The Nick Evans Guide to Shitting Yourself During the 2013 London Marathon

**WARNING**

 

THIS BLOG IS NOT FOR THE FAINT HEARTED. INCLUDES REFERENCES TO ILLNESS, TOILETS, DIARRHEA & SELFISHNESS.(I will warn you when the grim parts are coming)

 

 

London Marathon. Sunday April 21st 2013. This is my account of the day from morning to night. Some parts are touching, some parts grim, some parts you may find boring, some parts full of vim. However you can guarantee one thing. It is a brutally honest account of my 6th London Marathon. It wouldn't be my style unless there were parts of it you wish I hadn't  written. Here goes. Strapped in? Comfortable? To paraphrase the great Dylan Thomas, To begin at the beginning...

 

The Alarm went off at 6am. I woke to the most beautiful bright sunshine. Not a cloud in the sky. Everything was set for a truly iconic day. It was here. It was now. It was sunny. It was London Marathon day, Hooorayyyyy!!!

 

This one was going to be special. The eyes of the world were on London. The memories and solidarity of Boston were bright. The pain and suffering caused by the tragic bombings still fresh in our minds. Today we would all be in it together. Runners, crowd, media, elite, the whole marathon world was coming together to show human solidarity over human vulgarity. It felt a special day.

 

I had registered on Friday at the huge Expo at the rather annoying located Custom House (Royal Albert Docks). You get the buzz when you register. Lots of messages on the vast Adidas wall to do with Boston and personal messages of why people are running in memory of loved ones. That is when the sheer scale of the day really hits you and you get a special sense of emotion, excitement and adrenaline. This is what it's all about.

 

 

 

There are also stands and stalls selling everything from running products to massages. It's like a huge airport departure lounge except with fit women in Lycra & energy gels. For me it is awful as i am the worlds most gullible impulsive spender. I'm not happy unless I've done £200 on something I may only use once. It gives me a proper thrill (I am an addict after all)

 

I came away from the Expo (bearing in mind having done loads of Ironman triathlons and marathons so I'm fully stocked with 'kit') with a new bag, running compression socks, shorts, hat, rock tape and sweatbands. I had to pull myself away from the compression shorts with in built ice pack for £85. God that was hard to do, however i left in good spirits & £100 lighter. I was in though. An offically registered starter. Number 33,480.

I was excited for the big day. I prepared properly. Cut out the diet coke, reduced my smoking from ultra heavy to heavy, ate clean, did yoga, stretched, slept and rested like never before. I felt good.

 

On Saturday night I feasted on salmon, veg and sweet potato. Then i did mistake number 1. I ate lots of things i hadn't eaten before and wasn't used to digesting. Flapjacks. Those little fuckers are like crack cocaine and boy did i tuck in. Before I knew it, this little over eater had done 6 of the sodding bastards and felt stuffed. No matter, i consoled myself with the fact they would give me lots of energy on the big day and slept like a log.

 

And so to Sunday. I woke early to bright blue skies & immediately tucked into some porridge. Then mistake number 2. I finished off the flapjacks. Oh god those bastards were so good. I couldn't leave home for 90 minutes though. 3 goes on the khazi until i was satisfied i had completed the traditional marathon runners morning Constitution. I won't go further but it is a much under rated part of preparations. A full carb loading stomach means the propensity for stomach problems is rife. Little did I know this was to prove my undoing hours later.

 

Then Mistake number 3. A clever dick ironic funny post on facebook .A kind of fake prayer. It said, "Please God let everyone who is running & watching have a safe day, to enjoy it and feel at one with each other. Oh and please god don't let me shit myself and ruin my self obsessed carefully crafted image". Oh how I invited trouble. Will I ever learn?

 

Then it was off to Greenwich Park for the start. I hopped on the tube and was immediately impressed with the London code of not saying anything to anyone on public transport. Even though there were other runners, we all ignored each other like it was a commute to work. Not a lot of Marathon spirit on my tube. I tried to strike up a conversation, but that was met with short shrift so i settled into listening to hardcore drum and bass to get myself hyped up. Mistake number 4. Never listen to pumped up music for a marathon. That should be for an explosive event. Instead i now realise i should have gone long and slow in my music. Something like REO Sppedwagon or even The Verve. Instead this hardcore got me dancing around the train like I was on E and i couldn't wait to run. Needless energy expended.

 

Mistake number 5. I popped a couple of Ibuprofen and Lemsip Max to iron out my annoying cold and painful back. I'd taken some on my long run a couple of weeks ago and it was fine, but you should never mix medication. Despite me doing 5 London Marathons and 2 Ironmans I am still a knob head and sometimes just lose my brain and think i know best when really i don't. I should have just stuck to the basics but oh no, The Nick Evans had it all under control. Or did he?

 

I refrained from my usual routine of cramming in several cigarettes on the 10 min walk from station to park. Once in the park it is a sea of mass hysteria and excitement. People rubbing, prodding, changing, warming up. It is a great sight. I changed and was ready to go. I changed next to a guy called Steve. He took a little longer than me but it pretty much summed up what the day was all about. Although I'd be gutted if he beat me.

