Busy Day Organising The Disorganised………

A brief post tonight, the Strawberry Blond one is heading back to school and so there is a mad case of getting her organised when quite frankly she is quite apathetic about being organised. It is quite challenging organising the disorganised this evening.

Ho hum…….

Best she gets her act together before she hits school on Monday or Matron will have her guts for garters.

Had a fab morning this morning in the souqs in Dyrah – the old part of Riyadh. It is a long time since I have been there and I had forgotten how fab it is.

Just one of the streets of Dyrah - a veritable feast of bric-a-brac heaven.....

Just one of the streets of Dyrah – a veritable feast of bric-a-brac heaven…..

Shame it is right next to ‘Chop Chop’ square and the specialist water fountains and overlooked by the offices of ‘The Committee of Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice’ but hey ho, they have to be somewhere I suppose.

We have visited ‘Chop Chop’ in the past and it is actually quite a beautiful, albeit tad unique, area of town once cast its real purpose to the back of your mind.

Anyway, enough of that – a fab wander around Dyrah, lunch at the equally fab Cafe Bateel and then home to organise the disorganised.

It has suddenly beach,me clear to me that my more recent blogs have lacked a certain humour and variety of those slightly older ones.

This is directed at me I hasten to add.....

This is directed at me I hasten to add…..

I suspect that this may be due in no small part to the imminent departure of the strawberry blond hand grenade but then to the hiatus in chaotic activity in our lives at present – although flying with Saudia next Thursday and then my last pre-booked BA flight back to the the UK next week that is highly likely to change. Yeap, stand by, BA here I come with the small man next weekend, anything could happen……

Finally, I suspect that the upcoming adventure which is the small matter of the London Marathon may also be playing heavily on my mind, consciously and not.

So apologies for the lack of humorous drama of late, please make the most of the calm – there is no knowing how long it will last but any extension beyond next weekend is looking increasingly unlikely.

Right, best go and remind the daughter that she is off to the airport in the not too distant future and it may be a good idea to actually do something in preparation….

Matron – good luck!


No training today – starting to wind things down – may just go for a little potter up and down the lanes of the swimming pool tomorrow.


Don’t forget to donate, this is all about raising money for Tommy’s

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Oooooppppsssss………Think I Am In Trouble…?????

There are different types of trouble, the type of trouble you get into with your parents that normally is forgotten about once you have eaten humble pie, apologised and done the washing up. Then there is the type of trouble you can get in with your children, where they do not forget so easily and even if you naively believe  that they have let it go it will be thrown back at you during a later argument. Then there is the type of trouble that your children get into with you, when you are so exasperated with them that your head is about to explode, you would wilfully exchange them for Donald Trump’s wig and no matter how hard you try you cannot calm down and forgive them for some considerable time after whatever misdemeanour they have carried out.


Finally, there is the type of trouble you get in with Mrs P, our compound’s very own iconic Italian force of nature, or as her bilingual and long suffering husband referred to her today – ‘la nostra gnocca Italiana’. DISCLAIMER I speak no Italian and have no idea what I have written there, any unsuitable references are simply not my responsibility!


Anyway, Mrs P is fab, she is a dude and she is, (please excuse the stereotyping here – don’t worry, she knows what I am about to say), very Italian. Having a conversation with Mrs S is a joy as her accent is captivating, her hand gestures are entertaining, (if a tad over enthusiastic and bordering on the dangerous at times) and she does not hold back on her thoughts and opinions. She is fab.


However, today I am trouble with the supreme being that is Mrs P.

It was quite a simple error and to anybody else may seem relatively insignificant and I suspect it stems from a breakdown in translation.

Today the compound’s nursery held it’s annual Crazy Hair and Dress Up Day. The event speaks for itself and each year it is used to raise money for charity. This year the nursery very, very generously decided that the chosen charity should be Tommy’s. What a fantastic gesture and one for which we are all very grateful – thank you.

