Ten good reasons to love the rain...with MUSIC!

1) If you go running; you have an excuse not to: the puddles and stuff.
2) It`s so cold, you need cake.
3) You can put the heating back on *even though it`s April*. (Just)
4) You can feel all smug and cosy when it`s hammering down on your roof.
5) You don`t have to wash the car. Pointless at all times, especially now.
6) It waters the garden and the farmers` crops (yeh ok, enough already)
7) You don`t have to ponce around in skinny summer vests just yet.
8) You don`t have to cut the grass.
9) Your kids` footie matches all get cancelled so you don`t get soaked on the sidelines.
10) You can snigger at the `Holidays at home are GREAT` ad campaign on telly.

Now shut up moaning about the weather and have these as a little musical hot water bottle from me to you.... just CLICK and singalong :)

The Lovin' Spoonful 

The First Class - Beach Baby

THE BEATLES- HERE COMES THE SUN

Beach Boys - Do It Again

It`s Saturday: Get Passionate.

Know how many times I`ve been to the Greenhous Meadow in Shrewsbury--home of Shrewsbury Town Football Club?

Twice.

Once for the fantastic Midnight Walk in aid of the Severn Hospice a couple of years ago. We warmed up there before the event; and hugged each other in the dead of night a couple of hours later after a brilliant fundraiser.

Oh..and the Elton John concert last year.Shouted and sang ourselves hoarse from the terraces.

Today`s decibel levels are likely to be louder still, as the Shrews try and clinch automatic promotion. Just because I don`t `follow` football,the Shrews are `my` local side.I watch their progress, listen to the match commentary on BBC Shropshire, and get a taste of the passion that true Shrews fans feel, week in, week out, for their team.

I did some shopping the other week at the retail park near the ground. I was heading back to the car, but was stopped in my tracks by the rising roar of Shrews fans from the Meadow. It was brilliant to hear the swell of passion for their side.I stopped and smiled, and back in the car, was gripped by Stuart Dunn`s explosive, compulsive commentary all the way home. Have you heard him..or the equally fab Nick Southall covering the Telford games? Whether you love football or don`t; they`re painting the picture for you; capturing the atmosphere. They have an incredible skill.

Listening to the build up to today`s crucial game made me think of other, fabulous sporting moments that have had me shouting at the radio or the television. `That` Wilkinson kick in the Rugby World Cup. Redgrave`s fifth Olympic rowing gold. Shropshire`s Sandy Lyle winning the British Open in `85 and the Masters three years later. Gripping stuff, all of it.

With passion,comes pride--and you share that pride if it`s `your` team raising the cup,clinching promotion or winning gold for your country. Roll on London 2012--I`m going to be screaming at the screen when the athletics start.Just don`t touch the remote.

Today though, it`s local, and it matters. So don`t knock me because I haven`t watched the Shrews in action.I`ll be there in spirit, listening to Stuart and his sidekick Steve Cross, reading tweets from the Shropshire Star`s Dave Burrows, and willing them on.

PS (hours later....they did it! Well done #Salop...and well done supporters....er....ok, well done Dave Burrows from the Shropshire Star--top Shrews fan  !)

Pie and a pint, please.

I`m off for lunch with Jo shortly.

And frankly...I`m a bit worried about it.

She`s suggested somewhere that,well,how can I put this..she`s suggested somewhere that I might have considered for lunch about two decades from now. So for that reason, to be honest, I`d rather not say any more.

OK. It`s in a garden centre.

And I know the food`s supposed to be lovely. But my dad goes for lunch in garden centres. Won`t we feel-you know-out of place? Or maybe that`s the point. She wants to take me somewhere that makes me feel positively juvenile.

Mind you-it was the same Jo who led me and a colleague astray a few months ago at a very fine cocktail bar in town. We dressed for the occasion. Knocked a few back. Spent a fortune. The place was heaving. And most of the clientele were a fair bit younger than me. And Jo, actually, though she`ll thump me for saying that. Did it matter? I dunno.

