live Life Then Give Life is.

To see Emily, Hal and Jen’s faces as our name was announced (and it’s a picture, let me tell you), check out the video here.

We partied long and hard into the night (although mostly alcohol-free) and came away buzzing.  We have all invested so much personally into this charity since we first got involved with Emily and Emma’s campaign back in 2006 and it’s indescribable what this recognition means to each and every one of us.  We are so aware of all the help we get from our supporters and our advocates, who go out there and tell their stories and help to increase awareness of our desperate need for more donors in this country.

Rest assured, though, we will not be sitting back and feeling chuffed that we’ve done our job now we’ve got an award – if anything, this has motivated each and every one of us to keep ploughing onwards.  In the words of friend, top blogger and independent filmmaking guru, Chris Jones, “Onwards and Upwards”.

Today’s been an awesome day, celebrating K turning 25 – quarter of a century old and heading off to Uni to do the thing she’s most wanted to do all her life.  People seem to see me as somehow admirable, but as far as I can see it, I just survived – K is doing something altogether bravery and more worthy of admiration than anything I’ve done (with the possible exception of the time I went on that Pirate Ship ride even though I was terrified because my Godson wanted to…).

One of the (many) things I love about K is how amazingly special she makes special days for all those around her.  She works tirelessly to make sure that her friends and family have a great time on their days – be it birthdays, anniversaries or celebrations.  Because of her unending dedication to others’ enjoyment, I wanted to make sure that this time, just for once, she had an amazing day of her own to lodge in her memory bank.

I didn’t tell her anything about what we were doing all day – perfectly aware that she doesn’t like surprises (they scare her slightly) but knowing that 1) it would be good for her and 2) it would make the day that much more special (or so I hoped).

So I started with a lie in for her and an early morning for me.  As it happens, I didn’t actually sleep all night anyway, so the early morning part wasn’t too hard.  I got up and sorted out her big bag of presents, laying them all out nicely on the coffee table in front of the sofa with all of her cards.  That done, I headed down to Tesco to pick up some fresh pain au chocolat for breakfast, one of K’s faves.  Then I watched the Olympics until she got up.

As soon as she was up and about, I made tea (always a requirement) and she got stuck in to opening her small mountain of gifts.  She received some really wonderful things – very pretty, very individual and very K – and then we broke off for a bit of breakkie after she’d spoken to her sister on the phone.

After breakfast she got back to the unwrapping and got to her Wii.  She’s been lusting after the Nintendo Wii almost ever since it came out, but certainly since last year when the two of us played on her brother’s.  Now she’s got one of her very own (which she’s actually playing on right this very second) and loves it to pieces – a good choice, it appears.

Once we’d unpacked it all and set it up, in between showering and me doing the washing up, we played a few rounds of various Wii sports before heading to the flicks.  This was the only part of the day in which she had any say – 27 Dresses was showing for one showing today, which is one that she missed when it was first out and I know she was keen to see it, so I gave her the option of catching it while it was on the big-screen today.

Post-flick, we headed over to Deanshanger to stop in on our sis and niece and nephew, who’d managed to fall over hard yesterday and give everyone a fright that he may have broken his leg.  Seeing him today, it looks like the hospital were right when they said it was just badly bruised/sprained, but he certainly wasn’t himself – he’s normally running around like something that runs around really a lot, but today he was much more subdued and only wandered about the house to find one of us and plead, “More horrid.”  (That’s his way of asking for another episode of Horrid Henry from the Sky+, not a request for us to treat him badly, just in case any child protection officers happen to be reading…).

After checking in on them (and picking up the birthday card from K’s ‘rents that we’d (sorry, I) left there on Saturday, we headed up the road to stop in on K’s ‘rents, the most important part of said visit being, of course, the birthday cake.  With a fairy on it and everything.

After munching cake, drinking fizzy pink stuff and waking her dad up from his nap, K opened up her various presents that had been dropped at her ‘rents, including the one which had originated from there – a mini (and I mean mini) dictation machine that she has wanted to get for Uni, as it’s apparently a great way to revise the day’s lectures, by listening back to them and typing them up as an aide memoire.  It’s a great little thingy, which records very clearly from quite a distance and then downloads directly to a computer.  Fab.