 

 

 

Then you throw your bag into the truck, have several pees, jump over the barrier towards the front of the mass group (15,000 people) and wait for the countdown. This is when it hits home how big the race is. It's huge. An Incredible amount of people. We all put on our black ribbons in honour of those who were killed or injured in Boston and had a 30 second silence in their honour followed by 30 seconds applause. It was poignant and emotional. A moment I was proud to be part of. Solidarity to you Boston.

 

It was now 10am and the Virgina London Marathon 2013 officially started. Well the elite did. Mo and the boys went off first and my group took about 5 minutes to get over the start line.. We were off!! Let the fun (and pain) begin!

The start is always a nervy occasion. There are so many runners it's hard to get any kind of pace. I had left my watch at home so I decided to run 'on feel'. I had my previous best of 3 hours 37 in the back of mind. Someone had bet me £400 for my Charity if i could do it. I'd been injured for most of the winter, was under cooked in training but I felt good. I felt strong. I felt euphoric and I really enjoyed the first few miles. I would see how i go. Taking in the scenes, the crowds, the sound systems. It really was a celebration of life. The crowds turned out in force, almost in defiance of what happened in Boston and it was the busiest I'd seen in my 9 years of doing it.

I kept a steady pace. Not too quick. Saw some friends on mile 2, fed off the crowd. Keeping my head down, doing the occasional High Five with a little kid on the side. Really the marathon doesn't start until Mile 13. The first half is all about pacing yourself and enjoying it whilst you can. Keeping energy in reserve.

I got through Greenwich on mile 6, Cutty Sark and the crowds were just enormous. Even through Rotherithe and Surrey Quays. The noise just intense. Then you get to Tower Bridge on Mile 12 and you float across. I saw my family and had a quick hug and then it was eyes down to half way in 1 hr 54. I decided to slightly quicken my pace a little just to see if I could get ahead of the game. This is where it started to go wrong and so the story turns.

I had been getting a stomach ache from mile 10. Thinking it was a bit of wind, i carried on but it kept getting worse. Worried i may 'do a Radcliffe' i refrained from trying to shift it - the consequences were dire and I couldn't trust myself. I'd just have to live with it.

On mile 15 i found my energy draining, getting the sweats and stomach worsening. 'Oh god I'm in trouble now', i thought. Mistake Number 6. I took an energy gel and ibuprofen to get through it. In hindsight an idiotic move.

**WARNING. THIS FOLLOWING BIT IS GRIM. YOU MAY WANT TO LOOK AWAY **

By Canary wharf and mile 18 i had slowed considerably and was in big trouble. I needed a toilet. I was definately going to shit myself. Gurgling, cramping and pain shooting through me. I felt sick. I was ill. Oh fuck me no. Not here. Not in front of 30,000 people. Not with 8 miles to go. I thought to my Facebook update - 'Please God don't let me shit myself..hahaaa.'. Well here it was Nick. You were about to. Who's laughing now. With your self serving supercilious updates. Fuck you facebook!

I looked around, people were lining the course. No toilets, no quiet places, no pubs or restaurants as the crowds were 20 deep. Oh god no, you're going to be Googled as 'the bloke who shit himself at Canary Wharf'. I could see it now. The carefully crafted self obsessed image. All the hopes of being taken seriously as a writer, comedian, compere, comedy club host, businessman, actor, David Beckham look-a-like. All dashed, I'd be forever pointed at wherever i went as that bloke that squatted in front of crowds, families and kids and shit a river. Oh god, please no. "I can't do it in front of people2, i thought. They've come to watch their families running and support runners, not my arse with torrents of brown laser".

I was in a world of pain, just about carrying on through Canary Wharf until Mile 19 then there I spotted A miracle, A mirage. 10 portaloos!!!. Oh my God. It was like a mirage of green in a desert (they were actually Green) - I staggered up to them mouthing gratitude under my sickly breath.

Opening the first door I was confronted by a scene from turd hell. Oh god it was like a shit grenade had gone off in there. I immediately recoiled in horror, slammed the door shut and tried trap 2. Exactly the same. "Oh fuck what if they're all like that?" Trap 3, 4 and 5 were rendered 'impassable', i was running out of options and panic was rising. Then I saw a girl come out of Trap 6, "nice one, i thought, A girl is bound to only use a clean one". My theory was proved correct and in I went, Thank God. AHHHHHHH.

To give you an idea, I was averaging 8 minutes 40 a mile for the 1st 18 miles. I took 23 minutes for Mile 19. 14 minutes of that mile was spent in the portaloo. A World of pain.

I came out and started running, thinking, "well that's not so bad I'll still try and beat 4 hours, that's cleared the decks". And so i thought for 1/2 mile until the stomach gurgle came back, the energy went and I felt sick. Oh god 6 miles to go and I'm in bits here.

The urge to shit my pants was strong but i held on. Performing a world record clench. I carried on a slow run for the next few miles until i was forced to stop and walk on mile 22 for a few yards, leaning over the barriers and retching. "Oh Christ I can;t be sick in front of 1000's of people", i thought. That's not a good look. Luckily i didn't but i felt so very rough,

I started running again, along limehouse onto the embankment. By now the crowds were fever pitch and huge but there was a sheet of glass between me and them. I couldn't engage. I couldn't take it in. I couldn't feed off them. I had nothing left. I was spent. Thoughts of quitting seemed so good, but then i couldn't face anyone then. No i had to continue. Another slow jog until mile 23 when another sanctuary in the Blackfriars Underpass. More portaloos. Oh fuck me YES! Thank you Lord of Portaloos.