I woke this morning to a message from the nursery manager asking me to pop in at 1150 to say hi and receive the money. Under normal circumstances I would have been delighted to. However, it was a slight logistical problem as I am in England and the nursery is in Riyadh – so time to find somebody to step in. A few quick messages later the dude that is Mrs P stepped in and said she would be more than happy to attend. Thanks Mrs P!

Now I did brief Mrs P on what would happen but this is where the communication broke down and Mrs P decided that after going to the nursery she would go and chill by the pool. That meant that Mrs P was dressed not in her Tommy’s kit but in a bikini with skimpy sundress. Had she just been greeted by a room full of cheeky 2-3 year olds she may well have been OK, but no as it was a fun day the room was packed with mum’s all singing and having fun and Mrs P was expected to join in and take a full and active role – in bikini and skimpy summer dress.


Needless to say that Mrs P was not, (and still is not), impressed – although the fact that she did receive 872SR, (£163.00 approx), for Tommy’s did appease her slightly.

So, my inbox was pinging and I am clearly in  trouble.

At this point it is important to point out that while Mrs P is an absolute dude and I know that much of her angst is in jest, (or at least I hope it is), she is Italian and there are certain considerations to be made here.

It is not right to say that everybody in the military knows people usually in Hereford who are pretty hard core, (get what I am saying?), but it is fair to say that at least everybody in the military knows somebody who knows somebody in that locality. Well, today similar thoughts have been bouncing around in my head about Mrs P and a certain body of individuals of Sicilian and then Italian decent and who may take pity on Mrs P’s plight.


You can laugh, but you never know. Our Mrs P is pure Italian through and through and I suspect that she may not take kindly to being thrust into a room of 2-3 year olds and mums wearing nothing but a bikini and oversized handkerchief. Revenge may well be on her mind…..

So, for the foreseeable future I will be checking the bed before hitting the sack for any horses heads, I will be taking the long route around the major roadworks on the M6 involving deep holes and vast amounts of concrete and if I see anybody walking towards me with a syringe filled with a glowing substance I will sidestep adeptly and avoid any contact.

That said I have got to head to the airport tomorrow to collect the two men in my life and so avoiding the roadworks could make for a massive detour and there are always plenty of odd balls wandering around the arrivals area and so glowing syringes will not be that out of place.

OK, so most of this is in jest, (I am still worried about the M6, deep holes and vast amounts of concrete), and I would just like to say a massive thank you to Mrs P for stepping in to show our thanks to the nursery – you are fab Mrs P, now please call off the Mafia…….

Right, no training today – although I did have to fight the desire to go running, then the desire to go swimming and then the desire to go to the gym, (I still don’t have any idea what is going on in my head), I have not had a rest day all week and as my quads are reminding me today that I did run up Gawthrop Hill yesterday, (a 1:7 gradient that last for over a mile), I figured I was justified in chilling.

As I mentioned the two men in my life arrive tomorrow, so I have been tidying the cottage so that once they arrive and make a mess I can justifiably be grumpy with them for messing it all up. I went to the local fine wine merchants this morning and stocked himself up on ‘punchy reds’ and I have spent sometime this afternoon replacing the motors on the drone for the small man so that he can land it on the roof again. Last time the farmer and his son had to come up with a JCB and raise the farmer in the scoop onto the roof to rescue it – all a tad embarrassing!


I did however ask the farmer this morning if he had any of his home reared lamb left in his freezer – he is going to have a rummage and let me know. I fancy a good roast on Sunday. I mentioned this to the daughter last night as she was gazing lovingly out of the window at the frolicking and playing new born lambs running in a care free fashion over the fields – not a wise move, I think she will be vegetarian by Sunday!


So, till tomorrow when my peace will be shattered but never mind – it will be fun!


Don’t forget to donate, this is all about raising money for Tommy’s

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Can You Guess Which Of This Crew Is Mrs P???????