Once we’d had a cuppa and some fizz and opened all the extra pressies, we popped round to another family friend to say hello and thank her for the present she’d left for K.  After a quick stop, we carried on out and went back into town for dinner at Brasserie Blanc (or brassiere blank as we’ve heard it called recently).  K’s wanted to go there since it opened, so it seemed like the perfect treat.

As you may guess from the name (unless you think it means White Cafe), it’s a part of the Raymond Blanc empire, recently arrived in the newer, upmarket area of MK known as The Hub.  Rubbish name, yes, lovely place, though – full of really nice eateries with a wonderful European open-plaza style to it and much more of a communal atmosphere than many places in the UK today.  Brasserie Blanc is on the outer side of the square (away from the main hustle and bustle) and it has to be said it is absolutely exquisite.

It’s expensive there, but it’s one of the few restaurants where I really don’t begrudge the prices they charge.  The food was absolutely beautiful.  It was hands down one of the best meals I have ever eaten in my life and certainly in the running for the best meal I’ve ever had in a restaurant.  I had a rack of lamb so succulent and juicy that chewing was optional.  K had a fillet steak, which was similarly top-quality and we finished it with two heavenly desserts which I couldn’t finish (although K polished hers off).

It’s not just the food in there that makes it worth it (although I’d have eaten off the floor in a flea-pit for food that good), it’s the whole experience.  The setting is lovely – clearly catering for an up-market crowd, but without the stuffiness or coldness of many places along similar lines.  It’s warm, friendly and very comfortable.  The whole evening is topped off by, I think, the best service I’ve ever had in a restaurant.  A waitress who isn’t just there to take an order and shove it at the chef, but rather to help enhance the whole experience for the diners – chatty, polite, helpful and informative.  As I signed the cheque, I made sure to check which was the best way to pay the tip to make sure it went to her and wasn’t shared out.

(As a side note, tipping is very important to me.  I object massively to the accepted wisdom of a straight 10% tip for any waitress.  If I get good service, I’ll tip well, if I get average service, I’ll tip averagely and if I get poor service, I won’t tip.  But beyond that, I don’t agree with pooling tips and splitting them.  If someone gives me exceptional service, as was the case tonight, I want to reward them for it – not to find myself giving a tip to the not-so-good waitress who happens to be sharing the shift with my one.  If they’re good enough, they’ll earn their own tips, if not, they’ll learn they need to work harder.  The point is, if you want to make sure you’re tipping the right person, you need to check.  For instance, had I placed the gratuity on the card I was paying with, by typing it into the machine, then it would have been split.  Leave it in cash on the table, however, and it all goes to the waitress.  This is usually the case, but it’s always worth checking – and making sure you ask the right questions.  Asking where the gratuity goes if it’s put on the card, the waitress is obliged to explain the sharing policy.  She is forbidden, however, to inform you of the cash policy.  Only if you specifically ask can you find out where the tips go.)

Coming away well satisfied after a fine meal, we headed back home where we were met again by friends to help us Christen the Wii.  Two hours of constant game-play between the four of us later and we turfed the guys out to take ourselves off to bed and our much-needed beauty sleep for the return to the grind tomorrow.

I’m generally not one to get excited about birthdays – mine or anyone elses – but for the first time with K’s birthday today, I was genuinely excited about it and I’ve had an absolutely brilliant time.  I’m still buzzing from it and from the look of pure happiness on her face that hasn’t moved for the entirety of the day.  It just goes to prove, it truly is better to give than to receive.

Sorry for the delay in postage, but I’ve been rather enjoying my timely escape from the inner sanctum of Harefield for a fab 3-day birthday.

Saturday was spent mostly with K’s parents, who took us out for the day around a couple of nice local spots, including a great little farm shop near where they live, which has all kinds of great home-made farm-type stuff, plus a load of great, fresh produce of the sort I’m not allowed to eat any more, which made me very jealous of all the people picking up fresh black pudding and some tasty looking soft/blue cheeses.  That said, I did have a very tasty bowl of soup with crusty French bread for lunch, which went down well.

