Run FatBlog Run (Oulton Park)

Those of you who have been paying attention, will know that I have set myself a challenge for 2018 – to run ten 10k races for my chosen charity, Kidscan (they’re a children’s cancer charity based in Salford, and you should definitely check out the hard work they do here: www.kidscan.org.uk).

Now, my plan is to write a blog entry about each race, but if it gets to the point where I have nothing interesting to say about a particular event, that plan may change. I am only too aware how boring running blogs can be – because proper runners are, by and large, extremely dull people – but I am anything but a proper runner, so we should be fine.

If you’re reading this hoping for an in-depth analysis of a 10k race, with detailed course descriptions, training regimes and meal plans, then jog on (pun intended). If, however, you are the sort of person who revels in another human being’s misery, as he drags his middle-aged carcass around a running circuit, before collapsing in a sweaty broken heap (and I know you are), then by all means proceed.

Fortunately, my first 10k for this challenge was at Oulton Park a couple of weeks ago, and this is not only an interesting setting for a race, but there were a few moments which I feel are worth sharing. That said, I am constantly monitoring the stats for my blog, and if these running entries start to prove unpopular at any point, then… nah, fuck it, I’m writing them anyway.

By dedicating an entry to each event, I am hoping to compare and rate them all, for future generations of out-of-shape sloths to learn from.

For those of you who have never heard of Oulton Park, it is a motor racing circuit in the heart of Cheshire, and, since one lap is approximately two miles long (well, it is if you cut the loop around the lake out – which was the organisers idea, by the way, before you assume I cheated), it lends itself rather well to a 10k event.

By moving the start line a few hundred yards on from the usual motor racing grid, runners can complete just under three laps of the track, before cutting in to the pit lane for a sprint across the finish line. How very exciting. And, by ‘exciting’, I do of course mean ‘dull and exhausting’.

You see, having never been to Oulton Park before, I was under the impression the course would be relatively flat – thanks, in no small part, to the organisers describing the course as ‘relatively flat’. This, to an inexperienced (and not very good) runner, is about the best news you can receive – short of discovering there is a lap dancing tent at the finish line.

What I now know, and what most experienced 10k runners almost certainly know already, is that race organisers are to the running world, what estate agents are to the property market: lying bastards. For example, if an estate agent describes a particular room as ‘compact’, it generally means you would struggle to house the family guinea pig in there. Equally, if an estate agent tells you the house you are viewing is ‘convenient for trains’, it would probably be a good idea to double-check that the proposed HS2 route isn’t going to pass right through your new back garden.

By the time I had completed my first lap, I had formed the opinion that 10k event organisers are most likely estate agents during the week, because it turned out that, when they described the Oulton Park circuit as ‘relatively flat’, with ‘slight undulations’, what they actually meant was ‘there are points on the track where you may want to hire some climbing equipment, and perhaps employ a fucking sherpa’.

For example, there was one particular incline on the circuit (I forget the name), where I swear there was a base camp situated half way up, for those with altitude sickness to get some much-needed medical attention.  It was ridiculously steep.

What made matters worse, was that I knew I had to do two more laps of the circuit before crossing the finish line, so I had to psychologically prepare myself to run up the equivalent of Ben Nevis twice more, knowing I would be more and more exhausted each time I faced it.

I suspect, if I hadn’t set myself a series of targets for this challenge, and if I were not doing this for charity, I may very well have walked some of the Oulton Park 10k; but I was determined not to let anyone down. My targets – other than raising at least £1,000 for Kidscan – are, in decreasing order of importance, as follows:

Target 1: To run all ten events, without stopping or walking at any point;

Target 2: To finish all ten events in under fifty minutes;

Target 3: To finish in the top third of all entrants;

Target 4: To not cry or shit myself.

Targets 1 and 2 are very important to me. I must run all ten events, and I am desperate to do them in under fifty minutes. I would like to finish in the top third each time, but won’t lose any sleep if I don’t. If I cry or shit myself, well, so be it.

Fortunately, I am off to a good start, in that I completed the Oulton Park event without stopping, in a time of 49:11, finishing 65th out of 255 runners (so, for those who struggle with maths, the top third was anything higher than 85th place). Also, I didn’t cry, or – to my knowledge – shit myself.