More Blue Rinses Than Noodles In Minestrone Soup…….

So, in light of my apparent issues with running and the fact that I will be doing The London Marathon regardless of whatever is going on in my head and I will complete it – even if I crawl – I hit the gym today and in style.

Two hours of hard-core climbing on the stepper and then a good swim and I feel great. I could have done more – I will crack the 24 April come hell or high water!

The chances of a successful swim were pretty much limited – I can safely say that I have never seen so many ladies of more mature years in one place – let along a swimming pool – for quite sometime.


Yeap, there were more blue rinses in that pool than noodles in minestrone soup this morning. Not only that but they were determined to follow their own routes – any diversion was completely disregarded and they were going to plough on at any cost. Anybody in the way was destined to be run down, drowned and left to fester in the deep end of the pool.


Now in theory that is fine – survival of the fittest and all that – in this case I suspect the fittest and most determined were the blue rinses. However thanks to all the dodging and weaving to avoid the more mature swimmers who were fixed purely in maintaining a straight line at all costs, I am convinced that I swam an extra quarter of a mile – at least!

However, all good training.

Will continue to plough on……regardless……


Don’t forget to donate, this is all about raising money for Tommy’s

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Why We Are Doing What We Are Doing – A Recap – Inspirational Annie, A Real Life Story Of Love And Determination

Well today today I am in the hands of BA, (not necessarily a good thing..), as I head back to The Land Of Sand weighed down with Tommy’s t-shirts, Creme Eggs, Frazzles and Prawn Cocktail crisps – oh yes, with the prospect of a 24hr Spinathon next weekend. So there is pretty much no chance to write a new blog today.

So, what better than a recap on one of the reasons why we are doing what we are doing…..

Sometimes it is all well and good writing a humorous blog that keeps people entertained in the hope that at the end of all the craziness and challenges people will be inspired to put their hands in their pockets and donate to Tommy’s.

Our primary reason for doing this is well known, to channel our grief on behalf of our good friends who recently lost their little sunflower at 6 months gestation.

However, everywhere we look there are other families that have been affected by stillbirth, premature birth and miscarriage.

Below is such a case. I am proud to call the McFadden family friends and truly inspirational. They live on our compound here in Riyadh and Annie, (as well as Michael, Cherie and Paul I hasten to add), is a regular face across the compound, at events and generally being a fantastic 8 – almost 9 year old.

Below is the widely available text of a national magazine article from Australia, published sometime ago which details Annie’s journey.

Cherie has today forwarded me the incredible photos which I have inserted in the text.

I hasten to add that I am publishing this on the Every Inch Of Tarmac Blog with Cherie and Paul’s full approval.

For Dear Life

BORN at just 23 weeks, Annie McFadden survived – partially blind, after months of traumatic surgery. But where should doctors draw the line between supporting life and letting go?

Cherie McFadden was just under six months pregnant and sitting at her desk in a high-rise office above Perth when she felt her body lurch suddenly into the early stages of labour.

It was January 2007, and within an hour the 33-year-old was sitting on a bus heading to King Edward Memorial Hospital for Women, crying and fearful, as her husband Paul drove madly down from RAAF Base Pearce on the city’s northern outskirts, where he worked as a pilot.

The couple can still recall every detail of that grim afternoon in the hospital’s maternity ward, in particular the grave face of the obstetrician who advised them that a 22-week-old foetus was almost certain to die outside the womb.

Its skin was so fragile that it could tear like wet paper; its lungs would struggle to process oxygen; its brain and other organs were still not fully formed. In theory, such a baby could be artificially resuscitated, the doctor said, but death or severe disability was almost inevitable.

The McFaddens knew their baby was a girl, and they had already decided to name her Annie.

Now they listened as the doctor explained how their first child would be delivered, would be laid on Cherie’s chest, would make several gasping attempts at breathing, and would die.

