The Lament of the Boatie...

I woke up at 5:30 this morning to hear the world's biggest storm going on outside. You know what I said to myself?

"Good Christ I hope rowing in cancelled."



For any non-boaties out there (I know that there may be some) here is a run-down of Saturday training, in 20 steps:

1: I got to bed at about 11.45 on Friday night, usually halfway through the film/tv show that I am watching.

2: I have a short, nasty sleep. Often, I wake up at random times, desperately looking at the clock to see if I've overslept.

3: My clock finally goes off at 6:30. 6 bloody 30.

4: I fall out of bed and get dressed in lycra etc.

5: I stumble downstairs and get jumped on by my very excitable dogs. I let them out, and start making porridge. Mmm, porrigde.

6: My dogs come back in and go back to sleep on their beanbags. Stirring my porridge, I glare resentfully at them. Happy contented comfortable bitches.

7: Porridge complete, I carry the bowl to the table and eat it. Occasionally I leave the grill on, or I slop hot porridge on my hand and burn myself.

8: I get ready, then go out into the dark, dark night. Weather conditions typically involve rain, darkness, driving sleet, gale force winds or, like today, a combination of all four.

9: I climb onto my bike, which has completely fucked gears and makes hideous clicking sounds with every pedal. I make my torturous way to the Boat Club, and fall off when I get there.

10: I Meet some other boaties. We stand about shivering while waiting for the other rowers to arrive in their chauffeur-driven cars. Wankers.

11: We go for a long run around the reservoir. Occasionally I step in a puddle and soak my socks. Passing drivers - comedians - honk their horns at us.

12: We arrive back, and I usually find that I have been put in a crap boat. Like a single with a cracked seat and a hole in it.

13: We go on the water. Now actual water sessions need a whole other post altogether. Just imagine being cold, wet, tired, and bored with a man with a megaphone yelling at you for an hour and a half, and you pretty much have it.

14: Finally, we return to the landing stage. When carrying the boat back into the boathouse, water runs down my sleeve and everyone yells at each other a lot. We might make a hole in the boat, which is a chance to be yelled at for 45 minutes. Yay.

15: We retreat to the relative comfort of the upstairs lounge, where we eat greasy, overpriced cheese toasties and watch crappy Saturday morning television on a TV that doesn't get good reception. Do I sound like I'm whining here?

16: After an hour of this, we get told to do some more rowing.

17-19: Repeat steps 11-14.

20: Finally, it's 1:30. We are allowed to leave. I climb onto my bike and slowly drag myself home, clicking all the way. I collapse in a heap onto the dogs' beanbag and am jumped on by them. I am then told to revise.



That's what would usually happen.

But not today.

Three simple words:

Rowing... Training... Cancelled.

I am so happy. God Bless you, storm.



Oh yeah, and Abi too. You and your big hair. Smooch.



Want a slow and painful death for your Zombies? Just give them neverending pain or, as we like to call them, firm pressure 30 minute ergos.