I thought I'd share the following with you all:
I received a donation for £20 today from Geoffrey Stroud, a person whose name I didn't recognise. I sent him a thank you note, and assuming it was off the back of the press launch, asked him where had heard of the trip.
It turns out that Geoffrey is my mothers, sisters, husbands, mothers, cousins, son. He lives in Aberdeen, hasn't ever actually met anybody from my family, but still corresponds with them on a regular basis. Despite that, he still found the time to donate his hard earned cash to our cause, which is incredibly touching.
It turns out Geoff has done a bit of climbing in his days and is friends with Doug Scott, the first Brit to scale Everest. Not only that, his wife's nephew is Jon Batty, who plays for Surrey, who happen to be our cricket partner.
Just goes to show how far reaching this trek can be and how it can appeal to people well outside of our friends base. I'll be sure to be picking Geoff's brains in the near future about what to expect on the mountain, and would like to publicly thank him for such an amazing gesture.
Thursday, 29 January 2009
Press Launch
'Our luck is bound to run out sometime soon' is what Richie Benaud would say if The Everest Test was currently in bat. Yet again, on a day where we staged an outdoor event in winter, the sun shone on a glorious chilly day in London. With Trafalgar square bathed in sunshine, all the boys jumped through the appropriate hoops for the media to document our every move.
Credit must go to Alex and Marcus from our PR company Captive Minds who staged a wonderful event. Booking out Traflagar Sqaure for the day, we laid out the Flicx wicket that we'll be taking up with us, got the Lords Taverner's to park a couple of their buses next to the fountains, invited anybody with a camera, and got to work. There was some frayed nerves early-on, with everybody wanting to get this right, resulting in some disagreements and some tense words. In the end, I was glad it was Kinsey who was asked to bowl, as I felt like jelly just standing in the slips, and wouldn't have backed myself to land it on the strip. It makes me wonder what must go through players minds during a World Cup final or the like.
We then staged a couple of overs, much to the bemusement of the gathered tourists. Charlie B-N let the moment get to him somewhat by tentatively missing the first couple before blasting one through cover... and only a lucky bounce averted a PR-disaster when the ball stuck in the wheels of a pram. A few balls later and a flick off his legs sailed wide of the bus (a smashed window would have been horrible publicity), and straight into the fountain... which was a shot replayed again and again on the various news reports that day.
Meanwhile, Kirt was charming anybody with a microphone, conducting interviews (click the name to watch) with the BBC, ITV, Capital Radio, and countless newspapers. Mark Butcher and Chris Adams turned up as part of the Lords Taverners. During some friendly banter about The Ashes, Butcher informed me that Australia were now 'shit' without their superstars. I resisted the urge to comment about his horrible slips catching record and laughed along. Also there was former England bowler James Kirtley, now part of our kit sponsor MKK when he isn't playing for Sussex and brother of Hillary member Dave and cousin of Kirt. It was a day that couldn't have gone better, despite alot of us feeling a bit surplus to demands, it was still a wonderful event to witness and a once-in-a-lifetime sort of thing. Personally I ended up with an interview with news ltd here - Whilst the trip got a wide range of publicity from The Guardian, The Times, The Sun, Evening Standard, Metro, and several others. I quite like the list of regional Australian papers that we were in, simply due to some of the inspired names. My fave is probably the Myall Coast Nota, whilst Dave Christie enjoys the understated Liverpool Champion. Enjoy:
Cooma Monaro Express, Summit Sun, St Marys Star, Hills News, The Stock and Land, Nambucca Guardian News, Flinders News, Adelaide Independent Weekly, North West Star, Myall Coast Nota, St George & Sutherland Shire Leader, Penrith City Star, South Western Rural Advertiser, Fairfield Champion, Blacktown Sun, The Irrigator, Parramatta Sun, Bendigo Advertiser, Liverpool Champion, The Canberra Times, Camden Advertiser. Wollondilly Advertiser, Ballarat Courier, Moree Champion, The Northern News, Macarthur Advertiser, Goondiwindi Argus
With any luck, this will help us in our pursuit of a title sponsor. So far, we have had several companies donate product, but no real cash to speak of. Of our £250,000 target, we currently sit at about £75k. If you know anybody who wants to get involved on a corporate level, send them our way!