Same scenario as before, but this time I wasn't so fussy. I would have shat in a sewage tank the state i was in. Another 10 minute pit stop and then out,  chugging away. I saw people I knew but i wasn't really aware or able to communicate, heavily cramping and dehydrating i passed the London eye, (I was going slower than it) and saw the Houses of Parliament. Only a mile to go. Oh please help me make it. Please don't let me finish up the mall with turd down my legs. I'll never get on tellie then.

I turned into Parliament Square and the runner in front of me buckled and collapsed to the floor. Legs gone. Eyes rolling he was delirious. I knew the feeling. For a moment i thought of joining him, but i stopped with another bloke to check he was alright, we gave him a gel (Please i don't want to see another fucking energy gel as long as I live), squirted some water on his face and then i have no idea why i said this or where it came from, but i heard the words come out of my mouth to the other guy 'lets carry him. We have to get him to the finish'.

We hooked his arms around us, flanking him either side, carrying his weight and trotted on. Fuck me the crowd went wild. All runners passing us saying 'well done' patting us on our backs. "good on you mate", "That's the spirit of the marathon"

"Oh fuck me yes. Of course. This is it", I thought. "This is the reason I've done it. This will pull this horrible marathon out of the bag. Forget about selfish personal bests. Forget about individualism and selfishness. This is human spirit. We have to get Josh across the line. It's going to be the enduring image of the marathon. It will be huge. Front page photo. Tellie. Interview with Colin Jackson. The true meaning of humanity was right here, right now" and then he started passing out.

Nightmare. I talked to him, kept him awake, telling him it was OK, willed the crowd to shout for him. Bless him his legs stopped working. We were 600 yards short on Birdcage Walk. Less than half a mile to go. We could actually see Buckingham Palace.

"Fuck, don't wilt here Josh. You're our fucking saviour. Hang in there pal". I said. The other guy said 'no more', his legs had gone too. I considered for a moment carrying him on my shoulders, single handedly. That would definately make tellie and the media. I reckon I would get a few interviews and speaking tours out of it. Together we are Stronger would be my Mantra. I would be the spokesman for humanity and togetherness. Me, with a stomach bug, sick, dehydrated carrying a half conscious man over my head across the finishing line. That's a front page right there.

And then Josh started to fit. Fuck it was all over. The dream had ended. We got the paramedics, they sorted him out, wrapped him up, got him conscious. He was OK but his race was over. Mine had 500 yards to go and i was disappointingly forced to finish at a crawl anonymously, with no fanfare, no sick man on my back. No interview with Colin Jackson, no media photograph. Just me, my ill body and dodgy guts. Barely able to stand.

I staggered across the line, apparently had my medal hung around my neck, collapsed into the portaloo's (Heaven, they were sparkling fresh) My London Marathon was over and I didn't shit myself.Thank God.

I collected my bags, got changed, staggered to the meeting point to see my family, collapsed into them and couldn't speak for ages. I was spent. Totally gone. No pictures, no videos, no joy. No euphoria. Just need to get home to a toilet.

I was ill for the rest of the night (and next day) and if I'm honest embarrassed by my time. I expected a lot quicker but on reflection it was probably one of my greatest achievements to actually finish. When you are Ill like that the place to do it is on your sofa in front of 'Loose Women' and 'Flog it'. Not with 8 miles to run on a marathon course in baking sun in front of Half a million people. It was harsh. Never again.

I made some stupid mistakes. I'm a right twat sometimes but never did i think i was going to get that reaction. In hindsight i wouldn't have taken anything, kept it simple and gone old school. Still never mind. It's over now. I raised £1500 for Action on Addiction, my superb charity who were there supporting. I enjoyed half of the occasion, i got called David Beckham 16 times on the way round and i helped another human being for 700 yards. Not all bad.

If only Josh hadn't  whited out it could all have been so different. Instead 125 people will read this blog instead of 125,000. Oh well at least it's good for my ego. God knows best. I did learn though that deep down i am a good person and did practice what i preach in helping another human, but what is really fascinating is really deep down, so deep you wouldn't see, is an inherent selfishness and sense of delusion that is quite staggering. Only an alcoholic can think of speaker tours and TV under the guise of helping out a stricken runner. My selfishness makes me smile.  Weirdly I can only see it when sober and that Ladies and gentlemen is why I run it for Action on Addiction.

No more marathons for me now. 9 is enough. I'm sorry for a lot of toilet talk but that was my experience of the London Marathon 2013. As i said, it wouldn;t be me unelss brutally honset.

#TogetherWeAreStronger (that would have been world wide trending on my speaker tour Twitter page if only Josh hadn't fucking well passed out - he was so Selfish!)

Peace and Love

Nicholas Edward Evans

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Boston Bombings and How the Marathon Can Help us as One.

Granted, that's a massively long heading. It's not catchy or indeed well constructed but it does what it says on the tin. They are all the things I've been thinking about since the Boston Marathon was bombed last night. I felt compelled to write about it

It has really sparked me into action. Anger and energy is coursing through my veins after witnessing the almost blanket coverage on TV, News, Radio, Twitter & Social media of the awful and shocking bombs, killing 3 people and injuring 120.