All in all, a good day at the races (again, pun intended), and even I have to admit the sprint finish down the pit lane, with the crowd cheering all the runners on, was pretty special (although my euphoria was primarily down to the realisation the race was mercifully over).

The Pit Lane

I did say at the start of this entry, however, that I wanted to compare all of the 10k events I am doing this year, in a series of important categories. Therefore, here is my first review:

Time: 49:11

Position: 65th (out of 255)

Cost: £25.00 (the most expensive event I have entered – so far)

And now for the ratings…

Course: Not as flat as I would have liked (and as promised), and not particularly scenic, but definitely unique, the ground was obviously nice and smooth, and it was impossible to get lost 6/10

Weather: Thankfully dry, but very windy, and freezing cold (around 1°c) 3/10

Organisation: Pretty good. Plenty of pre-race details, well-organised on the day, and my only complaint was the rushed start with little warning 7/10

Official Photos: Plenty of them (even though I look dreadful in most – here’s a selection) 7/10

Medal: Made of metal, solid looking, and stylish. An impressive 8/10

Goody-bag: Well, there wasn’t one really. At the Sandbach 10k last September, we got given drinks bottles and a funny hat thing (one of which leaks, and the other makes me look like a twat), but in place of this we were handed a rather fetching t-shirt, and I would far sooner wear that. Lovely. 8/10

Post-race refreshment: A mixed bag here. On the one hand, I was approached by a lady just after I had finished the race, who offered me a bottle of water and some whey protein powder to put into it.

I was immediately apprehensive, having never tried whey protein before, and when I heard her say there were two flavours, one of which was ‘strawberry’, I decided I would opt for the alternative (even though I hadn’t heard the end of what she said). For some reason, the prospect of strawberry-flavoured protein water made my stomach churn, and I firmly believed the second option must be preferable.

I was wrong.

In case you cannot make that out, the alternative flavour was ‘birthday cake’. Needless to say, the pack remains unopened in our kitchen.

On the other hand, shortly after discovering I was now the proud owner of  vomit-inducing birthday cake mixture in a packet, the Oulton Park organisers redeemed themselves with the sort of delights a pretentious pop singer might request in their rider: trays of jaffa cakes and jelly babies. Ok, Isaac stole the three jaffa cakes I grabbed for myself, so I never got to enjoy their orangey-goodness, but fair play, Oulton Park, fair play indeed. 7/10

Summary:

Course – 6/10

Weather – 3/10

Organisation 7/10

Photos – 7/10

Medal – 8/10

Goody-bag – 8/10

Refreshments – 7/10

All of which gives the Oulton Park 10k a grand total of 46/70 (or 66%, if you prefer).

Not the best of scores, but the weather really let them down. You could argue this wasn’t really their fault, but you have to bear in mind that they chose to organise the event in February, so what did they expect?

Next up, is the Arley Hall 10k tomorrow morning. If you’d like to keep closer track on my progress, or make a little donation, the full details of my challenge are here:

https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/greg10x10k

Thanks for reading.

 

Advertisement

Sunday Bloggy Sunday

Or “The 10k Race That Never Was”.

I’ll pre-empt this week’s entry, by admitting that it is technically about running, but I don’t want that to put you off reading. I am well aware that running blogs are often very dull (because, well, people who run regularly – and like to write about it – are themselves sinfully boring), but I wish to distinguish this entry in one important respect: no actual running took place.

Regular readers (God bless you both), or those who know me in ‘real life’, will be aware that I have set myself a challenge for 2018: to run ten 10k races for my chosen charity, Kidscan. Kidscan are based in Salford (but don’t hold that against them), and they carry out vital research into childhood cancer, so a worthier cause you could not hope to find.

You will also be aware that, until last Easter, I had not run in several years, and despite having the sort of slender physique that might lend itself to distance running (certainly more so than to, say, bodybuilding, manual labour, or attracting the opposite sex), I am definitely not a runner. In fact, it would be fair to conclude that I am to running, what Verne Troyer is to basketball. What Kim Jong-un is to haircuts. What Donald Trump is to…. well, anything really. You get the gist.

Having registered for nine of my ten races, with plenty of options for the final one later this year, the inaugural event was intended to be the Kidsgrove 10k last Sunday. Some of you will already be aware that this did not exactly go according to plan, in that it didn’t ‘go’ at all.