Monday, 26 January 2009
You can't plant me in your penthouse, I'm going back to my plough
I couldn't imagine that 12 months ago, let alone 7 years ago when I was still living in my parents place in Gosford as a chubby dependant, that I would spend a weekend on a farm near the Welsh Borders, competing in 7 pretty difficult events with 25 people, only one of which I've known for longer than 9 months, as part of training for an attempt on a World Record. Throw in the fact I was wearing a shirt and beanie provided by a bodybuilding powder as part of a sponsorship package, coupled with the fact that I skipped our annual work conference (free booze, hotel room, and northern girls with loose morals) and it's clear to see how much of an effect this upcoming trek is having on my life.
We all expected the night sleeping on the floor of the village hall in the middle of winter to be bitterly cold. It was with this in mind that we collected approx £12 to feed into the heating machine as I dressed in my fleece and beanie before snuggling up in my super-sleeping-bag that withstands temperatures of minus 15 (costing a bargain basement price of £199). 30 minutes later and the hall was hotter than the sun. Combine that with Joe Williams expertly combining his nose and ar*e in boisterous symphony, and little sleep was obtained.
Kinsey turned up with breakfast long before the Rooster crowed to mark the beginning of an arduous day. He began by taking us on a light 1-mile jog to show us some of the route of the 5-mile 'finisher'. My fuzzy head quickly perked up when he mentioned that we'd be crossing 3 brooks during the run, and as he pointed up the final hill we'd be running up, I almost saw my porridge again. It was then off to the cavernous chicken shed for the first event of the day.
Bleep Test: Nobody can work out what went wrong here. Was it the early morning? Was it the enclosure of the shed? Did we mis-measure the 20 yards? Were the bleeps faster together on this version? Was the smell of chicken sh1t too overpowering? Was it too close to the fairly demanding trim trail of Thursday night? Whatever it was, everybody struggled. And nobody more than myself. I missed the first bleep as the pace took me by surprise and was playing catchup immediately; despite finding I had absolutely nothing to give. I really can't explain it but I dropped out second at 8.3 - horrible and something that I was hoping to write off as a one-off. I'd spoken to G-Unit earlier in the morning and said that I'd felt great at the previous trim trail and quietly tipped myself to put in an eye-catcher so I really was expecting better things from myself.
Cave Man: Something that was inspired by both the worlds strongest man and the highland games. A big, awkward rock was to be thrown as far as possible. With Kinsey suggesting throwing it over the back of your head as the only technique to use. This again was to prove embarrassing for myself, mostly due to the fact I aint built for this sort of sh1te, and only further darkened my mood. Hillsy managed to pull me out of the depression by doing his best impression of Wile-E-Coyote. Despite his best efforts, he threw the rock straight in the air. As it turned to fall directly back on his head, Hillsy tried to scramble away, only for his feet to fail to find grip on the slippery grass. He jumped away at the critical moment to riotous laughter from everybody.
Michelin Man: Unfortunately, this event wasn't the marshmallow eating contest I'd hoped it too be. This involved rolling massive tractor tyres (which stood taller than me) around 4 posts set out in a square on a sloping field. This was the first team event and was conducted as a relay. Another priceless moment occurred when Paola dropped the tyre. Rushing to her aid, Neil Sharland executed a dramatic yet highly unnecessary and ineffective baseball style powerslide in order to get to the affected area quickly before watching the others, all still on their feet, get the tyre upright again. I managed to drop the tyre twice. The first time I managed to pick it up quickly and cleanly, the second time it was evident that I'd used all my energy on the first one as I couldn't make it budge. Our team of Kiwi, BJ, Alex, Mark W, Simmo, and myself were pipped at the post by a mere second.
Tug-of-war: The mammoth day was starting to come to a close. 5 crazily tiring events and the ensuing jogging and walking between the locations saw us all turn up the penultimate event all a bit weary. Not much to report from this one, apart from Hillsy impersonating Bambi on Ice, ruining his teams chances and causing G-Unit to produce more steam from his ears than the Lucas Heights smokestacks in yet another Looney Tunes impression.
