Chichester, children, Crazy life stuff

Goodwood Roller Marathon

I swear this blog post should be on failblog. There should be photos of my baking adventures on here but there won’t be. I have been baking, in fact last night I made a fruit loaf and also tiger bread. When I left this morning, they were still in the kitchen but I came home to an empty bread bin later today and there was only the crust of the fruit loaf skulking on the bread board. The slight issue with having a baking related blog is that if you tend to do your baking at nighttime, you then, more often than not, end up waiting til the morning to photograph them. Which is fine and dandy but in our household, we do adhere to the survival of the fittest attitude to cake munching. After all, time waits for no cake.

I was at a Roller Marathon event at Goodwood today with Izzy The Rockstar and Lalla. My derby team mate, Lady Smack Von Doom (who incidentally has the most captivatingly lilting Aussie accent) was kind enough to give us a lift there in her most pristine car (I do have taste despite Slaveboy owning a smelly, tatty van that is currently growing its own mini plantation on the roof).

I was pretty nervous about skating a the Roller Marathon. I know it was only 2 laps around the track, equivalent to just over five miles but you are talking to someone who up until two months ago, have led a very sedentary life. On top of that, I hadn’t knowingly skated (or even walked!) five miles in one go.

So the night before, in between making bread and mixing up a fruit loaf batter, I was having a meltdown over the fact that none of my skating gear was appropriate. The pink Capri fishnet tights were too holey. The purple ones were missing. The dirty laundry pile had swallowed up my most favourite tee shirt ever (a 22 year old gift from a pen friend in the States who ran Wild Rags Record, an independent metal label. Little did my Mum know at that time that her 16 year old daughter was in communication with a rather inappropriate, indecent 35 year old man. I’d like to refer to the experience as my educational years). I did eventually find a pair of passable black leggings but it was a bit like the film The Incredibles, you know the scene where one of the superheroes was running around his house, scrabbling all over for the location of his Superhero suit and his spouse was totally not getting the magnitude of the moment and what he was destined to do? Well, I was so there there with him that night.

And then to come home and discover that they ate all the bread too.

Nahh, I’m joshing. I love it that the family are so appreciative of my baking.

I was go into how a bug landed itself on my eyeball which dislodged my contact lens and rendered me skating with one eye shut for half of the race but then, I’ve just heard that one of my Wenches was throwing-up ill last night and yet she skated today and only had to stop once by the trackside to throw up again before completing five laps. That is so hardcore. And so stole the thunder out of my bug-eye-landing incident.

So I did the race. Lalla skated off ahead of us and finished the race fifteen minutes before us. Lots of people skated past me. Even children barely out of nappies. Goodwood Racecourse is obviously too posh to sell cheesy chips at their food kiosk and I intend to make them see the error of their ways.

I did get a medal though. So what if everyone who participated got one too. NEVER in my life have I ever received a sports related medal.

It’s now in the possession of the Small Shouty One, who was drawn to it like a magpie to shiny-ness.


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