Booking a running race for January is risky, as the weather at the start of the year is always likely to pose a threat to the event taking place, but the organisers had cautiously set aside two ‘reserve’ dates for February, in case the conditions became too treacherous for the run to proceed as planned. Unfortunately, however, last Sunday Mother Nature decided to (literally) piss on everyone’s parade, with very little warning whatsoever.

Towards the end of last week, it became clear to all involved, that the Kidsgrove 10k was likely to take place in somewhat Baltic conditions, as temperatures were dropping faster than a hooker’s underwear, but a little cold never hurt anyone (apart from elderly people with no winter fuel allowance), so the event was certainly not in any doubt.

Furthermore, my preparations were going quite well, in that I had done a couple of practice runs around my home town of Sandbach, and could seemingly manage five miles (roughly 8k) without needing medical attention. Ok, I wasn’t going to break any records, but I was on target to finish in under fifty minutes, which is the threshold I have set myself for these ten races. In short, I was quietly confident of at the very least not dying.

Then, on Sunday morning, as my family and I set off towards Kidsgrove (which is about ten miles away), the weather quickly progressed from ‘cold drizzle’ to ‘blizzard’ to ‘fuck me sideways’, in the space of a few minutes. And, whilst my inner nerd is always secretly delighted at the prospect of driving in sleet and snow (so I can pretend to be Han Solo, piloting the Millennium Falcon through hyperspace), on this occasion my inner nerd was firmly cocooned within the outer-shell of someone who had to go for a fucking run, and it would be fair to say my outer shell was thoroughly pissed off with this meteorological turn of events.

I turned to Chewbacca (my wife – although I must stress that she bears no resemblance to the famous wookie, even when she hasn’t shaved her legs in a while), and expressed my dissatisfaction with the deteriorating weather; but all I gained in response, was the fact she was going to have to stand in the sleet with our two boys, whilst I at least got to run around in it to keep warm.

I thought about arguing back, along the lines that she was wearing a coat, while I was in a running top and shorts (and therefore in grave danger of losing my genitals to frostbite), but thought better of it. Over the years, I have realised it is always best to let the Wookie win. I therefore apologised, wholeheartedly, for dragging her and the boys out in such terrible weather, and I promised to run my (soon to be frozen solid) arse off, so we could get back home as quickly as possible.

When we arrived at the school which had been turned into ‘Race HQ’ for the morning, it seemed most of my fellow runners were in good spirits despite the weather, which only added fuel to my argument that ‘proper’ runners are, by and large, utter wankers.

I collected my race number and electronic timing chip, the latter of which I had to securely fasten to my running shoes, and began to warm up in my brand new, bespoke, charity running shirt:

I should explain, at this stage, that the organisers had decided to split the event into two start times: 10am for the ‘elite’ runners who were expecting to finish in under fifty minutes, and 11am for everyone else. Now, even though my only prior 10k had resulted in a time of 49:12, and I have set myself the unofficial target of running these ten races in under fifty minutes, I still opted to enter the 11am race to be on the safe side.

My reasoning for this, was that it would be far better to take part in the slower race, and then hopefully surprise everyone by finishing in under fifty minutes and somewhere near the front, than pushing myself to compete in the elite race, finishing stone cold last, and crying as I vomited into a bush. Besides, if I ever get to the stage of thinking I am an ‘elite’ runner, I will have become one of them: I will be a running wanker.

Anyway, at approximately 10:45am, someone with a megaphone stood on a chair, and shouted that, for safety reasons, the organisers had decided to change the course at the last minute. Essentially, the unexpected – and seemingly relentless – downpour of snow, had made some of the country paths very slippery, so the route was altered to stick to roads and pavements instead.

This didn’t really bother me. I mean, sure, I might have stayed up late the night before, memorising the intended route so that I didn’t get lost and look a complete tit, but I wasn’t going to let a last minute change of plan panic me.

Nope. Not me.

Ok, maybe a little.

Then, as if I wasn’t nervous enough, I suddenly realised I had left my mp3 player in the car, and had a little under eight minutes to ‘run’ back and get it.