As the sun started to creep behind the hills, we all started limbering up for the blue-ribband event. The 5-mile finisher had dominated the chat all weekend. Alot of Kinsey's farm is dominated by Orchards. Orchards have to grow on sloped land. Kinsey has orchards in abundance. There were alot of hills. 5 in total to add to the 3 brooks, marshy land, and countless amounts of fences that we had to jump. And everybody was fairly certain that Kinsey had measured the 5-miles using the expert country method of guessing. It was more like 6 mile. I'll spare you the horrific details but I managed to get lost twice and managed to avoid Joe's fertilisation of the field during the 75 minutes it took me to get around. Towards the end, I'd developed a Cliff Young shuffle that, on reflection, was probably slower than walking pace. There was some mutterings about cruelty but I think the following from Kirt sums it up: 'Dude, that was seriously tougher than doing the Cardiff Half marathon in full cricket pads'
After a brief but euphoric shower where I managed to clean out approx 2 tonne of mud, animal faeces, and grass from my body, we headed to the local for some warmth, a sit-down, a quiz, a big steak, and 10 refreshing beverages whilst Milo took over the brass section for the evening. Some excellent chat ensued and 2 stories, both on the same topic, standout form the others. Unfortunately they can't be printed but I urge everybody to ask Miles about his recreation of the 'private garden scene' from the film Notting Hill.
It was after the quiz that it emerged that, aided by some strong email replies, I'd managed to top my group. Not only that, I'd come 2nd in the Fantasy league and pinched myself £50 to my charity total. Some inspired picks of Nick M and Blinky helping me to a podium finish. Later on, the pest that dominates 3/4 of my life came out to play when I unplugged Kirt's air-mattress whilst he slept on it.
All in all the weekend was a stunning success. Kinsey's organisation was second-to-none, as was his and his parents hospitality, not to mention that of JC's lovely sister and brother-in-law who bookended the car trips to-and-fro. Despite a couple of slips of the tongue and some interesting graffiti on the pub blackboard, everybody was on pristine behaviour.
Keeping with the inimitable quirky-british nature of this expedition, Kinsey Boom Hern generously organised a weekend at his farm in Lyonshall, Herefordshire. He had organised 7 events (listed below). Most of which were a mystery too us until seconds before the actual event.
Arriving at 11pm on Friday night, we were briefed on the days events and each of the 23 contestants (Zooby pulled out with illness) were split into 6 different seeding groups according to fitness. I was in Group 4, just above the girls. For the purposes of the team events, we were then split into 4 vertical teams, with a representative from each ranking. We then had the task of picking a 'fantasy team', where we had to pick ourselves plus a trekker from each other seeding group. Surprisingly, I had 5 votes. Unsurprisingly, they were from 4 people who'd never really seen me train before. The other 2 options being the absent Dave Christie, the better-credentialed Miles, and the unknown quantity of Joe Williams. I plumped for a dream team of Kiwi, Blinky, Nick Mullineux, Myself, Mark Waters, and Helen. You were ranked 1-23 as to where you finished in the individual events, with 23 points being awarded to 1st place and 1 point to last. The team events were ranked in lots of 5 points, with 25 points going to each team member in the first place team, 20 in the second etc etc
Arriving at 11pm on Friday night, we were briefed on the days events and each of the 23 contestants (Zooby pulled out with illness) were split into 6 different seeding groups according to fitness. I was in Group 4, just above the girls. For the purposes of the team events, we were then split into 4 vertical teams, with a representative from each ranking. We then had the task of picking a 'fantasy team', where we had to pick ourselves plus a trekker from each other seeding group. Surprisingly, I had 5 votes. Unsurprisingly, they were from 4 people who'd never really seen me train before. The other 2 options being the absent Dave Christie, the better-credentialed Miles, and the unknown quantity of Joe Williams. I plumped for a dream team of Kiwi, Blinky, Nick Mullineux, Myself, Mark Waters, and Helen. You were ranked 1-23 as to where you finished in the individual events, with 23 points being awarded to 1st place and 1 point to last. The team events were ranked in lots of 5 points, with 25 points going to each team member in the first place team, 20 in the second etc etc
The Rome wasn't built in a day cheap labour task: What do you do when you have 23 eager guests and a pile of heavy rocks that needs moving? You organise a game to see who can move the most. Another team effort, this proved to be my favourite of the day and the only event were I felt strong, confident, and made a valid contribution to the point of maybe even exceeding myself. But then again, so did the entire team, with BJ emulating Jaws from The Spy Who Loved Me with his superhuman strength and Alex impressing just about everybody with her not only her rock carrying capacity, but also the war wound she picked up on her finger. We were the undisputed winners of this task. As we celebrated, G-Unit remonstrated loudly and surprisingly seriously with Kinsey over the rules of the task, whilst the rest of the group searched long and hard for the sense of humour that he'd clearly misplaced. The freezing cold rocks saw our hands go completely numb after the 10 minute timeframe was up. Something Kiwi and I didn't consider before a celebratory high-five reduced us both to cries of pain.