A light lunch was all important as the evening was spent with my parents, my brother and my bro’s best mate and his girlfriend (who I’ve not seen for ages) at The Birch, a really nice restaurant just outside of MK.  It does the most amazing selection of fresh, seasonal vegetables and prime cuts of meat, alongside a full menu of great seasonal dishes.  I’m not a big fish eater, but I had the most delicious fillet of sea bass, one of my faves, which was cooked to perfection.

Sunday, my actual birthday, started slowly after the late night the night before, but I was soon up and about, opening the myriad cards K had laid out for me all nicely, then chilling out a little with S&S who came over to say hey and show off their engagement ring, which had been presented whilst they were away on holiday in the lakes (the less said about which the better, seeing as everyone had a great time while I was locked away).  It’s very cool for both of them, though, as they are clearly deliriously happy, despite having come to the dawning realisation that weddings actually cost money.

Around lunchtime we headed over to the ‘rents again to grab a BBQ with my Aunt and a selection of her troupe – some of whom had better things to do and others of whom tried using the excuse of being in Africa at the time, which I felt a little lame.  Of course, being post-op, BBQ is now off the menu for me, but I still had the same grub in the same delicious flavours, only it meant a little more work for Mum, having to bake mine instead of passing them off to Dad for the barbie, as is the usual Lewington bat-plan for weekends.

You truly find out who your friends are when you’re forced out into the rain to cook people a nice barbie (and my dad is an awesome BBQ chef).  Not a pleasant thought for Dad, who spent the entire time outside on his lonesome cooking up a storm, which everyone else seemed only too happy to eat.

Still, he didn’t seem to object too much and we had a great get-together.  For me, celebrations like these are all about the family – getting together, catching up, laughing, enjoying each others’ company.  I’m very blessed in having such a close-knit family who actually enjoy spending time with each other.  All too often I hear people moaning or complaining about having to spend time with people in their family “because they ought to”, but in our family we spend time together because we want to.

It’s also great to know that the other family I’m being assimilated into feel the same way – their just as close as us, even if the age-range is slightly more strung-out, but they enjoy seeing each other and spending time together.

I love the fact that my family relationships are more like friendships, things you actively keep going and people you want to keep in touch with, rather than a familial devotion to keeping abreast of what’s going on and meeting up only for the enforced holidays of Christmas and such.  It’s nice to be part of something where we get so much joy from each other in such simple things.

Sunday night, K and I got back home and just chilled on the sofa with a movie, before Dazz turned up completely unannounced from Leeds to surprise me.  It’s an unbelievably awesome gesture for someone to travel this far to see me just for my b’day when petrol costs what it does and he’s still to find a job up there (well, still to look for a job up their…).  It was great to see him and, although it rather spoiled my plans for an early night, we had a great evening sitting chatting and playing Buzz.

In the morning, after rolling out of bed a little later than planned, K and I hit Borders to find a way of spending the vouchers I’d been given.  I picked up an awesome Indiana Jones book, but struck out on DVDs as all the ones I usually want to pick up when I’ve got some cash weren’t around and all the cheap ones in the sale were either already in my collection or just plain rubbish (or both).

After we’d mooched about for a while in the heavenly B, we headed off to the pub we affectionately know as Old Spoons and settled in for a drink or two, being joined at stages by S&S, Cliff, Dazz and his fam.  It passed a couple of pleasant hours before we had to excuse ourselves to the awesomely exciting task of hitting Tesco, which we did at speed, before returning to the flat, collapsing on the sofa, grabbing some dinner and catching a movie.

Three day birthdays rock so much more than regular, plain old boring single days.  It’s the advantage of being born at the end of May when you nearly always wind up celebrating on a Bank Holiday weekend. Hooray for May birthdays.

I’ll be back later in the week with a summary of my incarceration and let you know how I’m getting on.

It’s Oli, back again after my enforced 2 week absence.

This is only going to be a quick one, though, to shout out loud to everyone that I FINALLY ESCAPED.  I don’t know why, but the last two weeks have been two of the hardest I’ve experienced in quite a while.  I know the immediate post-op period was harder, but other than that, this has been the toughest hospital stay I’ve had in a long while.

I’ll try to write a fuller update and coverage of the last couple of weeks sometime tomorrow, but for now I just wanted to thank you all for your lovely comments, emails and text messages and to let you know that I’m very thankfully out in time to enjoy this weekend properly, feeling much better if a little tired from the lack of sleep in the Big House.