Now to qualify and give some semblance to this piece. 22 people were also killed by bombs in Iraq yesterday. There was no rolling news coverage. No mass hysterical moral outrage on Twitter. Just a small footnote in the paper. Yet 25 people lost their life yesterday to bombings in Iraq and Boston. 25 families are grieving. 25 sets of people and loved ones woke up in the morning and by night their lives and those of their families have been changed forever. Both to acts of terrorism. Both to people who use the biggest stage to cause maximum suffering. It's a fucking disgrace they call themselves human beings. We must stop this killing. Humans killing humans for a belief in their way of living. There has to be a better way.

Of course the Boston Bombings received lots of coverage because it is close to home. We can identify. It's so real. So immediate. So utterly shocking. We have the biggest marathon in the world here in London on Sunday. We have all watched it on TV over the years and to see Boston Marathon bombed like that and with so much video footage of it from people's smart phones it makes it even more real and personal.

If I'm honest it did make me slightly uncomfortable with the modern age that some people rushed to the scene of the bomb not to help the injured but to video it with their IPhone. That to me is modern technology gone wrong. Surely we're better than that? However, there's no denying modern society, smart phones, video and social media has changed the way news is reported. There are endless videos and images shown that you simply didn't have when i was a kid. Now it is everywhere. Making us a little desensitised and slight gore junkies. Think back to 9-11, Tsunami, 7/7. Massive world news events captured live on TV and social media. It amplifies it even more and puts it right in the forefront of our minds. it creates even more shock and awe.

On the other side and another element I'm a little uncomfortable with is that it can create an MTV style short attention span on social media and mass hysteria. I guess social media just reflects us as human beings but many tweeted about it, mis information is rife, Chinese whispers round the globe and best wishes and prayers are offered for everyone in #Boston. Of course it is only right and democratic that people want to express their shock and condolences, but then it moves on after a few hours and the hysteria is dropped. I checked today and very little was written about it. Well, not for the families, the injured, the dead or the communities. Where is the support then?

I guess it's human nature to be a little selfish and self absorbed. If you have suffered a death or loss, the easy bit is in the immediate aftermath when there is attention and people expressing sorrow. It's when they all get bored and get back on with THEIR lives and it goes quiet that is the hardest. Multiply that by 1000% and that's what those poor sods in Boston have got. Where is the moral concern then? How can we mobilise our feelings and actually do something instead of the classic human trait of expressing moral outrage and then immediately doing sod all about it and forgetting.

But what actually can we do? Donate to the Red Cross. Fly out to offer support? Campaign against terrorism? Well yes to all those things but there is something we can do that is a little easier and a little closer to home. Come and support the London Marathon on Sunday and stand shoulder to shoulder with your fellow man and be united against those evil trying to undermine human nature. Unite as one through the kinship of a Marathon, just as those killed and injured in Boston did and stand with them on Sunday. That to me is mobilising our right, our ability as a human being.

Why should you do that? Why will it help? To do that we need to understand what a marathon actually is. What it means. What is behind it.

It is relevant to me as I have run several and am doing the London on Sunday. It will be my 6th and I'm a passionate supporter of it.

Coming on the back of the Boston Marathon bombings means it is going to be emotional and meaningful. It will be a chance for solidarity with what happened. To remember and join spiritual forces as runners, as a crowd, as a city and country. How can you show support for Boston? Come and join the London Marathon, dam, not just the London but the global marathon family on Sunday.

If you've run one or been and supported you will know what I'm talking about when i say that Marathon day IS HUMANITY. It captures all that is good in our human race. It is full of life and inspiration. Love and respect. Family, friends, strangers all join as one mass positive energy to stand together with their fellow man and woman. It is powerful stuff.

When i was a self absorbed cynical drinking alcoholic i would look at the marathon on TV and think "what a load of crap why on earth would you want to do that. Run 26.2 miles around London. They even put that emotional music on. Rubbish."

Either that or say "I could never do that", or the classic "I'll do the Marathon next year" after getting 5 minutes inspiration and then never doing anything about it. In short I was ambivalent. I didn;t connect. I was a voyeur and didn;t even know about it. I never bothered to experience the atmosphere or go live. It was contempt prior to investigation.

Then as I got sober I had the opportunity to run it back in 2004 and I loved it. It was incredible. A truly phenomenal human experience. I felt guilty of my previous cynicism, ignorance and ambivalence. My mind was opened.

I have run several since then and it never ceases to inspire me. It is full of people running for a cause. Millions is raised for those who really need it. Whether it be a charity or for a loved one they've lost. It is full of people trying to do good. To honour the dead or to help the needy. It encapsulates everything that is good in human nature.

When something bad happens we feel powerless. The marathon is a REAL opportunity for people to channel their grief or emotion or feeling into something physical, Into something real. It is an expression of humanity. it helps people feel useful. That they are doing something good both for themselves and others. It is a generous day and one that even a cynical sod like me finds overwhelming with love. I cry every time.

Then there is the crowd. The real heroes in my book. 750,000 people lining the route, supporting, willing you on. Where else do you get that in life? Where else do you get that massive outpouring of well being or positive support? There are families & friends supporting their loved ones. Strangers supporting strangers. We all unite as one on marathon day. All the good traits of humanity are on display which you simply can;t appreciate on the TV. You have to feel it, experience it live. Then you will know.