Scarecrow: Back to the chicken sheds and we found 3 mighty bails of hay waiting for us. These stood slightly taller than myself and slightly wider than my wingspan. Attempting a farmer joe style gag whilst we waited, I picked a bit of straw and stuck it in my mouth and did a bit of southern-boy shtick. Turns out Hayfever isn't just an arbitrary name and not long later I was sneezing uncontrollably and struggling to breathe as my windpipe closed up. I did manage to negotiate the stupidly awkward hay bail through a slalom course (just avoiding a very expensive heater on the way) all the way down to the end of shed (the size of a medium aircraft hanger) and then back again. After this I had to adjourn outside in order to stay alive, hence missed Blinky's reported throwing of toys from pram over the condition of his bail. I did, however, manage to catch a glimpse of G-Unit 'on the throne'. The less said, the better.
It was after the quiz that it emerged that, aided by some strong email replies, I'd managed to top my group. Not only that, I'd come 2nd in the Fantasy league and pinched myself £50 to my charity total. Some inspired picks of Nick M and Blinky helping me to a podium finish. Later on, the pest that dominates 3/4 of my life came out to play when I unplugged Kirt's air-mattress whilst he slept on it.
All in all the weekend was a stunning success. Kinsey's organisation was second-to-none, as was his and his parents hospitality, not to mention that of JC's lovely sister and brother-in-law who bookended the car trips to-and-fro. Despite a couple of slips of the tongue and some interesting graffiti on the pub blackboard, everybody was on pristine behaviour.
Tuesday, 20 January 2009
Nets
With all the focus on trekking and altitude and world records and that little takker Mt Everest, sometimes it's easy to let the main point fo the trip, cricket, slip by.
After a solid workout in the Shadows of a giant Pink Floyd Album Cover on Saturday morning, we made our way to the home of cricket (I can't find the clip, but every time I say or hear this all I can think of is Graham and The Colonel pondering whether if you wanted to address a letter to Cricket, do you mail it to Lords... Dear Cricket, c/o Lords, St Johns Wood, London). Whilst we are on the subject of tangents, In my opinion, Battersea Power Station should have an inflatable pig in-between the 2 southern smoke-stacks at all times.
With a crew getting to near 50, it's still a slightly awkward experience meeting up with everybody from the expedition. I am now confident deciphering who is who for around 75% of the people who are on board. But with various new members, medics, people who haven't turned up before, and maybe somebody you've fleetingly met once over a beer and part-recognise. They're the worst ones. Generally people who are around for the first time will introduce themselves. The guys and girls who are on the periphery are in that state of limbo where they aren't sure whether people remember them or not. It generally leads to a bit of nervous chit-chat about 'how they're doing' and a consensus to call each other 'mate'. I read somewhere yesterday that the longer somebody drags out the 'mate' is inversely indicative of how much of an idea they have of who you are. eg 'hey maaaaaaaaaaate' is polite-talk for 'I've got no freakin clue who you are but I'm sure I'm supposed too'. I decided to forget all this and endeavoured to introduce myself to anybody who I was unsure of. Turns out the first guy who copped this was Woodsy, who I definitely had met (a couple of times...), so I've since dumped this method.
Back to the cricket. Kiwi got me to pad up to go in first at the pristine indoor nets. Butler, the James May of cricket knowledge and fresh from a 20 minute rant about the cost of passport photo's, rambled something to me about the grade of Astroturf that the nets are made out of. Apparently it breathes or breeds or something. In any case the deck acts like a good firm turf wicket does. Which was definitely on Kiwi's mind as he juggled a hard ball from hand to hand and requested I wear a helmet. Thinking he was looking after my safety, I wandered down to the stumps casually with helmet atop. He wasn't looking after me, he just wanted to try to kill me without feeling guilty. The next 20 minutes was a test of bravery as neither he, Blinky, or G-Unit landed a ball in my half of the pitch. Unlike Blinks and G though, Kiwi can direct his quick bouncers. And generally he directs them at your head. I swerved one, got hit on the wrist with another, and fended one away from my eyes at the last minute with only one hand on the bat. At one stage, he followed through with the Clint-Eastwood death-stare. I couldn't work out whether he was serious or not. To make sure, I decided to tell him to get f*cked and f*ck off back to his bowling mark, but just before I opened my mouth he broke into a smile and all was good.