Hope everyone’s well, more updates soon.  And thanks to K for her updates again!

Maybe not as much as I should be after last weeks’ exertions, but I am chilling.  I slept in till 9am today.  (I secretly wanted to sleep till midday, but apart from my Tac alarm getting in the way, my body decided it was awake enough to rise at 9.  I’ve always said my body is an idiot).

Tuesday was a stupidly busy day for us as we were both in London, both for interview.  K had another Uni interview, about which she should hear on Monday and I had a job interview for a Theatrical post in a large, well-known company.  Sadly for me, my lack of West End experienced counted against me, as the job is maternity cover and they wanted someone who can hit the ground running.  That said, I did have a lovely chat with one of the guys who interviewed me today and he said they really liked me and would like to work with me in the future, so that is – as K pointed out – about the best kind of “no” you can get.

Tuesday was doubly hard as our journey home from Tresco was an epic 14-hour affair, leaving the Island at 1pm Monday afternoon and finally getting in to our hotel in London at 3am after a pretty-much non-stop journey on 2 ferries and in 2 separate cars.  4 hours sleep pre-interview is never the best of preparations, but I think we both acquitted ourselves well, as was born out by my response today and, I hope, by K’s on Monday – we’ll see, fingers crossed.

I also got a rather lovely mention by Bill Bryson on Chris Evans’ Radio 2 show on Tuesday (or Wednesday) when he was discussing litter-picking in the UK.  Quite what relation I bear to that I don’t know, but it’s always nice to know someone’s thinking about you, especially when they’re thinking about you on national radio.

Yesterday I was up at 8.30 because some idiot (who may or may not have been me) booked my car in for a service on the day we returned on Tresco/London.  Clever boy.  I bundled myself out of the flat into the early morning (OK, I know it’s not that early, but it felt it, damnit!) and dawdled over to Westcroft with my car, swapped it for the loan car, which, to my annoyance, was running on empty, so scooted over to the petrol station for fuel, pulling up at the pump and promptly stalling, having forgotten I’d switched from Auto to Manual at the garage.

After returning home and trying to stay awake for an hour, I finally succumbed and took myself back to bed, sleeping till 1.30, which I really needed and then spending the rest of the day in my comfy sofa-clothes and watching TV or surfing the ‘net, absolutely refusing to do any work.

Today, after a good, solid night’s sleep, we caught up with our nieces and nephew, who it felt like we hadn’t seen in an age, and their mum and dad (the latter of whom stopped in on his way past during work).  Once the little ones had toddled back off with Mum, the eldest, JJ , stayed with us to get some homework done and have a revision session with K.

Having duped us out of timing her English assignment, we played a couple of games, had lunch, put her nose back to the grindstone and then took her home, following which we stopped in a my ‘rents to collect a CD of photos from the weekend my Dad had made up for us, then shooting on over to Costco with K’s mum to pick up our monthly “big stuff” shop.

Costco really is amazing, but it’s not the world’s greatest place when you’re tired, as K was today and I increasingly became on my way round.  Still, it got done and that’s the main thing.

This evening, after grabbing some food with K’s ‘rents I’ve been trying to catch up on a little email and planning another early night as I have to be up in the morning to take K in to work and then probably ought to be getting on with some work of my own.

The response to Tresco has been absolutely amazing – we’re now nearing £1,500 in sponsorship, which is fantastic, but the number of people who have been moved and inspired by our exploits over the weekend is phenomenal; I really didn’t expect a reaction like this at all.  It’s been more amazing that I could have possibly imagined.  Thank you to everyone who’s sponsored me, emailed me, encouraged me and just generally helped me through the last few months, and the even hard few months that preceded them.

I can’t even begin to describe the emotional impact of the last week, especially the last few days.

After an enforced media blackout over the weekend, I was hoping to be blogging from Tuesday about my adventures down South, where I’d gone to take my Direct Access motorcycle training course, which was full of adventures, bumps and bruises (although luckily nothing worse than that).  Life got in the way, however, with the effort of keeping a bike on its wheels becoming too much for my recovering body and leaving me mostly too shattered to even think afterwards, let alone form coherent sentences.