So that is why I urge people to come and join the day. Come and join in. For me it shows solidarity with Boston. It shows we will not be beaten by terrorists. it shows we can stand together as one and achieve great things as humans. It shows that 1 million people can come together on one day and feel at one with 1 million more. It defines the power of good over evil.

All the runners will wear a black ribbon in honor of the dead and injured. There will be a minutes silence on the start line. It will be emotional and poignant. It will be real and i hope you are inspired to come and join us on the day and stand together. One purpose. One world. One cause. That cause is for the good. As we are all worth it.

** I am running this year for Action on Addiction in memory of my father and all those afflicted by addiction. If you feel sufficiently moved by this piece to sponsor my London Marathon for the Charity you can donate on the link below. Thank you for reading **

www.justgiving.com/thenickevans

The Nick Evans

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The Nick Evans Guide to Man Flu

There is only 2 things worse than Man Flu. Death & Loose Women.

It is well known in the medical profession that when bacteria from the flu virus infiltrates male chromosomes and genetic DNA structures it mutates 1000% times stronger than in women into some kind of super flu. It is the flu equivalent of Arnold Swazcheneger on steroids. In extreme cases it even makes you sound like him (illegible)

Clearly as a man I don't like to moan or make a fuss of being ill. (cue loud laughs from women)However there are certain protocols as a man you are simply expected to follow. One of these is being a massive baby and complaining like fuck that you are poorly. The other of course is carrying on as if you are mortally wounded like a martyr, in the forlorn hope that everyone in your wake will stand aside and bellow, "aaarrrgggghhhh, you poor little thing you."

Of course Man carries on with the awful Man Flu symptoms for a few days until he can take no more. It is imperative he immediately takes himself off to A&E for a check up. It is crucial that Man receives a male doctor & understands he is in the grips of a deadly illness and shouldn't take any risks.

The doctor (male of course) at this point usually prescribes tons of lemsip, a week on the sofa and 'Escape to the Country' on constant loop. He will explain that Man Flu is a deadly virus that is rarely understood (usually by women) and that it is to be taken seriously.

Of course Man doesn't usually need a doctor to diagnose anything. Man is perfectly capable of doing that himself. After all, several episodes of Holby City & Casualty means Man is qualified to make all kinds of medical prognosis. Man will of course forget previous mistakes. Like being convinced I had a double hernia which turned out to be wind. Even the best get it wrong.

Man is (self) diagnosed with Man Flu. This results in even less energy than before and a freedom pass to do absolutely fuck all for a few days. Some women will argue that their Men do that all the time, but we leave that debate for Marriage Guidance. Man, particularly ones with children, secretly long for Man Flu as at heart Man is a lazy bastard. Some even stand in the cold whilst rubbing themselves with ice cream to get it. Man Cold doesn't come to all though. It is only contactable to a select few. Men such as Maggie Thatcher were immune

Of course everyone has to know about it. Man must explain to everyone how bad he feels to receive the necessary sympathy levels. When man has bled everyone dry of  care & patience, he takes to social media to receive the attention from his secondary social circle. Sympathy and pity is of course a major part of the recovery process. Without this Man Flu can literally drag on for weeks.

If social media doesn't deliver the required levels, Man is not fussy where he gets sympathy from and will take to calling up 'Loose Women' or 'Vanessa' in the vain hope of receiving more sympathy. If that doesn't work Man has to rely on the emergency back up of the Samaritans and his Mum. Only as a last roll of the sympathy dice though. Man has his pride to think about after all.

Man must lay horizontal for as many hours as possible and make occasional noises which reinforce he is unwell in case anyone forgets. Rather peculiarly this happens even if Man lives on his own. Usually the slow low groan is followed by a few coughs, a loud grunt and finally a huge sigh which turns into wheeze and then a groan again. It is not dissimilar to the noises Man will make when achieving his weekly orgasm though in Man Flu it is filled with more meaning and effort. The end result is similar though. Immediate sleep.

A safe place is crucial for Man to lay around in for several days. This is usually your sofa or bed. Getting from one to the other is akin to running a marathon and achieving this must of course be shared on Twitter just to receive more martyrdom praise. If feeling ultra rough Man may check himself to a 5 star hotel or if double dip recession means funds are tight, a Travelodge.

At this stage the Tellie must of course be kept on a near constant loop of ITV4 with Minder, Sweeney and Professionals, mixed with Escape to the Sun, Homes Under the Hammer and Sarah Beeney's Building Houses. This of course is perfect Man Flu TV as manly stuff like building is mixed with a bit of crumpet with a heaving chest. This satisfies man in a deep nurturing way whilst fixing his need for making things.

The Man must of course have an occasional carer flitting in and out of the room (but not for too long as Man needs his own space) to flick over the channel, bring in some tea and Heinz tomato soup, boiled egg and soldiers and various magazines and reading material. If Man lets out ultra loud groans he may even get a thermometer if he is really lucky and of course regular changes to the hot water bottle. Man will of course at some point lose his temper at the ultra patient carer and bark ungrateful orders and complaints he feels is acceptable because he is unwell. This of course will be reminded back to him by his carer in around 8-9 years time.

Man must of course be very careful as he can slip into a Man Flu induced coma at any point, or to use it's technical term. Sleep. This forms a large part of the convalescence process and Man must of course drool, make weird noises and wake up so disorientated he talks nonsense for several minutes. During this process man must of course have sticky up hair and regress back to being around 5 years old. Arguably his general mental age anyway.

