UCI World Champs at Dalby

This weekend all the champs were there. Steve Peat, Chris Boardman and of course me and Jeff. We stayed with Mark, Jo and little Dan in Leeds. This time Jeff was banished to the downstairs hall: his moulting hair having previously conflicted with the cream bedroom decor, but he made a big hit with Dan.

As far as the riders went, it was the Lycra clad whippet brigade... that lot are seriously fit and some of the ladies in Lycra were "very fit indeed."

Saturday saw the juniors riding on a course that was pretty technical, and steep in places, for a cross-country course. During the afternoon we borrowed some tools and got Dan's pedal-less bike set up correctly. Now he could reach the floor more easily the smiles started: it should improve his balance and make the transition to a real bike easier.

Mark was running the Sheffield half marathon on the Sunday, so he followed the "usual" pre-race routine of Dominos pizza and lager. And I did my best to scupper these exemplary preparations by serving up breakfast of massive portions of brioche french toast with caramelised apples and pears.

Dave and Adele camped over near Dalby and I met up with them for Sunday's main event: the elite riders. These racers were unbelievably fast, and we found some good vantage points to watch events unfold, favourite being the aptly named Worry Gill.

During the ladies, we were walking between viewing areas when a Dutch rider came pelting down a relatively benign section screaming, she dismounted cyclocross-style and ran to the barrier yelling for a surprised-looking bearded man to pull her arm. "My shoulder is out," she said and when he failed to sort it out, she looked around saying, "Its easy. Anyone else?"

Step forward Dr Mike. Yip- definately a right anterior dislocation, I gave a pull with a little internal rotation but didn't feel the tell-tale clunk. But before I could say anything she was suddenly smiling, and back on her bike. "That's it! Thanks." And she was gone. Dave saw her later with a sling - which she wasn't using, chatting happily with a mobile in her right hand.

The men's race was superexciting (can you tell there were lots of euro-racers there?) and the top 3 riders traded positions in the final laps of the course before battling it out in a sprint finish.

Jeff was the biggest champ though: very well behaved at the Burdonhausen, calm in the crowds, not too frantic near the fastfood stands and petted by at least a thousand people! Superstar.

Revenge of the Lamb

I forgot to give Jeff his explicit warnings today at Cocken Woods.

He therefore felt at liberty to locate his previously-wrestled-over putrid leg of lamb and scurry off into the undergrowth to enjoy his interupted meal (well, it was the approximation of scurrying that a 50kg dog will do).

Snack time over, he erupted from the undergrowth to scare another dog walker. "It was just a big black shape coming at me - I thought it was a bear," she said.

I have news: there have been no bears in County Durham for at least a thousand years. There is however, a very naughty dog at large.

Two's Company 2

Another Berner! Little Darcy who is only 18 weeks and still looks like a stuffed toy.

There's a pic of the two frolicking coming to this spot when the pc is fixed.

She was very playful but had to concede she couldn't match JD for size or strength, and rolled onto her back to show her submission. She had so much fun doing this that she kept rolling onto her back as we walked away up the beach, with her owner moaning that he'd have to clean her before his wife saw what a state he'd let her get into.

Two's Company

On the way home from work, Jeff and I stopped for our 3rd walk of the day in the woods that were the site of the fateful GLI (garlic lamb incident). For once he listened to me as we "this way"ed, "come on"ed and "leave it"ed on our way past the presumably, by now, even more putrid lamb remains. I suspect this had more than a little to do with the fact that he was knackered from his 2 previous walks.

We'd heard rumours there was "a big dog that looks like yu-ers called busta or summat" from an errant cyclist. Errant on 3 counts. Firstly, we were on a public footpath - so no bikes allowed. Secondly, if you were going to flout the law then the sketchy singletrack through the woods and down the steep riverside banks was surely worth getting busted for, not the flat track we were on. Thirdly, Oscar (not Buster), although unneutered and 4 years old, wasn't like Jeff at all: he wasn't as handsome, he was a full 2 inches shorter and was nowhere near as regal looking despite also being a Berner.