But of course last week wasn’t really about the motorbike course, it was all about the run up to the Tresco Marathon and the event itself.

I’d love to go back and give you a day-by-day,  blow-by-blow account and maybe at some point I will, but right now, having got back from our travels at 4.30 this afternoon after an epic 27 hour journey (with a stop in London), it’s WAY more important that you guys know where your sponsorship money went.

That, people, was towards helping me push myself through the hell that was the last mile of the Tresco marathon, which I not only achieved, but in record time, too.

The marathon on Tresco is simply one of the most amazing experiences it’s possible to legally have in the world, without a doubt.  Author (and personal favourite of my Uncle) Bill Bryson was invited along one year and now he refuses to miss it even when, as with this year, the birth of a new grandchild is imminent, such is the level of warmth, friendliness, inspiration and all-round beauty, both human and natural.

It’s fair to say that the troup of 10 Marines from M Company, 42 Commando Royal Marines made quite a stir.  Standing out on the course (which runners have to complete a draining 7.5 laps of to achieve the full 26.2 mile distance), you could feel the excitement in the air every time they came into view, moving at pace, all in time, wearing 30lb back-packs and full kit.  Everyone there to cheer people on spent the day looking out first of all for their loved one, but then for the next time the Marines were coming round.

My brother, when he first put himself and the gang forward for the challenge, told the organisers they’d do it in 7 hours.  Chatting on the ferry on the way over to the island, he confided that he was hoping they’d get in under that.  Speaking to their Sergeant, he was determined they were going to break 6 hours.

As they rounded their last lap and past their well-manned rolling pitstop point for the last time, I started my walk back up the course and up the hill to meet them at the 25 mile marker on their next way round, glancing at my watch the check the time.  As I stood on top of the hill watching the turn for them to emerge, my stomach flipped and I realised just what it was I was undertaking.

The course organisers came flying round the corner on one of the islands ubiquitous golf karts, stopping in front of me to check who I was before announcing that I was runner number 140 and leaping out to pin my number on me – news to me as I didn’t realise I was to be a registered entrant in the event.  As he pinned me front and back, I stole a glance at my watch and realised something horrible: they were on course – at their pace – to break the 5.5 hour mark. 5hours 30minutes with 30lbs and jungle boots.  These guys were on another level (“machines” as the marathon’s instigator called them after trying to keep pace) the only thing standing in the way of them achieving a truly remarkable time was me.

I wake to my Tac-alarm (the 10am call that stirs me every morning I’m not up in time for my morning dose of Tacrolimus, my main immunosuppressant) and sit and read for a while as K comes to.  Once we’ve rolled out of bed and managed to get some clothes on, we hop in the car and run ourselves into town.  The walk along the river yesterday was great, but knowing we’re going to be exploring all over the hills of Durham today, we opt to take the car in to the centre so the journey home is easier if we’re exhausted by the end of the day.

We park up in their multi-storey by the Elphick Bridge and wander out through their “shopping centre”.  I use inverted commas because it’s not so much a shopping centre as a centralised collection of shops in a U-shape off a parking structure.  Given the olde worlde nature of the rest of the city, the cul-de-sac of high-street shops is somewhat incongruous, but we let it slip past us as we wander off and up the Bailey in search of breakfast, which we find not halfway up the street in the shape of Saddler’s, a small-but-perfectly-formed little cafe which does breakfast till 12 (we make it by 15 minutes) and other luxury items throughout the day.

Having charged ourselves for the day ahead, we continue up the Bailey towards the Palace green and the Cathedral which towers over the whole of the centre of Durham.  I pull out the camera to snap some pics as we approach only to discover I’ve forgotten to charge the battery.  I swear at myself a lot.  Mostly under my breath, although a couple of passing pigeons may have heard a little bit of blue-air in passing, for which I profusely apologise.   What makes it more galling is the fact that the weather forecast for the next few days is terrible, including snow storms tomorrow.  As we walk up to the Cathedral, with the castle bearing down on us from behind, the skies are a crystal-clear blue with barely a smattering of clouds, the city bathed in a warm Spring glow which fails to dissipate through the day.  I’m furious with myself for missing the best part of the weekend to snap decent pics of one of my new favourite homeland locations.