But that seeming inevitability never happened, because for the next week Cherie McFadden lay in a hospital bed fighting her body’s urge to give birth while her husband spent hours at home, hunched over his computer as he downloaded hundreds of pages of medical literature on premature birth.

In the course of that research Paul McFadden made a crucial discovery: in a few days’ time his wife’s pregnancy would enter an uncertain area of medical controversy known among neonatologists as the “Grey Zone”.

The Grey Zone is a term coined to describe the three-week span in an unborn baby’s life, between 23 and 25 weeks’ gestation, when survival outside the womb is possible but outcomes are terribly uncertain.

Fifty per cent of the babies born at this gestation will die, and those who live can often be afflicted cerebral palsy, intellectual disability or blindness. Some doctors refuse to resuscitate such fragile infants. But the McFaddens happened to be in the Australian hospital which had the most aggressive policy of supporting “23-weekers” if their parents requested it.

At 3am on January 23, only a few hours after Cherie’s pregnancy officially entered its 23rd week, the McFaddens made that request.

Annie McFadden was about the size of her father’s hand when she was delivered, weighing only 570 grams. “She looked like a baby bird that wouldn’t live,” remembers Paul. “Completely purple, almost black. Totally limp, way beyond anything you think could survive.”


The pediatrician pressed a stethoscope to this tiny creature’s chest and announced, “She’s got a heartbeat”, then inserted a plastic breathing tube down her throat.

Within minutes the McFaddens’ daughter was laid on a steel intensive care warmer and connected by a tangle of tubes and wires to banks of computerised life-support systems. A ventilator delivered oxygen in carefully calibrated doses through her mouth; a catheter was inserted into the umbilical vein in her abdomen, and another pushed through to an artery near her heart to measure blood pressure; a tube was inserted in her stomach to drain off air pushed in by the ventilator, and a sensor attached to her foot measured oxygen saturation in her blood.

Rushed to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, she was hooked up to a drip which fed glucose, amino acids and nutrients through a third catheter in her arm. It would be a month before Cherie McFadden was allowed to touch her.


With machines regulating her breathing, temperature, body fluids and nutrition levels, Annie spent the first two weeks hovering near death as she nearly succumbed to the shock of life outside the womb and a septic blood infection that required multiple transfusions.

Three weeks after delivery her bowel ruptured from a necrotising infection and she was transferred to Princess Margaret Hospital for Children, where surgeons cut open her abdomen from hip to hip and spent five hours mending and removing sections of her lower intestines which were barely wider than spaghetti. A faulty valve near her lungs caused wild gyrations in her blood oxygen levels, and at 30 weeks she developed a lung infection so dire it required the administration of four antibiotics.

In the second month following her birth she nearly died twice – first when a ventilation tube shifted in her airway, and shortly afterwards from severe pneumonia. Antibiotics kept her alive, and steroids were given to promote her lung development.

At 38 weeks severe gastroenteritis nearly killed her, and a week later the retina in her right eye began detaching. For four weeks she underwent a series of operations in which eye surgeons attempted to reattach the retina by burning blood vessels around it with a laser, injecting a gas bubble into the centre of the eyeball, applying microdroplets of dry-ice and finally wrapping the entire eyeball with an elasticised “scleral buckle”.

The surgery saved 20 per cent of her vision in the eye, but two weeks later the entire retina in the other eye detached.

It wasn’t until June 27, five months after her birth, that the McFaddens were finally allowed to bring their baby home.

Since then the couple have had a son, Michael, whose birth last November was perfectly normal.

On a recent winter evening the family’s home in Perth’s southern suburbs is a hive of post-dinner activity as baby Michael is put to bed and Annie runs energetically around the lounge room in her pyjamas. Only at a second glance do you notice that Annie still does not speak, and that the story books littering the floor are written in Braille.

Yes, this is Annie....

Yes, this is Annie….