Man flu is a nasty illness and it will usually require a short period of inaction (3-4 weeks) before Man is finally fit enough to return to work (6 months later) and have enough strength to do jobs round the home again. (9 months). It is usually a whole year before Man has recovered sufficiently and is ready for another bout again.

Once over this deadly virus Man will return to the normal world but constantly check his looks in case he is 'looking peaky'. He will long for more lingering sympathy and take great delight in telling everyone, (mostly strangers at that point as everyone he knows is sick of him) that he's 'Had the flu' and 'was feeling rough'.

If any men read this and have Man Flu I am starting a support hot line and website so feel free to join the chat room and forum for online support. I am just waiting for Stephen Hawkins's technology to arrive so i can tap in things by thought and voice as i simply don't have the strength to move my fingers. I'll be surprised if i last the night. Mind you I'm not one to complain.

To join the online support group go to www.menareshitatbeingillandiwantsomesoupandmyheadstrokedbecauseimamassivebaby.com

Nicholas Edward

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The Delusional Man and Is there A God?

Do you believe in God? Wow that's an opening gambit isn't it? Not like I eased you into this entry is it? There was no slightly humorous padding or gentle introduction to the topic that's on my mind today. Instead it was BOOM! straight into the God topic. No foreplay. Just action.

Granted I haven't warmed you up yet, broken you in gently. I agree that was a little direct but as you will have noticed I back tracked immediately and wrote some gentle inane shit, self parodying the beginning to pad out an intro. I think that's called being ironic or in other words 'disapearing up ones own arse and trying to be pretentiously clever'. Let me start again.

Do you believe in God? I have been mulling over this concept and topic. I recently realised my utter futility on this planet and my relationship with God. I realised my overblown sense of importance as a human being and it was quite a moment. It made me question my belief system and faith.

I was on Mile 4 of an afternoon run. I was by the Thames in Petersham, by Richmond. A lovely spot usually but it was freezing cold and had a stronger wind than a taster at a Chile factory. It was grim.

I'd had a bad day. I admit i was in a filthy negative horrible angry mood. Some work stuff I'd been doing for months was pulled at the last minute. Affecting my livelihood and the entire nature of a business I'm trying to grow. It was a devastating and frustrating 'out of the blue' crushing blow. It hit me hard.

My mind started going into anxious and fearful mode. 'How will I earn money?', 'What will become of me', 'I should be more successful now'. Negative Nick was in full bloom. Not only that but my 'rights' moved in too, just to compound the thoughts.

'We deserve that deal'. 'We have worked so hard to accommodate them', 'it's a disgrace'. 'Poor us'. 'Those wankers'. All of these thoughts were swirling through my mind.

I decided an 8 mile hour long run would clear it but it just made it worse. Sometimes running is a superb to clear away negativity but sometimes all it does is give you an opportunity to really focus on the problem and concentrate hard on the resentment and injustice. That was what happened to me.

I reached mile 4 and the wind picked up, the freezing temperatures dropped and it became really torrid. I snapped at this point. I could take no more. I thought of all the bad news we'd had, of my past, of the bad luck, of abandonment, of everything that you associate with sick negative thinking, feeling a deep sense of self pity, injustice, being wronged and huge anger.

I looked up to the sky and screamed on top of my voice 'Fucking hell God make it fucking warmer. This is taking the fucking piss now. This has lasted long enough. Fucking sort it out."

Then on my work and personal situation I screamed 'Give me some fucking help down here. Ive prayed, I've helped others I've been a decent human being but for fucks sake stop throwing me bad news you cunt and fucking help me here',

Granted it's not a textbook prayer. Nor really is it a petition to God, more a demand and apparently the big fella doesn't do demands but I'd reached the end of my tether. At that moment I realised I do actually believe in a higher power otherwise why am I shouting out to something? If I am agnostic I'm just shouting to myself but i was shouting to something. I don't know why but at least it confirmed my faith.

At that point I realised my utter futility as a human. Who the fuck am I to start barking angry expletive ridden demands to a God based on my own little life? Why not scream 'fucking hell god can you please sort out a fucking cure for cancer'. At least I'd be demanding bigger things for lots of people other than little old me.

Also 2 passers by just saw an angry runner screaming 'CUUUUNNNNT' to the heavens. This helped me to look down on myself and see how utterly ridiculous i was being. It made me smile at myself even though they looked petrified like an inmate from Broadmoor had escaped (in Lycra)

I must believe in God otherwise I wouldn;t have screamed out to something. An agnostic would have screamed 'Fucking hell Scientific climates of cold pressure and easterly wind can you sort the weather'. An Atheist would have just screamed at themselves. It feels better to have a faith, at least to get angry with on certain occasions. It makes me feel better to believe in 'something'.

I then attended a Welsh funeral. Auntie Joan. my father's sister. One of the few surviving links to my Father. It's been quite a week. Anniversary of my father's death, anniversary of my rock bottom and realisation i had a problem with alcohol. My business receiving a crushing blow, being skint, a barn storming comedy night and finally a funeral.

I learnt more from my past. I learnt about my Father;s father being an Apostolic Minister after a spiritual awakening from being a drunkard into an ultra Religious Zealot. I suppose these things put me off God as that was the history I grew up with. It was good to learn about the insanity of my father's side of the family. Completes me and makes me understand my own a little more.