When our 21 year old daughter popped back from University for the weekend recently, she was aghast to hear that her dad would be in town on the same night as her. With `the lads`. `But he`s not going into any of...you know...MY bars, is he?` she whispered. He didn`t.

So are you defined by the places you visit? Once you`re over the age of 18, is there an unwritten, unspoken age limit on restaurants and bars?

And if you have to be the `right` age to frequent some places, do you have to be the right `kind` of person, to visit others? I went to the Lucian Freud exhibition in London recently. Don`t ask me for details; I know nothing about art (yeh, ok...`but I know what I like...`)So I went to learn. And although there were clearly scores of true art lovers there, standing back and admiring his amazing talent; there were quite a few who, I suspect, were there to be seen. The ones who spent more time looking at the crowd than the canvas.Quite a few had little Chanel handbags dangling over their shoulders. Get the picture?

But maybe I worry just as much about what people think. You know..where I am; who I`m with. For instance-if I fancied, say, a pie and a pint, and I knew that the best ones were served up in a very traditional `spit and sawdust` type pub in town....packed out, pretty much, by blokes...would I venture in...alone? Would it be the `right` place for me to be seen? Or would the other,regular boozers in there...snigger ? Maybe I should just tuck in and forget Fred and his ferret at the next table.

Love to know what you think ;0)

I`m brand-y. Fly me.

So what do you have to do to get sponsored round here, then?

On some blogging sites, including this one; there`s a little column of options down the side. And one is tantalisingly marked `earnings`.

I mean-it`s ok if you`re one of the first home in the London Marathon. They got bright red Virgin branded towels thrown round their shoulders. If you were fourth or fifth; forget it-you were just ushered round the back; sweating anonymously.No photo opportunity, see?

And it`s easy if you`ve got the cheek. Apparently some of the beach volleyball players in this year`s Olympics will have a QR code (quick response-yeh-funny..) on their bikini bottoms.It links to their sponsor`s site. How close you have to be to their backside with your mobile before the link kicks in; I`m not sure. And how would you convince anyone that you were `just activating the QR link` anyway? Dodgy.

It helps if you have a name, doesn`t it? Like Daniel Craig. I read that his new Bond movie, Skyfall,sealed a deal for him to be seen drinking Heineken in at least one scene. You wouldn`t want to be shaking and stirring a can of that, really, would you? It could go off all over your gorgeous blue trunks. Mmmmm.

Mind you; there`s dosh in drinking even if you`re not quite as well known as Daniel. If you`re someone like Fred Dell, for instance. Did you read about him? His pub in Fleetwood has made him a `freeman`. He`s been drinking there since 1936. And now gets free beer for life. (I mean--he`s 94. There are deals, and deals, aren`t there? If you want me, Bombay Sapphire; I`m ready for you. Do it now).

Of course,I can say `Bombay Sapphire` as often as I like now, because I don`t work for the BBC any more. When you`re signed up to the Corporation, you have to be damn careful about product placement. And showing your political colours, if you have any. Just for the record; I always found Keith Barrow to be a real gent. He was damn polite about my coffee in the studio; and smelt of lovely cologne. I still have a soft spot for Vince Cable. ( No, I know, but I can`t help myself.I think it might be the ballroom dancing.) And I definitely find Chuka Umunna *interesting*. There. That`s balanced.

Finally, now that I`ve got the bit between my teeth,I might just throw in a quick *Nike Nike Nike*; given that I`m running again. I appreciate that I`m hardly belting over Tower Bridge with the world`s cameras tracking me. I`m actually shuffling through a village with a population of about 300. But it`s a start.

(Is that enough, do you reckon? I-what- sit here with a plate of marmite toast and a coffee and wait for the phone to ring? OK then.)

London calling

Shropshire`s a beautiful place to live. We`re so lucky to have access to its hills,lakes,stunning castles and beautiful market towns.And although it`s got its pressures, it always feels like life in the slow lane. In a nice way. So now and again..it`s good to have a shot in the arm of city life too.Even if it`s just to appreciate what you`ve left behind.