The McFaddens have thus become one of hundreds of families whose premature baby has miraculously survived, only to be significantly disabled. It’s an outcome that has led them to contemplate some big questions about the nature of life and the limits of medical intervention.

“The bad news doesn’t stop when you come home,” admits Paul. “One of the doctors we consulted compared it to the waves hitting the coast – it just keeps on coming. It might be five years before you discover whether your child is developmentally delayed.”

But as he looks at his daughter, his voice softens. “Whatever outcome Annie has, for her it will be normal. None of us are judged by what we don’t have. I don’t have Einstein’s intellect or Carl Lewis’s speed. Who makes the decision about what quality of life is acceptable?”

Read the full story in The Weekend Australian Magazine – http://m.theaustralian.com.au/life/weekend-australian-magazine/for-dear-life/story-e6frg8h6-1225771969107

So, there you have it. A truly inspiring and moving true story of a gorgeous little girl who we see perhaps not every day but certainly on a very, very regular basis.

So next time I am whinging about aching legs or being saddle sore, I will just look at the pictures of Annie, or even the real thing if she happens to be around, and will promptly shut up.

Can you do the same and help us raise as much money as possible for Tommy’s?

If you are not sure, then for those of you here in Riyadh and on our compound. next time you see a bubbly, laughing, smiling little girl by the name of Annie carrying a cane, please let that help you make your mind up.

Don’t forget to donate, this is all about raising money for Tommy’s

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Well, with a week to go it is time to start working on the details for next week’s Spinning extravaganza!

The timetable is very busy with bikes busy throughout Friday, into the night and then packed for the end on Saturday morning.

There are a few bikes with spaces at various times so if you have not booked your bike yet – give me a shout.

How’s the sponsorship going? Don’t forget the deal is to raise a minimum of 35SR per hour on a bike – you can either pay this yourself or raise it through sponsorship, its up to you. The sponsor forms are already available on this site, the Every Inch Of Tarmac page – www.everyinchoftarmac.com or the Facebook page, www.facebook.com/everyinchoftarmac.com – but if you need me to send you a copy, please drop me a line.

I will be publishing the full timetable closer to the event – so keep an eye on this page.

Think that covers everything for now.


Don’t forget to donate, this is all about raising money for Tommy’s

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Will That Be On A Spin Cycle??

Well fellow Spinathoners – what do you think? Shall we run a laundry at the same time as Spin?????

Wash Your Clothes While You Work Out with this Bicycle-Powered Washing Machine


Don’t forget to donate, this is all about raising money for Tommy’s

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A Very Big Thankyou BAe Systems!


We are delighted to announce that BAe Systems have so generously donated a brand new iPad Air and case as first prize for the Tommy’s Fundraising Campaign raffle.

We are extremely grateful to BAe Systems for this donation, it is an absolutely fantastic and generous gesture. Thank you BAe!
So far the raffle has raised over 2050SR and is ongoing. We have loads of superb prizes which have been so generously donated from so many people across the compound.
Tickets are available at all the coming Tommy’s events and himself  and I will be out and about on Thursday evening to offer the outstanding opportunity of buying into the draw and winning a prize.
So, give us a shout if you want to get some tickets and stand a chance of winning a fantastic prize!


Don’t forget to donate, this is all about raising money for Tommy’s

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On The Scrounge………Please…..???

OK, To  all the Every Inch Of Tarmac, (EIOT), devotees…. I am on the scrounge please.

As you know our massive fund-raising campaign to support Tommy’s, www.tommys.org, is galloping along at a phenomenal pace and we have been both humbled and overwhelmed with everybody’s support and generosity.
One of the many, many activities that is being organised is a raffle and we already have lots and lots of fab prizes that have been donated. We have beauty vouchers, exercise vouchers, dog grooming vouchers, cakes & food vouchers – absolutely fantastic donations for which we are very grateful.
However, as always, we are looking for more and so I am on the scrounge – not just from EIOT devotees here in Saudi, but from those  all over the world.