Bowling wise my offie-pies came out alright. In 20 deliveries, I had G-Unit at about 10-60. The sequence going in '6 over mid-wicket, out, 6 over mid wicket, out, repeat sequence' - I then switched nets to see if I could recast my spell over Kiwi. His first shot, a nonchalant reverse sweep against a tired delivery, was clear evidence that the stranglehold had loosened to a mere soft breeze against the back of his neck.
The meeting that followed was a quick recap of what had happened and what was to happen. There was an alarming spiral in costs for all sorts of medical checkups, inoculations, and tests. Not least of all one for 'Sudden Death Syndrome'. Wow. They really ran out of names for that one. They'll soon be naming diseases like episodes of Friends... 'that one with the really nasty rash that sort of makes you a bit sick and you can't eat solid food and yeah there is a bit of it going around Syndrome' sounds nasty. Kirt and Curry recalled their nasty experience in Nepal over Christmas, amongst other things. I quite like Mark's retelling of the day found here - mainly because he, and only he, liked my bowling.
Tonight we have another nets session. But not before Chris the megalomaniac Beale drags us on a 7km run through South London's murder mile and back. He has decided to give us a break halfway through in way of a trim trail. It is still yet to be decided whether he will be allowed up the mountain.
Coming up this weekend is the Fantasy Farm Fitness Challenge. A mixture of Glastonbury, It's a Knockout, and Illegal Immigrant Labour designed to test, challenge, and save Kinsey's parents a bit of cash.
After a solid workout in the Shadows of a giant Pink Floyd Album Cover on Saturday morning, we made our way to the home of cricket (I can't find the clip, but every time I say or hear this all I can think of is Graham and The Colonel pondering whether if you wanted to address a letter to Cricket, do you mail it to Lords... Dear Cricket, c/o Lords, St Johns Wood, London). Whilst we are on the subject of tangents, In my opinion, Battersea Power Station should have an inflatable pig in-between the 2 southern smoke-stacks at all times.
With a crew getting to near 50, it's still a slightly awkward experience meeting up with everybody from the expedition. I am now confident deciphering who is who for around 75% of the people who are on board. But with various new members, medics, people who haven't turned up before, and maybe somebody you've fleetingly met once over a beer and part-recognise. They're the worst ones. Generally people who are around for the first time will introduce themselves. The guys and girls who are on the periphery are in that state of limbo where they aren't sure whether people remember them or not. It generally leads to a bit of nervous chit-chat about 'how they're doing' and a consensus to call each other 'mate'. I read somewhere yesterday that the longer somebody drags out the 'mate' is inversely indicative of how much of an idea they have of who you are. eg 'hey maaaaaaaaaaate' is polite-talk for 'I've got no freakin clue who you are but I'm sure I'm supposed too'. I decided to forget all this and endeavoured to introduce myself to anybody who I was unsure of. Turns out the first guy who copped this was Woodsy, who I definitely had met (a couple of times...), so I've since dumped this method.
Back to the cricket. Kiwi got me to pad up to go in first at the pristine indoor nets. Butler, the James May of cricket knowledge and fresh from a 20 minute rant about the cost of passport photo's, rambled something to me about the grade of Astroturf that the nets are made out of. Apparently it breathes or breeds or something. In any case the deck acts like a good firm turf wicket does. Which was definitely on Kiwi's mind as he juggled a hard ball from hand to hand and requested I wear a helmet. Thinking he was looking after my safety, I wandered down to the stumps casually with helmet atop. He wasn't looking after me, he just wanted to try to kill me without feeling guilty. The next 20 minutes was a test of bravery as neither he, Blinky, or G-Unit landed a ball in my half of the pitch. Unlike Blinks and G though, Kiwi can direct his quick bouncers. And generally he directs them at your head. I swerved one, got hit on the wrist with another, and fended one away from my eyes at the last minute with only one hand on the bat. At one stage, he followed through with the Clint-Eastwood death-stare. I couldn't work out whether he was serious or not. To make sure, I decided to tell him to get f*cked and f*ck off back to his bowling mark, but just before I opened my mouth he broke into a smile and all was good.
