I can remember swimming, but I can’t remember learning to swim. Instead I remember trunks and towels. 

We would swim on holiday in the small Perthshire town of Aberfeldy. It has a sports centre with a 25 metre pool and every day on holiday we would go for a swim. We would get ready by grabbing our towel, folding it lengthwise in half and the rolling it up with our trunks inside. We’d then carry it under out arm up to the centre. We’d then unroll it, get changed and then repeat again on the way home – except this time our armpits would get wet because we’re carrying a soggy towel and trunks. 

We never thought to use a bag. There was no need, once a towel was rolled up with your trunks then you didn’t need anything else. Not even goggles because for some reason our Dad didn’t believe in goggles. “You don’t need them”, he’d say, “If you duck your head under the water, it’ll sting for a minute but you’ll soon adjust.”

Which was okay for him to say as he only had one good eye. His other eye was damaged due to an operation in his thirties to cure an aneurysm. It was an operation that was so medically advanced he spent the rest of his life with doctors saying “I’ve never seen that before!”

He would start swimming without google and then say “you’ll get used it!”

We didn’t.

I could never put my head under the water. I still struggle now when water gets into my goggles. I need to stop and clear it.

But I never got goggles. It never occurred to me. I was learning from my Dad so I just did what he did. Even if he was medical miracle who thought he was Aquaman and I was a boy scared of getting his head wet.

Today, I always wear goggles but I still keep my trunks in a rolled up towel.

“Ultra-distance runner Markus Torgeby was just 20 years old when he headed off into the remote Swedish forest to live as a recluse and dedicate himself to his one true passion: running. He lived in a tent in the wilderness, braving the harsh Swedish winters – for four years. This is his story. “

It was a rubbish story.

End of review!

But if you want to know why I didn’t enjoy it…

It says he lived as recluse in the wilderness but writes about how he visited his local town regularly, he writes about how he enjoyed it when his friends popped over for a beer on a Friday night and he writes about how he didn’t just live in a tent. He had a comfy bed. He got bed by popping back to the a fore mentioned town and asking the local hotel for one of theirs to take back to his tent/cabin.

I admire his achievements but his exploits are not as reclusive and as inspiring as the sales pitch made it out to be.

Score: 4/10

It tricky to know what to do when you wake up in the morning in your flat, walk downstairs and find your ground floor neighbour has added a swastika to their front door. I can understand adding a nameplate or perhaps a seasonal wreath but a symbol of Nazi power is a different matter entirely. Of course, it could have been the Indian symbol of peace but, when confronted with a swastika, my first thought is not to think these people mean well. Especially not when it was drawn on the door in blood.

What was worse, being British, I would have just ignored it and hoped it would go away by the time I got home from work. However we had people coming later that day for a second viewing of our flat. The first people to do so in five years. We’d be trying to sell it through the post 2008 recession and had it on the market twice. This was the first couple who’d not dismissed it after one viewing. We could not have them see a swastika as soon as they walked in. 

“What’s that?” they’d say while pointing to it.

“Indian symbol of peace?” I’d suggest while they make their excuses and leave.

I needed to do something. But what? I thought of knocking on their door and asking if they would remove the swastika themselves. But then I thought what if it was a genuine Indian symbol of peace. Would this be like asking a Catholic to remove their cross? Perhaps I should check first: I could say, “Is this symbol more ethnic or ethnic cleansing? 

And what if they said it was ethnic? Could I then ask them to remove it? I’m not sure I could, it would be culturally insensitive. So, I did what anyone would do in the circumstance. I grabbed a paint pot, a brush and decided to paint their door. Luckily, their door was white and I had white paint as otherwise they would open it and say:

“Can’t wait to see the swastika we created last night! If we just open this door we’ll see – what a minute, where’s the swastika? Where’s my blood? Was it this door we used? Don’t tell me, we got the wrong door. Check the kitchen! And, wait, was our door white?!”

It only takes me a couple of minutes to paint the door. The whole time I’m doing it I’m worried they’ll open the door and I’ll have to explain why they’re interrupting me mid-stroke. A mid-stroke interruption only slightly less embarrassing by your mum catching you mid-horniness. 

“What are you doing?” They’d say.

And I then have to explain we had a flat viewer coming and I’ve already said how embarrassing that would be – having to talk to my neighbour. But now I’m doing so while carrying out some guerrilla DIY.

“Just giving the hall a lick of paint,” I’d say, and then I’d have to paint the whole hallway and every door to keep up the pretence that I wasn’t just trying to erase their swastika. 

“Also,” I’d add, “it’s because of the symbol.”

“The swastika?” They’d ask, because if you’re going to paint a swastika in blood on your own door then I imagine they’d be pretty up front about it. It’s not the move of someone who’s shy and quiet.

“Yes, the Indian peace symbol,” I’d suggest because I’d want to give them a way out of the conversation.

And they’d say “Heil, Hitler,” while saluting. 

And I’d say, “Heil, Hitler,” just to be polite. 

Then the two of us would probably paint another swastika because I’d be too afraid to mention the first one again. Except this time they use my blood because they still feel a bit faint from yesterday’s swastika.

That’s the thing about daubing hate graffiti onto porous surfaces, you need a lot of liquid to leave a mark, which is something they don’t teach you in the Hitler Youth camps, it’s all marching and saluting and very little about basic decorating.

Luckily, the door didn’t open and I was able to make it all white while trying not think of the irony of that while erasing a symbol of white power.

If I had been caught, I suspect that my neighbours would have not thought I was a mutual admirer of the Fuhrer. Instead they would probably have thought I was Jewish. Many do. It’s because I have a big nose. Which sounds racist. I’m saying that people think I’m Jewish because I have a big nose. Which suggests I think Jewish people have a big nose. But I’m not the one making the comparison. It’s the people thinking I’m Jewish because of the nose. They’re the racist ones. Especially the Jews. 

(I’d better explain that comment quickly!)

I was on holiday before lockdown when a group of Hassidic Jews approached me. We were queuing for a tourist attraction with Asian tourists in masks, a few black families and a number of Hassidic Jews. We thought nothing of them until they came over and said “Shalon, brother!” and then tried to talk to me as if I was part of their tour group. I wasn’t. But my nose made them think I was. Racists!

It wasn’t the first time either, at work, a senior partner would always ask me for directions to the Jewish cemetery or if I knew how to get to various synagogues. Again, I’m not Jewish, but my nose is or at least people think it is – and think I am! – until they catch me with a paint pot in front of a door with a recently daubed swastika.

Celman Solo Point Five

No long distance races for me this year. Not that there were any in 2020 or 2021 but I did train for Celtman in both those years and would have taken part in them then if it wasn’t for that pesky COVID closing swimming pools. This year I don’t want to commit to that level of training again so have picked a middle distance race as my main race this year. Even better, it’s a middle distance version of Celtman with the added benefit of a bike route that takes in the famous Beach Na Ba climb. I’m really looking forward to this one.

Cairngorm Ultra Trail

A departure and a long shot. I’ve entered an ultra race along with a friend from work. I don’t know how this one will go and whether I’ll even enjoy training for it. But it’s good to try and challenge yourself with races you’ve never attempted before.

Others

Race Report: Kirkintilloch 12.5k 2022 (Andrew)Kirkintilloch 12.5k

Bucklyvie 10k

Loch Leven Half Marathon

And, when (and if they open for entries this year): the Hebridean Triathlon and the Forth Road Bridge 10k.