Everybody knows somebody who can offer something fab, hotel stays, airline tickets, gadgets, technology…….pretty much anything that makes the raffle even more attractive.
So, all the EIOT fans, wherever you may be in the world, please spread this post far and wide so that everybody sees it and we can maximise the potential of this campaign. All prizes would be very, very gratefully received!
Thank you to all the EIOT devotees!

Don’t forget to donate, this is all about raising money for Tommy’s

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Darth Vader On A Surfboard……

As I sit and ponder the day’s events while waiting for the magical Saudia big bird to whisk us off to Abu Dhabi, I reflect on what an odd day it has been so far.


The major focus of this morning was undoubtedly the visit to see the Orthopaedic bod at the hospital. Those who were reading earlier in the week will know that I was very dubious about the visit and in some ways I was proven right and in others I was proven wrong.

Over the years that we have been in the land of sand I have come to the conclusion that Saudi Arabian hospitals are organised chaos. Organised and completely understood by the staff, but presenting itself as complete chaos to the patients.

imageAnyway, after the usual initial difficulties of finding where I had to go, (there are sign posts in the hospitals for all the departments, but an experienced head knows to ignore these, ask for directions and then follow your nose), I arrived in the right place.

I was shown in to see the doc and was greeted by a dude who was more than happy to listen to my ramblings, accepted without hesitation that I knew what I was talking about, agreed entirely that’s the problem is Metatarsalgia with Morton’s Neuroma, (it is nowhere near as exciting as it sounds, trust me), and did not even attempt to tell me not to do London. Good man, I like this man!


He even agreed whole heartedly that there is little point in doing anything other than managing the pain till after London – what a dude! He even didn’t disapprove of my home made metatarsal cushions, in fact I think he was quite impressed!

So x-ray done, MRI next week then see the doc again. Then, all being well see him again a couple of weeks before London when he will shove a big needle into it and fill it with numbing juice – result!

After London he can do what the heck he likes with it, he is on side and willing to play ball for London!

Now that was the good side of the visit, the side that proved me wrong in my scepticism.

Now to the other side. You may recall from earlier this week the tale of the questionable internal ultrasound to assess whether or not I had gallstones. Well, today I had to have my foot x-rayed. No problem there, I have had my feet x-rayed many, many times over the years thanks to over enthusiastic sporting activities and the possibility of concern over this never even crossed my mind.

So, imagine the scene, I was shown into the x-Ray room. The two phillipino radiographers greeted me with the question, ‘we do foot yeah?’, to which I nodded. They then continued with, ‘which one?’. OK, I thought to myself and pointed to my left foot.

It was at this point that radiographer number 1 pointed to the bed and said ‘bed’. I looked round and lo and behold the was a bed, with a bashed up looking wooden box on it with a slit down the middle creating two upright rectangles held together in a wooden frame.

I must have looked a bit vacant, (nothing new there), as radiographer number one repeated again ‘bed’. OK, I thought to myself, perhaps she wants me to sit on the bed as I kept a wary eye on the wooden box. So, I sit on the bed in all innocence. Suddenly there was a mass arm action and the words ‘no, no, on bed’ rolled out of her mouth. OK, so she wanted me to sit on the bed with my legs up straight, but how was meant to do that with the wooden box there? I went to move the box, bad news, anybody would have thought she was storing her father’s ashes in there. Clearly she did not want my legs on the bed.

So, next she gesticulated with wild arm movements and repeated ‘on bed, on bed’. Now, if she didn’t want me to sit on the bed with either my legs up or down what the heck did she want me to do on the bed, (no wise cracks thank you). So at this point I knelt on the bed, although the question of how on earth was she going to x-Ray my food in this position did cross my mind.