Bowling wise my offie-pies came out alright. In 20 deliveries, I had G-Unit at about 10-60. The sequence going in '6 over mid-wicket, out, 6 over mid wicket, out, repeat sequence' - I then switched nets to see if I could recast my spell over Kiwi. His first shot, a nonchalant reverse sweep against a tired delivery, was clear evidence that the stranglehold had loosened to a mere soft breeze against the back of his neck.
The meeting that followed was a quick recap of what had happened and what was to happen. There was an alarming spiral in costs for all sorts of medical checkups, inoculations, and tests. Not least of all one for 'Sudden Death Syndrome'. Wow. They really ran out of names for that one. They'll soon be naming diseases like episodes of Friends... 'that one with the really nasty rash that sort of makes you a bit sick and you can't eat solid food and yeah there is a bit of it going around Syndrome' sounds nasty. Kirt and Curry recalled their nasty experience in Nepal over Christmas, amongst other things. I quite like Mark's retelling of the day found here - mainly because he, and only he, liked my bowling.
Tonight we have another nets session. But not before Chris the megalomaniac Beale drags us on a 7km run through South London's murder mile and back. He has decided to give us a break halfway through in way of a trim trail. It is still yet to be decided whether he will be allowed up the mountain.
Coming up this weekend is the Fantasy Farm Fitness Challenge. A mixture of Glastonbury, It's a Knockout, and Illegal Immigrant Labour designed to test, challenge, and save Kinsey's parents a bit of cash.
Monday, 19 January 2009
Player Profiles
Some great news recently, with the guys at Stickcricket really buying into what we are doing and coming on board in a big way. Any office-bound cricket fan will tell you how addictive this game is. They get 3 million visits a month during peak season apparently. I'm generally one of those visitors and had the brainwave to spam them with an email as to what we were up too. Within a few hours they had emailed back offering to not only programme a game with Team's Tenzing and Hillary facing off, but also promote our blogs and also put up an offer of prizemoney to the team who hits the most sixes in an over. Needless to say we are all pretty blown away by their generosity and enthusiasm. We are meeting up with them this week to confirm it all. We're gonna be on a freakin computer game!!!!
In other news, we had another expedition meeting on Saturday. This probably wasn't as enthusiastic as the last one, which was understandable as last time we were on the back of the high from the freeze mobs. This time it was after back-to-back Trim Trail and Net Sessions. And there was no coffee. It was also painfully pointed out to me that the honours board in the dinky little lecture hall that we were in at the back of the Lords Museum was actually just a replica of the actual board in the dressing rooms. I may, or may not, have wondered aloud about the dubious placement of something that I may, or may not, have thought was the actual honours board.
Announced was the fact that newly appointed South African captain of England, Andrew Strauss, has thrown his weight behind Team Tenzing. In true English spirit, Andrew said, 'Ja, Ahhh think it's moerse lekker that my boeke's are climbing the big mountain eh. That reminds me of the massive hills near the gamepark that I grew up on. Long live the three lions. Also best of luck to that team I captain' .... or something along those lines (it turns out the three lions he referred too were his childhood pets, not the english logo). Jokes aside it was a very nice surprise to hear his statement read out, along with Alistair Cook throwing his weight behind Hillary. If you take a look at that pic, it's amazing to see how big Cook actually is. Wes is no small-fry, yet he dwarfs him. Talking of Wes, he and I had what could only be described as an entertaining and hard-fought draw in the chat-war during the meeting. I got the early upper-hand with a couple of choice comments however he pounced on a mistake of mine and punished me accordingly with an incisive comment towards the end of the meeting. The crowd left satisfied.
Back to Stickcricket. I got everybody to describe their bowling to me to send it to the guys so we can set the online game up as accurate as possible. Here are some of the highlights:
Wes: I obviously get my skills upped... i.e. my batting is a 9.5 out ten and fielding a Herchelle Gibbs esque 9. Bowling can be an 0.5
G-Unit: slow medium swing bowler with barely legal dislocated shoulder 'Jean Claude Van Damme drunk in kickboxer' roundhouse action. C'est unpredictable. dark brown hair, blue eyes, size 11 feet, 1 massive swede, eight fingers and two thumbs up
Blinky: "An aggressive bowler who loves to steam in, bend the back and drop it short to intimidate batsmen. "Probably should have added... before returning to his mark and abusing the umpire for calling a wide". I could also add, remonstrates with umpire for 10 minutes despite already atrocious over-rate, storms back to mark before running in like a petulant child and hurling the ball as fast as possible, generally somewhere near the pitch, in a fit of rage.
