battered

It happens every year. All the good work and clean living of the previous months goes out of the windows as I batter myself with food and grog, or maybe more accurately I let down my usually adequate defences and allow my father in-law to batter me. Margaritas and Bundaberg OP rum where the main weapons this year. The food was also brought out in ridiculous quantities; I particularly admire the Christamas lunch of three meats - turkey, pork and ham on the one plate - and the pudding that only I seem to really, really like and therefore get truely hammered with at the tail end of the feast. Mike was a little disapointed that I said no to the brandy butter and stuck with just custard, ice cream (2 scoops), pouring cream and a dollop of thickened cream. I am not sure my arteries will ever fully recover.

Christmas itself passed off quietly as there was only a mini-clan gathering and the weather was a little ordinary. I'd prepared myself on Christmas Eve for the food onslaught with a decent run over the ridgeway that runs from Niagara Park through the Matcham valley and towards Terrigal. A little over ten miles with a decent hill climb and descent and, despite the lack of anything resembling a pavement alongside most of the winding road that some folks treat as a time trial race track, I arrived at Terrigal un-knocked down. The valley really is very pleasant, and the sound of bell birds and cicadas are a fabulous soundtrack. I was ready for a decent breakfast in Terrigal at the end, and met Mike and Sal who had taken Rumpole to the vet while I was pounding the pavement.

I need to make a semi public apology to those working at or visiting the visitors centre on the approach to Terrigal. The toilet block at the sports field just up the road was locked as I discovered after I galloped towards it with my centre of gravity working it's was slowly but invetiably downwards and backwards. With my running form suffering - among other things - I headed for the visitors centre, fairly sure (but as it turned out completely wrongly) believing they would have a bog somewhere around the back. No such luck and with the time about to run out - picture the 5..4..3..2.. of the ticking digital clock on the action movie bomb that needs defusing - I dropped my shorts and dropped a couple of pounds of weight. Sorry, but needs must, and had I known there was an open public loo a mere 100m further down the road I would, I assure you, have used that.