After an interval that would seem short for even the most temperamental five-year old, I clear out of my funk as we enter the cathedral.  It’s magnificence defies even my power of description.  I’m relieved to see all the signs telling me photography is forbidden, making me mildly less frustrated, but am soon distracted by all the point-and-wonder beauty of the inside of the building.  From the windows to the pillars, ever inch of the cathedral is steeped in over 1000 years of history.  The cathedral itself used to provide a respite for fugitives and law-breakers.  With a single knock on the great door, they would be admitted for safe harbour, given 30 days to sort out their affairs or leave the country through the nearest port.

The main hall of the cathedral is adjoined by a cloistered area and a dozen or so more rooms which afford the place ample space for coffee-shops, souvenirs and all the additional gubbins of a modern-day historical site whilst still allowing it to go about it’s regular daily business as a place of worship.

We eventually decide that it’s too much for us to take in after a big walk and with feet starting to ache, so we adjourn for the day to lower climbs down at the bottom of the hill over the bridge where we settle in for lunch at the Swan and 3 Cygnets, a pub which doesn’t end up providing the rustic-pub-grub that we had been hoping for, but it’s decent enough sustenance all the same.

While we eat, we talk to Pops, who’s calling it quits on her day’s work and heading down to meet us, nothing at all to do with the cafe opposite the pub having, “the best cake in Durham” (a direct quote from the text message).  She and her other half wander down and we head over the road to the Cafe Continental and seclude ourselves away in their uppermost room, where the two of them have lunch while K joins them in dessert.  I restrict myself a mediocre milkshake, but I’m assured by all and sundry that the cakes are, indeed, magical.

Totally failing in our planned return to the college to catch some Z’s before the later afternoon’s programme of events, we instead end up sitting and whiling away most of the afternoon in the cafe with Pops and Alex, covering as many conversational bases as it’s possible to cover without slipping into a brain-frying tangential spiral more akin to Eddie Izzard.  Mind you, we still manage to fit in a good few tangents all the same.

We head back to the college, paying our extortionate parking charges on the way, and grab a quick feet-up 20 minutes before we head back up to Castle for the afternoon’s main attraction, the Big Chill With Bill – an opportunity for the Durham students to come and meet their Chancellor that surprisingly few of them take up.  I’m not too disappointed though, as the group who do arrive mean the afternoon is passes in an intimate chat about organ donation and the amazing gift of life – both Pops and I relaying our various personal stories of transplant (her brother being a heart-recipient 2 years ago), with interjections from various people in the group to ask questions or find out what more they can do to help.  In any of the talks of events I do, however formal or informal, I always feel that if one person goes away and talks to someone else, or signs someone up to the ODR, then it’s been a worthwhile use of my time and that’s exactly how I feel as K and I walk away from the Castle to shoot back to the college to change for the main event of the evening.

The Hatfield College Charity Fashion show is an annual event that is run entirely by students (as the Master of the College’s wife was so keen to inform us).  Having never been to a fashion show before, I have no idea what to expect, but manage to take the majority of it in my stride.  Sitting on top table as guests of honour (well, of the Chancellor, anyway), we are afforded one of the best views in the house, which is only a little uncomfortable when watching the La Senza section as the barely-out-of-their-teens models (my God, I sound old) parade themselves mere inches from their Chancellor’s face.  I’ve no idea what he’s thinking, but I don’t know where to look, so take to alternately bitching with Pops and K, sitting either side of me.

The main highlight of the evening (apart from a 3-item attempt at an auction, which included dinner with one of the male models) is the group photo after the fact with all the models in My Friend Oli t-shirts, myself and Bill.  Promotion/attention seeking as I am, I have high hopes that the free t-shirts will be worn and talked about all over Durham and the photos will find their way into as many student publications as  Alice and Pops can persuade.

Torn between wanting to experience a night out in Durham and the fact that we haven’t managed the rest we needed during the day, K and I finally decide we don’t want to push it too far, so after saying our farewells to Bill, who will from here on out be detained on Uni duties and too busy for the campaign (we have spent our allotted day of his time, which is more closely guarded than many a club door on a Saturday night) , we head back to the college to crash out, which we do by 11pm.