Organised religion is not for me but it is for many others and I respect that. I respect different beliefs and faiths. Instead my faith in a God works through people. Through experiences of myself and others. I see small miracles every day which are wrapped up in normality and that's good enough for me.

So my conclusion is that there is a God of sorts. There is a higher power. As a pig farmer from Bury once told me. "The only thing you need to know about God, Nick. Is that you're not fucking it." Amen to that

Nicholas Edward

xx

Good Friday - DIY Worship & Remembering my Father

Happy Easter bloggers. Today is Good Friday. For the religious amongst you a hugely significant time of the year. For the non religious. A welcome Bank Holiday and excuse to do DIY or nip away on a short break.

I am somewhere in between. neither religious or agnostic. Faith is part of my life but for me an orthodox organised religion doesn't appeal. I respect this time of year of course & those who celebrate it, however the whole Jesus on a cross thing followed by resurrection passes me by.

Don't get me wrong I'll join in with the classic celebrations by gorging on over priced eggs and slapping as much shelving up as possible. It's good to pay respects to the good lord by over eating and improving ones home.

DIY is THE most popular activity over the long weekend. Men up and down the land do their annual pilgrimage to the Great Mecca of Homebase or pray at the Altar of B&Q. Of course the Holy Grail is Ikea, however you must have the patience of a Saint to attempt this. Worshippers of all things home, blankly walk around this holy place. Ironically it usually takes from Good Friday to Easter Sunday to reach the altar of the till to pay for your holy stuff (2 wall units, a wardrobe, a rug, 3 plants, an office swivel chair that will be impossible to put together and 3 hot dogs)

More people will visit this Holy land than the church this Easter. Need i say more as to why we're so morally and spiritually bankrupt? Maybe the church should do mini hot dogs/Meatballs and self serve Ice cream out of a machine. People would be flocking then. In fact if the Church bolted on a DIY outlet and Garden centre they would be packed out. I'll WhatsApp the Arch Bishop later to put forward my ideas.

Easter is personally an exceptionally poignant time for me. Today is the 3rd anniversary of my Fathers death & 12 years on Easter Sunday since I first realised i had problem with drinking and wanted to something about it

I can't believe it's 3 years since David Michael Evans' long lonely battle against alcoholism was finally ended. 3 years since he was found dead in his warden controlled flat from a severe hemorrhage with liver damage at the age of 65.

I don't need to rehash last years blog, I've written about it before. Basically he had a 25 year suicide. Chucking in his life to full blown alcoholism around 1985 leaving any kind of normal reality, family, wife, job, home behind to live a life of an alcoholic. Pretty sad and tragic waste of life. But then again he is not alone. There are several thousand Mike Evans' a year. His death though is not in vain.

He does act as some kind of example to me as to what alcoholism is and can do. So he does live on in me and others and his is a powerful story.

I'm not sad. I'm reflective and it always makes me think of him. It's like my mind is stuck in the late 70's and early 80's as that is the only memory and time I had with him. Perhaps why I'm so nostalgic for the 70's era and The Sweeney. They were on the whole happy times as a kid. plus he just wanted to be Regan, but don't we all?

I remember his massive purple 70's pants. His beard, his charisma, his humour, his Cortina, his stash of porn mags under the drivers seat. His B&H, his 80's nylon trousers, his swearing, grandiosity, his massive fucking ego. (As I said only a man as grandiose as my father could be born on Christmas day and die on Good Friday, nice one Dad)

I remember much about him but if i could ask one thing. If the clock could be turned back I would ask my Dad please Dad when i was 11 could you please not pin me down and squeeze my blackheads after picking your arse. I'd rather not have skid stained fingernails on my face.

We are all flawed and I do not blame. I'm not sure what the rest of my family feel about it now but it's a long time ago and it's just one of those things. Everyone has shit go on in their family (not usually under their fingernails though) and we are all damaged in some way - but on the whole I have fond memories of him and in so many ways without realising it i want to emulate him, be part of him, make him proud. I never want to forget.

His death remains a powerful example of alcoholism to me and in some ways helps to power me to remain sober and also increase my passion in recovery and flagging up addiction as a disease. I don't want to get all preachy and wanky about it as most of the general public get turned off. But it's real and it happens and it''s everywhere. It just so happens my father was a classic example.

So today Mike Evans you are remembered. Certainly by me and I suppose in their own way by others too. Time passes. New generations are born. The world moves on. But today on Good Friday i remember my father, the religious of you will remember Jesus dying on the cross for others. Well my Dad had a beard......he was also born on Xmas day.....just saying he could have been that's all. Not sure Jesus wore Farah trousers though, drove a Sierra and drank Tenants Super.

From what little I know Jesus died to help others. I'm not in any way comparing my father's death with his. (That would be insane) But by sharing his story I like to think Mike Evans could have died for others too. As an example as a story about how the long lonely path of alcoholism is played out. There is only one winner when it comes to addiction. It is more powerful than any human power and if you have it, it will take you down and others around you. It will devour everything in your path. It will do it slowly and cunningly without you knowing but it will take you down. It wants you dead and unless there is a spiritual experience, unless the sufferer really wants to stop, there is little hope. There is only one winner.

