Once they do make it through the gates I can’t help but
think they’ll be a little underwhelmed by what they find, certainly if they’ve
been shown the same celebrity-clad tourism adverts that we get encouraging us
to have a pint with Ron Weasley.
The problem is that as a nation we aren’t accustomed to
American-style razzmatazz. Great customer service delivered with a genuine
smile is as far removed in practice as it is geographically when you see how
it’s done over there. “Have a nice day” sounds hollow enough to be farcical in
this country but our transatlantic cousins say it with sincerity.
So my solution would be to tell Johnny how it really is. Yes
you’ll be met with queues, but if anyone tries to cut in that long line then
good grief they’ll incur the wrath of some disapproving looks! Yes the Northern
Lights look incredible, but Scotland never has clear skies through which to see
them so why not discover the natural wonders that the local distillery can
offer instead? And the chances are your hotel room will be showing the
home-grown terrestrial delights of Antiques Roadshow in between adverts of the
recently-extended DFS sale.
Granted it may not have the tourist board hitting their
annual targets, but frankly I sighed this week at the news that Duran Duran are
to play the opening ceremony of the Olympics. Isn’t there part of you that
wishes we hadn’t asked Simon Le Bon to pull on his spanx outfit to belt out a
30 year old song but would rather, with tongue firmly in cheek, we simply had
the athletes being marched in and introduced in Dad’s Army style? It would be
so much more British.
Apparently the relatives of the Dad’s Army actors still get
paid proceeds of all the royalties the BBC are obliged to pay every time they
air a repeat. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a lot more than you’d guess
either. I once contacted a local company who’s Company Accounts showed they
held £millions in the hope those funds could be deposited with the bank I
worked for. A bemused Accountant answered the phone and politely advised me that
the owners of the business wouldn’t look to do that and that, in any case, it
wasn’t a trading company but simply a means to which royalties could be paid
and distributed each year. If I remember rightly the company name was Python
Pictures Ltd.
The spirit of Monty Python also lives on in a little village
called Church Fenton in North Yorkshire. For that’s where every so often you
can see me in training, looking like what must appear to be an employee of the
Ministry of Silly Runs.
I’ve mentioned before that my improvement in running has
come about more from an ability to endure pain as anything else. The only
comfort, if you can call it that, is that the onset of pain is generally a
little later than the last time you went out.
For the first couple of months I’d always get a stitch that
would painfully grind me to a halt, trying to slowly walk it off before
becoming increasingly conscious that passers-by must think I get dressed up in
running gear to only go out for a leisurely walk. So to overcome it I’d try and
run it off. Which would result in me doing a cracking impersonation of an
injured World War I soldier staggering across a battlefield in a bad Saturday
afternoon movie. Only I’d be clutching my stitch and confusing passers-by even
more.
Then came the onset of the cold winter. It takes a braver
(and more sensibly-dressed) man to hide their discomfort at those temperatures
and so within no time my facial expression would develop into a permanent
grimace that only altered when back in the warmth of my own home. Think Han
Solo frozen in carbonite and you’re on the right lines. Not an attractive look.
After the recent spell of heavy rain I took the opportunity yesterday to go out for a run in the balmy sunshine. And demonstrated yet another contender for the Phoebe Buffay Idiotic Running Style Of The Year.
You see, whilst I’m blessed with being surrounded by mile upon mile of open countryside and quiet lanes that are perfect for running, it brings with it an annual siege of bugs - most of which I don’t mind, but some of which I do. I was once prevented from going to bed for a good half hour by an enormous Tiger Moth whipped into a frenzy by the hall light – absolutely terrifying. And don’t get me started on the nuisance that is thunder bugs, which every summer get everywhere in their thousands if a window is left just slightly ajar to try and let heat escape in the summer.
Well yesterday I came face to face – literally – with a
flying bug I’d not encountered before. I can only describe them as looking like
mini dragon flies and resembling a gang of hoodies. Because in the same way you
don’t want to have to walk past a group on a night out who’s only qualification
between them is an ASBO, these bugs also knew they posed much more of a threat hanging
around in packs than alone.
Not accustomed to this, I therefore spent a good couple of
miles acting in the same girly manner I do when a wasp pays me a visit. Not in
a calm, “leave it and they’ll leave you” manner but by flailing my arms everywhere
should any of them decide it’s time for a kamikaze mission down my mouth. For
anyone who’s watched Dodgeball I was
performing the 5 D’s. In my
growing frustration I even resorted to trying to kick them at one point.
Bear in mind throughout all this I’m running. If you
happened to see someone running alone, seemingly bobbing in and out of the way
of nothing, and occasionally kicking thin air, you’d think they weren’t quite
right in the head.
So as if the prospect of having to run 13.1 miles wasn’t daunting
enough already, I’ve now got a vision of me doing it in weather that conspires
to make me perform one of my daft-looking runs. Whilst no doubt suffering from
chaffage and in need of the loo.
And with all the spectators changing their applause to a chorus of “aww bless
him” when they see me karate-kicking at bugs.
I saw an interview with Michael Palin once where he
described the pain that John Cleese put himself through performing that
infamous Ministry of Funny Walks sketch whenever they went on tour. Although I’d love to think he went through the
pain barrier for the love of his art, the cynical part of me that winces at
those awful AA adverts suspects he probably thought of the money. Hopefully the
similarities will therefore stretch that little bit further, since what’s driving
me on is the prospect of raising as much money as possible for the MS Society.
Maybe I should get on the blower to Python Pictures again
and see if they’ll put their royalties to a good cause and sponsor me.
MM
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