Butler: Gas
Mike Preston: Is "awesome" a batting style?
Joe Williams: It is critical that the local air traffic unit is contacted whenever and wherever I bowl due to the trajectory of my loopy pies.
Haydn: My bowling has been nicknamed by Wes as "The Windmill"
Dave Christie: you miss I hit…… I have a mounted ball at home from a trophy – a hat-trick in the Under 12’s - my most valued possession.”
Hillsy: Right arm concoction with frantic shining to get swing plus unparalleled effort equals full, juicy, mostly-off-side slowness that somehow takes wickets
It could be an interesting game.
In other news, we had another expedition meeting on Saturday. This probably wasn't as enthusiastic as the last one, which was understandable as last time we were on the back of the high from the freeze mobs. This time it was after back-to-back Trim Trail and Net Sessions. And there was no coffee. It was also painfully pointed out to me that the honours board in the dinky little lecture hall that we were in at the back of the Lords Museum was actually just a replica of the actual board in the dressing rooms. I may, or may not, have wondered aloud about the dubious placement of something that I may, or may not, have thought was the actual honours board.
Announced was the fact that newly appointed South African captain of England, Andrew Strauss, has thrown his weight behind Team Tenzing. In true English spirit, Andrew said, 'Ja, Ahhh think it's moerse lekker that my boeke's are climbing the big mountain eh. That reminds me of the massive hills near the gamepark that I grew up on. Long live the three lions. Also best of luck to that team I captain' .... or something along those lines (it turns out the three lions he referred too were his childhood pets, not the english logo). Jokes aside it was a very nice surprise to hear his statement read out, along with Alistair Cook throwing his weight behind Hillary. If you take a look at that pic, it's amazing to see how big Cook actually is. Wes is no small-fry, yet he dwarfs him. Talking of Wes, he and I had what could only be described as an entertaining and hard-fought draw in the chat-war during the meeting. I got the early upper-hand with a couple of choice comments however he pounced on a mistake of mine and punished me accordingly with an incisive comment towards the end of the meeting. The crowd left satisfied.
Back to Stickcricket. I got everybody to describe their bowling to me to send it to the guys so we can set the online game up as accurate as possible. Here are some of the highlights:
Wes: I obviously get my skills upped... i.e. my batting is a 9.5 out ten and fielding a Herchelle Gibbs esque 9. Bowling can be an 0.5
G-Unit: slow medium swing bowler with barely legal dislocated shoulder 'Jean Claude Van Damme drunk in kickboxer' roundhouse action. C'est unpredictable. dark brown hair, blue eyes, size 11 feet, 1 massive swede, eight fingers and two thumbs up
Blinky: "An aggressive bowler who loves to steam in, bend the back and drop it short to intimidate batsmen. "Probably should have added... before returning to his mark and abusing the umpire for calling a wide". I could also add, remonstrates with umpire for 10 minutes despite already atrocious over-rate, storms back to mark before running in like a petulant child and hurling the ball as fast as possible, generally somewhere near the pitch, in a fit of rage.
Butler: Gas
Mike Preston: Is "awesome" a batting style?
Joe Williams: It is critical that the local air traffic unit is contacted whenever and wherever I bowl due to the trajectory of my loopy pies.
Haydn: My bowling has been nicknamed by Wes as "The Windmill"
Dave Christie: you miss I hit…… I have a mounted ball at home from a trophy – a hat-trick in the Under 12’s - my most valued possession.”
Hillsy: Right arm concoction with frantic shining to get swing plus unparalleled effort equals full, juicy, mostly-off-side slowness that somehow takes wickets
It could be an interesting game.
Tuesday, 13 January 2009
Making Huge News
Managed to get my first real publicity nailed down today (click here for the link). I spent a good deal of last night looking up news agencies in Australia that I could spam with news of the trip. Several people got the info, and surprisingly it wasn't the local press who were first out of the gate. Pleasingly, I had an email from Nic MacBean at the ABC waiting for me in the morning. For those unaware, the ABC is the Aussie equivalent of the BBC, however slightly less prominent. I must say I was glad it wasn't a Radio Interview as a combination of nerves and caffeine had me rambling a little, however I managed to stay 'on-message' for the most part.