How do I know this? Well the facts are in my family. The facts are in my father. This is not make believe theoretical bullshit. They are hard nosed facts. He had a wife, job, home, 3 kids and much going for him and lost it all to live alone for 20 years in various doss houses, warden controlled flats and drink on the streets in Shepherds Bush green. He died alone, undiscovered for 6 days with nobody around him in a flat that had no semblance of humanity to it. There were 8 people at his funeral.

Don't believe in alcoholism or addiction? Well take another look and maybe you will readjust your attitude. I know i did. Just because alcoholism or addiction is not put on a death certificate it doesn't mean it isn't what killed them.

In my father's case it took nearly 25 years. But the good news is it doesn't have to be that way. I certainly hope it wont be for me or others. I guess that's why I'm so committed to a 12 step recovery programme.  He's a top example so I'm going to raise a cup of tea, diet coke, cigarette (because I love a replacement addiction) to him today and salute his soul, who he was and alcoholism.

Before i go just a quick memory on the subject of Easter and DIY. He was the worlds worst at DIY. A skill i have inherited. Putting up a wardrobe or shelf was like an object in the art of swearing. He would be there with his bum crack showing and all i would hear is "fucking arseholes", "fuck sake", "fucking wankers", "shit" and "wanker". It was a great lesson for a 10 year old.

He wired a bathroom when i was younger, replacing the wiring in the main bathroom light and the small strip light above the sink. On testing when you pulled the little chord on the strip light the main light came on and when you flicked the main light switch the little strip light came on. Totally classic. And what did my father have to say on the subject? "fucking arseholes" -

This weekend I'm going to do some DIY in his honour, get it totally wrong, swear like a trooper and ultimately give up in a huff. God bless you Dad. You're always alive

Nicholas Edward
xx

Is it Really a Year since last year's marathon?

My new website is currently what is technically known as f**ed. Whilst it's being repaired I'm back on my old blog. You know the one from last year. The one where i wrote every day for 2012. The one I started up for last year's London Marathon.

Guess what. The 2013 marathon is 4 weeks today. 4 f***g weeks!! How on earth did that happen? It's nearly a year since the annual orgy of lycra was let loose on the streets of London. I can't believe it. Insane. Time really does go faster as you get older.

I've been injured and in a permanent state of sloth during this never ending winter and I'm weeks behind on training. I'm not going to be able to get into the proper shape to run it in any spectacular time, but I did my 3rd long run today of 17.5 miles and felt pretty good. That is until I melted on 16 miles and ran the final mile and a half at the speed of Customer Service at Argos.

I looked like a man who had shit himself and was walking briskly home to dispose of his heavily shitted underpants. I wasn't at my aesthetic best but after 15 miles you cease caring about anything, how you look, what people think of you. You can have snot running down your nose, congealed gob all over your face, tongue lolling around like your having a stroke and be bent over like you've been f**ed by a 10 inch strap on and you couldn't care less - Your sole purpose in life at that stage is to get home, stop running and get a brew on.

The run was duly completed which I'm pretty chuffed about but i can definately detect signs of turning 40. My body is falling apart. Of course marathon running hurts but since turning 40 my body and mind has gone into some kind of dirty protest over endurance sports and is on strike. "OK Evans you want to run do you well let's show you who's boss. Ping there goes the hamstring. Boom - Pain to the spine and , Kerpow - lungs on fire. Teach you for smoking" - It's really doing a number on me.

Still I'm on two feet and able to do it so I am counting my blessings and things are pretty groovy really.

I will resist the temptation to run over the past year since the last marathon but since I finished writing the blog on 31st December 2012 I effectively retired from any creativity or action. I retreated to a familiar place of sloth, self pity, self hatred and self which is no good to me, you or anyone. I'm just coming out of that place now and look forward to the remainder of 2013. It can only get better can't it? There's plenty to be getting on with.

That is starting from now. I'm going to have a long bath and play with my balls. Then it's a meeting for me tonight and work tomorrow, Yes you heard that right. I'm off to work on a Monday. It's insane. Obviously I'll reward myself with 3 days off afterwards. It's not easy working for yourself is it? I mean Minder is on ITV every morning at 8.30am usually followed by the Professionals and The Sweeney. How on earth is a man supposed to get out the door to work with all that on?

Such a hard life us men have girls. On top of that I've had one of those militant 'Man Colds' for the past couple of weeks. Not once have i complained or moaned...much, but on the same token nobody has applauded me for showing up and getting on with stuff. When men are ill we want constant attention and validation for the most menial task. Such brave little soldiers aren't we?

Have a groovy week people. It's good to be writing again, it helps with the self critical negative head.

Oh and if your feeling generous you can sponsor me for the marathon which I'm doing for my usual Charity I support, Action on Addiction. I would appreciate any donations

www.justgiving.com/thenickevans

Toodle pip
xx

2013 and all that........

I'm back..on here for one post only.

Just to say I've been doing fuck all during the winter and any creative spurt I had from last year left me long ago. I've stalled. I've hit a road block. Here is the latest attempt of me not to be me and get my arse into gear.

So I will be writing a weekly blog on my new format and new blog.

Go to www.thenickevans.co.uk and follow me on there to see if I can be arsed to actually drag myself out of this slothful winter mire.....If nothing else it's better than Dancing on Ice. Hopefully

Bye

Evans