Nightmare Dog-Owner Graduates School(-house)

May I speak about my great running week first? I've had two 15-year Personal Bests. Having kept at it since last summer, I finally got a run below 7 minutes per kilometer, 6:58 to be precise. Babies crawl that fast, but you know how childish you can become as you age. And I did my first 10K run today. O.K., 9.5K; I need to dream up a new course.

We are selling our house, the Valley School, as it translates into English. Or Combe School if you're English. Funny, we've lived here for fifteen years, at least 3 times as long as I've ever lived anywhere, but I feel no regret at leaving it.

We are going to build a straw bale house. (Please, we've heard all the 3 Little Pigs jokes.) And we're building it ourselves. If things go well, we will be leaving the schoolhouse in August. If they don't, we'll be leaving sometime, anyway. We don't have land, yet, but we have hopes and will keep you posted.

More than posted. I am setting up a new blog, name to be decided, to journal our activities. In France, anyone who is building their own house (un auto-constructeur) blogs or joins bulletin boards. They share techniques, budgets, resources, mistakes and other joys of building with like-minded souls and some of the like-minded souls show up on your building site to learn and to help.

We, in fact, have been helping some friends in the next village build their hemp brick house. We've learned a lot of what to do and what not to do. When their house is finished, they will help us. (Don't feel that you have to be a friend or acquaintance to volunteer. Anyone who wants to help will be welcome. Free room and board. How hard can it be if I'm doing it?) Last week we spent a day plastering (clay and lime) a 6² meter of this house to learn the technique. And learned more of what to do and what not to do. I feel certain, however, that there are plenty of mistakes left for us to make, too.

Nothing daunted, armed with little cash, several animals and a ton of books on straw bale building, we march forward.

Ah, no, we don't yet know where we're going to live in the meantime.

Colonel Blimp and the Burnham Jogger

We are about to embark upon a string a non sequiturs. Fear not. It will all come together in the end.

Item. You may not know Colonel Blimp, the eternally annoyed, jingoistic creation of the cartoonist David Low. But do check the link, so you know what the Colonel looks like. There is also a marvelous old Powell/Pressburger film about him. Highly recommended: The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp.

Item. Do you know that your local newspaper is always desperate for stories? Desperate! They'll print anything. Call them up and tell them your dog ate scrambled eggs for breakfast. They'll print it. They aren't disposed to wait for Man Bites Dog. Dog Bites Egg is just fine. Fill that space!

In fact, I didn't telephone, but Maidenhead is a small town and the Maidenhead Advertiser found out about me. An American in England. (Yawn.) A woman. (Oh, yeah?) And a manager. (Got me. That was unusual in England in the early 80s.) The Advertiser sent a reporter to my office/house to interview me. She started with my age. Newspapers always have to know how old you are. They have this in common with race directors.

The reporter brought a photographer. But a woman sitting at her desk in a linen suit is bor-or-ring. Would I mind changing into my running clothes and we'll go to the tow path and photograph you there?

What the hell. I change clothes and we go down to the Thames and I sit on a rock. The photographer photographs. I sit elsewhere. The photographer photographs. We go for an action shot. The photographer photographs. I pose in front of the houses of the rich and famous. The photographer photographs.

You're waiting for the photograph, aren't you? Sorry. I don't know where the newspaper article is. But after it appeared in the paper, the reporter telephoned me to ask if I would like a few of the photographs that didn't appear. There were some wonderful ones," she said. "Much better than the one we printed, but we couldn't use them. Still, I thought you might like see."

And she was right. I went to collect the pictures. It was worth taking up running. Here I am: Burnham Jogger with Colonel Blimp.