Radiographer number 1 was happy with this and then said the immortal words, ‘stand now’. OK, it takes a lot to stun me to silence but this did. She actually wanted me to stand on the bed. I double checked this with her in case there had been a problem in translation, but yes she wanted to stand.

OK, so I slowly and somewhat sceptically climbed to my feet on top of the bed. As I reached standing and I subconsciously adjusted my balance, it became clear that actually the brakes on the bed were not on. As I moved the bed went from side to side lengthways with me balanced precariously on top.

Don’t forget in all this that I was wearing my abaya as I was out and about and with the sideways action of the bed I must have looked like Darth Vader on a surfboard.


At this point radiographer number 1 laughingly said, ‘sorry ma’am, I put brake on’.

It was about now that I actually became quite concerned for my own personal well-being as at this rate the foot problem was going to be the least of my problems as if I fell off this damned bed I would be having a lot more x-rayed than just my foot.

However, I remained English and stoical and waited for the next command. It didn’t come. I looked down to see radiographer number 1 stood at my feet with her hand on the wooden box.

‘Eventually the command of foot on here sprung forth. While being a little bit cautious above the vulnerability of my situation I lifted my left leg onto the block. Another pregnant pause as our friend was clearly expecting me to do something else but I had no idea what. She then starting tapping the other side of the block with her hand, at which point I took down my left leg and raised my right onto the block.

There was arm waving on a scale that an Italian mother fighting to keep a wasp away from her children would have been proud of and eventually radiographer number 1 spluttered out the words, ‘stand on box’.

Now at this point my face must have been a picture and words failed me. As I looked numbly at our friend I pointed vaguely towards the box and made a sound that to me sounded completely normal and like ‘stand on this box???’ but with hindsight probably was just a grunt.

I received a grunt in return which I assumed meant yes and I promptly started climbing on top of the box on top of the bed.

I am pleased to say I made it, the x-Ray plate was put in the slot between the two rectangles in the box, I was told to move my foot closer to the plate, (easier said than done), the X-ray was taken and I started my descent back down to sea level, well Riyadh level anyway.

A second plate was laid unceremoniously on the floor and I was told to put my foot on it. X-Ray number 2 was completed.

Well, that was all very interesting indeed and I have to say I was pleased to get out of there in one piece and without disaster.

So, MRI next week, the mind boggles how that is going to go and what I will be expected to do for that.

So off we go to Abu Dhabi, no actual running today but will be planking in a while. There will I am sure be drama and whinging as the men in my life join in and quite possibly J’s best buddy as well, but never mind. The running kit is packed and will be hauled out and into action at some point.
Anyway, the Saudia big bird is descending and that means that Mrs M should have vino in the fridge waiting for our arrival. So, best I sign off, pack up and prepare for my first vino in quite a few weeks……


Don’t forget to donate, this is all about raising money for Tommy’s

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Oh What A Day……….

Even I have been humbled by today. Yes, the non-emotional, non fluffy, touchy feely author of this blog. It has been emotional as well as frustrating, painful, exhilarating & scary.


The Tommy’s Tea, looked resplendent in their t-shirts and we certainly ran our socks off – in Michelle’s case quite literally as she resorted to taking her trainers off and running the last 2 miles just in her socks.

There is an incredible sense of pride this evening among the entire Tommy’s Team here, not just the runners but also those who cheered us on – and there were plenty of them. Facebook has been buzzing with messages, posts and updates and if you go to the Facebook page you will see the album ‘Sangcom Half Marathon 2016’ which contains loads of the photos taken by various different people and all lumped together in the album.


Well, we all started and we all finished. We all ache and we all know that today we have run a half-marathon. However, we all also know that we have completed one of the Sporting Challenges and that we have already raised a pretty impressive chunk of money for Tommy’s . Those facts in themselves make it all worthwhile.

So a shortened blog this evening – I really need my bed!

More to follow tomorrow.

Don’t forget to donate, this is all about raising money for Tommy’s

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