Nic seemed very impressed with the trip and is keen to keep up-to-date with the goings-on, which is a good sign. He also mentioned that it’s blatantly clear that we are having a great time even in the lead up to the trek. Although Wes seems to think I've inadvertently managed to offend our newest team member Dave, who unbeknownst to me, is also an Aussie. I am still considering my approach to this as I was quite enjoying being the only Australian about. If you have ever been to London, you'll know that the word 'Aussie' is very rarely used in it's singular form. Your garden variety Aussie in London doesn't tend to travel in packs numbering below 12, generally with a healthy smattering of Wallabies Jersey's.
In any case Nic did quite a good article on our humble trip, and I think you can see both his and my enthusiasm for what we're trying to achieve.
Amusingly, my complete lack of a sense of timing in both cricket and social settings has come to back to haunt me again. Not only was the story published during a cricket match, but it was also on the same day journo's nationwide could finally publish the Matt Hayden Obituaries that they'd been sitting on all summer. Hence the Story list reads:
Nic seemed very impressed with the trip and is keen to keep up-to-date with the goings-on, which is a good sign. He also mentioned that it’s blatantly clear that we are having a great time even in the lead up to the trek. Although Wes seems to think I've inadvertently managed to offend our newest team member Dave, who unbeknownst to me, is also an Aussie. I am still considering my approach to this as I was quite enjoying being the only Australian about. If you have ever been to London, you'll know that the word 'Aussie' is very rarely used in it's singular form. Your garden variety Aussie in London doesn't tend to travel in packs numbering below 12, generally with a healthy smattering of Wallabies Jersey's.
In any case Nic did quite a good article on our humble trip, and I think you can see both his and my enthusiasm for what we're trying to achieve.
Amusingly, my complete lack of a sense of timing in both cricket and social settings has come to back to haunt me again. Not only was the story published during a cricket match, but it was also on the same day journo's nationwide could finally publish the Matt Hayden Obituaries that they'd been sitting on all summer. Hence the Story list reads:
Matt Hayden Retires
Australia Win
Other cricket scores
Fat bloke gets in way over his head on Everest...
Happy Days
Wasting Away
Each Minute I sit in this room, I get weaker...
I heard this line for about the 30th occasion last Thursday afternoon but never before has it held so much resonance. I'd really slacked off the fitness over Christmas. Particularly when you define Christmas as beginning on the date of your Christmas Party. What's even more concerning is that said party was on the 12th. I had vowed to make it back up with a strict regime beginning in January, along with every other half-arsed buffoon who buys trainers and a 12-month gym pass to ease that gluttonous guilt.
As if to spite me, I caught the mother of all colds just after New Years that really laid me low. It was one of those ones where even groaning took up too much energy. I was wasting away before my very eyes during the time where I had planned to 'cram-ercise' my way to strength and fitness. I was surviving on chicken soup and flat-lemonade alone. It was on the 6th day of not leaving the flat that I heard the above quote and it stung me into action. By sitting in that room, I was losing strength and time. It was time to change. That, combined with not wanting to go to the doctors to get a medical certificate, saw me ignore what my body was telling me and get into the office. This went surprisingly well, and I theorised that waging war on your own body was the only way to get it to comply with your wishes.
Ignoring the obvious flaw in logic of waging war against something that isn't a separate entity to myself, I decided that the next battle should take place in Battersea Park. Glen led the trim trail with some vigour and maybe it was my lack of recent conditioning, perhaps it was my illness, or perhaps it was the minus 4 temperatures, but I resisted the urge to vomit on at least half-a-dozen occasions. I felt headpsins that I hadn't experienced since an ill-advised encounter with a nitrous-oxide balloon at Glastonbury a few years ago, and my legs felt like they were going to explode.
Needless to say, the illness convincingly won that battle and I was laid low again for a couple of days. Nothing describes my perilous state of health better than the fact that it took me all day to watch a 20/20 match on Sunday. I woke at 8:30 to watch it live, fell asleep after 15 overs, watched the replay at 2pm but fell asleep after 30 overs, and then set my timer to watch the last 10 overs during the 6pm replay. And they say Kids have a short attention span…
Needless to say I'm looking a little more like Marlon Brando at the moment than Martin Sheen. Then again he did have a heart attack whilst making that film due to overwork and stress, so I’m confused.
The Horror
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