And The Winner Is???

A pretty major disaster struck and emergency plan B had to come in to play.

My colleague and Yummy Mummy Ann, got herself carted off to hospital last night and dropped me right in the proverbial.

Plan A would have seen her collect the baby of the firm from a road side hotel on the M8 and bomb it along to Embra toon, where I would meet up with them at our conference this morning. We were up for an award and Ann was the man with the plan. She was the one prepped by the organisers to have a speech ready and what it should contain. Shoe in, defo red carpet moment, must remember to thank my agent.

Reality being I had to take a massive detour from my planned bit of back road action and an extra half hour in my scratcher to rendevous at the Dakota (what that all about?? all blacked out and mysterious looking)

Holy shit, 40 minuets to travel a mile and a half!! Nearly two and a half hours on the M8 did not set me up well for my moment of glory. I really should have gatecrashed Corned Beef's gaff and kipped there last night.

A whole days conference of stuff that I already knew for a half hour award ceremony, even my gaffer who travelled East to make the acceptance speech to save me from making an arse of myself was losing the will to live.

Eventually, the music struck up and in flounced a geezer in a tin flute and bow tie and a burd in a floor length sparkly number. It was a physical activity conference?!?

My gaffer and I all dry mouthed and sweaty palmed. Waited in anticipation.


And the winner is............

Drum roll.......

Da Da !!


NOT US


Cue fake smiley faces and muttering under our breath.

So, Ann, the Yummy Mummy who tried her hand at bed blocking, as well as being a project officer; was a podiatrist and physio for a few Scottish fitba teams in a past life.

Asked her to check out my plates of meat a few weeks ago. Rolled up my trouser leg and flexed and stretched a bit.

How does it look Ann?

How the hell can you run? Your feet are f*cked.

So, justly humiliated I take myself of to Athelite with news of my 'severely over pronated' right foot and pleaded for help.

Good service is not often commented on, people like to moan, but the lassie there was brilliant.

I searched for it. But found no trace of ' what's this wobbly bumed wummin doing in my shop looking for serious running shoes' etched across her face. She got me out of Asics for the first time in six years and into a pair of Brooks Adrenaline GTS 10. OMG I'm in lurve. They are amazing.