I was on the phone to Adele when Oscar arrived and had to cut the conversation short, fearing a Godzilla moment as the heavyweights clashed. Sure enough it appeared Jeff was remembering his puppyhood as he ruff-and-tumbled with the other Berner, for once asserting his dominance. Usually Jeff is so soft- he was ganged up on by the beagles in puppy class and recently was embarrassingly submissive to a black lab 4 months his junior. But this time things were different: I was almost proud as he mounted Oscar "asserting his manhood."

Now it's time for a superfluous shot of Claire with her puppies on display:

Back then we decided on Jeff (left) and today, as the giants rumbled in the jungle, leaving "rubble and ashes" in their wake, I was glad we'd slept on it and decided not to get two puppies!

Lamb, Garlic and Doodles.

What threatened to be a mundane trip to work at the Out of Hours yesterday was given a dramatic twist. I'd decided to walk Jeff's legs off prior to work so he would be tired and hopefully settle down to sleep in the car overnight. We stopped in the woods just outside Durham.

It started as just a routine walk in the park: Jeff sniffing this n that, birds tweeting in the woodland and sheep bleating in the field next door (though such walks are something I won't ever now take for granted - thank you ankle, you're getting there). Routine that was until Jeff took off deep into the wild garlic.

The reason for this burst of activity was soon apparent as Jeff Dawg plucked a semi-putrified lamb carcass from the undergrowth. Eyes wide, tail straight-up and wagging with new-found vigour... the game was on!

After 20 mins of chasing, and hide and seek, I was in danger of being late for work but eventually had Jeff cornered by fences in the woodland. A playful growl, head down, he attempted to barge past me.

Now, I don't think that Jeff knew I was once captain of the Durham School 4th Rugby XV (played 3, won 3, banned for violence and alcohol). Nor that I had once been called onto the pitch for 15 of the most scared minutes of my life when reserve for the 1st XV. He certainly wasn't expecting the re-emergence of my tackling prowess: but I took him down and as he went, the lamb carcass shot from his surprised jaws smearing what can only be described as "gack" down my leg. As we rolled in the muddy undergrowth, the stench of wild garlic was overpowering as the spring growth was crushed, staining my trousers.

I'm not sure what I would think if I needed to see a GP overnight and he had muddy, garlic-stains on his knees and stunk of wet dog and rotten farm animal, but at 3am I soon found out what Harvey the Golden Doodle thought. I had turned my back for only a moment, when I felt a paw on each shoulder and a thrusting at my waist.

JD is in the dog-box.

Revenge of the Lawn

No, not the Richard Brautigan novel from 1963. It's the stunning progress of Claire's reseeding experiment.

There's a few bare spots, but on the whole there's no denying the progress. Enjoy the evidence of Mrs Doubleu's green thumbs. Jeff and I will be. I'll get the hammock set up and Jeff will get the bangers on the barbie.

In Schiphol everything is fine...

...in Schiphol everything is fine, you got your good thing, and I got mine.

And in my case, the good things are stroopwafels - a bumper pack of duty free stroopwafels.

Next question: how do I shift the 5kg I put on because of my ankle?

Fashionista

Well I'm here in Pittsburgh visiting Mrs Doubleu for her birthday weekend before I start back at work. The sun is blazing down, it's 28'c and the view outside is very different to the snowmageddon wasteland that I surveyed 2 months ago.

After the airport shuttle run that Mrs Doubleu can probably now do in her sleep, we stopped at Walnut Street for lunch. One Southwestern Chipotle Club sandwich later we were back out on the street when Mrs Doubleu noticed a dress in a shop window. A quick circuit of the racks revealed many dresses that were "No" but still an armful of potentials.

We had worked our way through to the last one without success, but I had high hopes for this little black dress. "I really don't like asymmetric necklines," she said giving me a twirl. Now the thing was, I couldn't remember any of these dresses being asymmetric.

Sure enough, Mrs Doubleu had put her own spin on the little black number and tried it on sideways! No more dress shopping alone - it would appear there are additional obstacles to finding THAT dress!