I know as soon as I get off the train at Euston tomorrow, my first instinct will be to run. I was born in Ealing, in west London and remember being taken on the tube as a toddler, running down endless subway corridors against the rush of the underground draught if we heard the rumble of the train pulling in at our platform.

At 19 I was commuting from the suburbs to the city to work as a journalist, nearly always running for the 8.08 to Charing Cross, squeezing in to find a seat, then leaping in and out of taxis or trains and sometimes catching planes during my working week. Always against the clock.

Tomorrow there are no meetings. No business courses. No pressures. I booked a ticket ages ago for the Lucian Freud exhibition, so an amble round that is on the cards, then dinner and a show with my eldest daughter who`s studying in London.

On Thursday at Charing Cross station I`ll smirk at the commuters belting across the concourse, and head out against the flow to see Dad in Kent. That`s the plan. So if I`m in your way, or not running quite as fast as you (even though I could....)...then tough luck. I`m taking my time.

Don`t mess with my Toot Toot...

.......but feel free to mess with yours...especially if you`re driving behind me while I`m out running and you just fancy er...parping your horn.

Back in the eighties you`d have seen me swing round with a roar and a rude gesture. But today--out in the sunshine, and now that my furious and feisty feminist past has mellowed...I`m grateful for all the toots I can get, frankly.

Of course,the lorry driver might have been alerting me to his presence, in case I fancied leaping into his path. Pah. I do, often get it wrong.

Only moments before, I`d turned from the lane where I live into what we call `the secret path`. It runs between the lane and the main road, and is narrow with overgrown trees and shrubbery each side, quite dark and tunnel like but lovely really. Anyway,it runs alongside our neighbour`s garden.I usually stride up the lane to warm up a bit, trot up the path, and start running when I hit the main road.

Today I was stopped in my tracks by the sight of Fred. That`s not his name, but I`d like to conceal his identity. Fred was sitting in the middle of the (narrow, remember...and dark) path, on a fine, ladder backed kitchen chair. `Lost the plot`, he said. Not sure whether to empathise enthusiastically....or turn back and tactfully pretend I hadn`t seen him, I tried a `pardon?`. `WATCH THE POT!`;he repeated, pointing to the tub of paint he was using to touch up his fence.

See what I mean about getting the wrong end of the stick? I`d finally got to the end of my route (really not far...but further than yesterday) when I noticed two of the village`s..um...elder statesmen, standing at the end of a driveway.`You ant come farrrr`, said one. I told him I`d only just started running again..and this was my morning mile. At which point they both chortled...and started reminiscing about the last time they could `go a mile in the morrrrrrrrrnin`.

Ahh. Village life. Double entendres. Happy running....!

Ninety minutes from now........

.........it`ll be all over. Jo Cunningham`s incredible 12 hours on a cross trainer at a gym in Shrewsbury. She`s raising money for the Alzheimer`s Society, and Al`s Cafe, a social group for people with dementia, and their carers. And yes, I know I`ve written about Jo before (please grab a look at my April 6th post :`When the going gets tough`...to find out why I love this girl...! But here you go: once more, with feeling.

Whatever you`ve been doing today, Jo`s probably been pounding away on the cross trainer for much of it. I last called in on her at around 3pm, and she`d only had two breaks of around a minute each. She looked fresh, smiley, full of energy, and was going at a cracking pace.

That was eight hours in to her amazing charity challenge. Much earlier, there`d been just three of us in the gym. Jo, Tara and me. Tara`s mum has Alzheimer`s. So does my dad. And Jo`s own dad has a form of dementia called Pick`s disease,diagnosed when he was still just 58. We had this strong, heartbreaking link in common, and talked about how cruel the disease can be for those with it, and those who love them.

Whether or not you know someone with dementia, please spare a thought,or a bit of cash, for Jo, the ones we love, and her extraordinary feat today.

I`ll be back at the Shrewsbury Club (used to be the Welti)just before 7pm tonight to see Jo finish. Why don`t you come along too and give her a huge cheer. Go Jo. You`re an amazing mate, and what you`ve done today is an inspiration

http://www.justgiving.com/crosstrainerchallenge">http://www.justgiving.com/crosstrainerchallenge