After a hectic few weeks of adventuring by train to gigs, historic cities, international cricket games, and basking in the stunning Lakeland scenery, I’m happy to report I’ve quieter few days ahead. Writing, along with the maintenance of two family gardens thus far being my only scheduled activities for this week.

I’m unsure as to why the weekend’s exertions, during a break with mates, in the Lake District have rendered me so fatigued. After all, it was a fairly steady three nights where I drank reasonably sensibly, not to mention the pace of activities being a great deal gentler than the usual breaks we embark on.

In hindsight, though, perhaps now (in our 50’s) it was wiser the eight of us didn’t indulge in football and cricket tournaments – Our pursuits of yore. After all, the group’s average blood pressure reading is 185/105 meaning leisurely pastimes, such as watching World Cup football, are a far more prudent strategy by the lads.

In fact, our earlier morning middle-age ritual of medication consumption turned out to be the most hectic and least mainstream thing we indulged in all weekend…… Unless you count dishwasher stacking avoidance as maverick.

During this 10am ceremony of middle-age meds ingestion, our leader Darrin, dressed in his finest suit of armour and holding his favourite cheese-grater, dispensed the tablets to the other seven guys in the group.

Akin to a catholic priest seeking redemption for his wayward flock by the dispensing of bread and sacramental wine, our chief placed the statins, blood pressure tablets and anti-depressants on the queuing individual’s tongue one by one.

He intended including the consumption of wine in the service. A strategy aimed at washing down the plethora of life enhancing medication, but unfortunately my brother Ian had a habit of drinking it all the evening before.


Despite Darrin hiding the sacramental vino in a clay pit, incorporating state of the art Fort Knox security technology, it wasn’t enough to save it being consumed by Ian. Our kid still managing to always end his evening hiccupping with an empty wine bottle in hand.

As with all events he organises, Darrin performed the ceremonies with meticulous precision – Consequently by midday we were all medicated and raring to sit down to watch the TV. The only exception being a member of the party who’d a tablet that needed rectal administration.

Bereft of a cannon pole to undertake this procedure, our leader wisely declined the invite to dispense that particular ‘crew member’s medication.

One of the highlights of the weekend was being in a packed pub watching England’s World Cup football game against Panama. A euphoric two hours, during which we were blessed to witness historic events like England leading 5-0 at half-time, not to mention our kid only drinking the same number of pints as his peers prior to leaving the pub.

On returning to our accommodation, to celebrate his new found self-restraint with alcohol our Ian drank a bottle of pinot grigio.

Some people may say I’m being unkind to my little bro with my quips about his alcohol intake. However, they’re merely tongue-in-cheek japes, only added as I know he takes them in the spirit meant…… Anyway, I only said he had one bottle, so in reality I did cut our kid a break!

My mum said recently “Don’t be winding our Ian up in your blogs. If you do, though, ensure your spelling is correct, that you avoid split-infinitives and for god’s sake don’t tell the story about the horse in Skegness!”

I’d like to think this narrative fits within those parameters.