In jogging/skating/sliding back to the car, I suddenly realised how dangerous even the roads were, and how there was not a cat in hell’s chance of me finishing the race in under fifty minutes. In fact, if I arrived back to ‘Race HQ’ by nightfall, I’d consider that a fucking win. The weather was frankly ridiculous.

Evidently, the organisers were quickly forming the same opinion, because at precisely 11am, as we all lined up ready to start the race, ‘megaphone man’ (the most disappointing – albeit loudest – of all the superheroes) re-appeared and informed us all that the event had unfortunately been cancelled.

He explained that the elite wankers had just finished their 10am race, and the conditions had become so treacherous that a number had fallen (cue smug smile crossing my lips, at the mental image of some dipshit in running tights skidding face first into a wheelie bin) – so, for safety reasons, they couldn’t possibly let us run.

The start line – spot the lanky blueberry

Amazingly, despite it being cold, wet, and hazardous – not to mention the fact I really dislike running – I was honestly gutted. As well as having mentally prepared myself, I’m doing these ten races for charity, and I (rather sadistically) felt that if my first race was in shitty conditions, I was earning every donation just that little bit more. The whole point of doing this, is that it is genuinely challenging. If I was going to try and raise money by doing something I actually enjoy, I’d get people to sponsor me to eat chocolate hobnobs in my underwear.*

*just to clarify, I would be eating the hobnobs while wearing my underwear, rather than scoffing them out of my underwear. Those pesky chocolate smears would be hard to explain to the wife.

What I will say, in hindsight, is that it was absolutely the right decision. All joking aside, one of the elite runners did require an ambulance (and we were later informed a paramedic on a motorbike had also skidded and been hurt) so, although I was disappointed to go all that way in terrible weather for nothing, it was infinitely preferable to running, breaking something (and I would have broken something) and jeopardising the entire challenge. Plus, these guys really weren’t in the mood to stand in the snow for an hour while I ran:

So, my first race will now be at Oulton Park on 25th February, and if anyone would like to come along to support me, or better still donate to my challenge, you’ll find all the details here:

http://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/greg10x10k

Thanks for reading.

Blogged Determination

I’ve set myself a challenge for 2018. Yes, I know it’s a little early for New Year’s resolutions, but once the X-Factor live-shows start, it’s basically Christmas, right?

I’ve undertaken some stupid challenges in my time; however, generally speaking, I have always ended up being proud of what I achieved, usually because I was raising money for charity at the time – and you can get away with some pretty weird shit when it’s for a good cause.

“I’ve decided to hop to work on Thursday, dressed as Scooby Doo.”

“Are you mad? It’s three miles!”

“I know, but I’m raising money for The National Association of Disabled Great Danes.”

“Ah, fair enough. A fiver ok?”

In 2001, I watched all the James Bond films back-to-back (up to, and including, The World Is Not Enough), with a good friend of mine from Law School – we’ll call him Gerard because, well, that’s his name. It took us forty-three hours (without sleep) and, from a medical point of view, I believe our condition at the end of the ordeal would be best described as ‘a bit fucked-up.’

I can only take my wife’s word for this, because I have very little recollection of events from the start of Goldeneye onward, other than a vague memory of me being topless, and trying to mould a third nipple (in homage to Scaramanga’s anatomical abnormality in The Man With the Golden Gun), from some dampened pink toilet paper.

It’s no wonder I never heard back from that Blue Peter audition.

Then, in 2008, Gerard persuaded me to join him in a charity abseil, down the side of the Europa Hotel in Belfast. At 51 metres high, The Europa boasts (if ‘boasts’ is in fact the right word) the title of being the ‘most bombed hotel in the world’ – and I threw myself off the side of it (admittedly attached to a rope, I’m not a complete moron).

To make matters worse, I was chronically hungover at the time, and still suffering the effects of a dodgy Lebanese kebab that I had drunkenly scoffed the night before. The people of Belfast will never know how close they came to literally being ‘shat on from a great height’.

I sometimes question why I remain friends with Gerard, because he is clearly not very good for my health (mental or physical), but he and I are very similar in many respects. In fact, we share so many common interests, the only clearly distinguishable difference between us (other than physical appearance – and even then, with the exception of his facial hair, we are not overly dissimilar), is that he is, without doubt, psychologically unhinged.

He’s like my reckless, sociopathic, death-defying alter ego from Northern Ireland. If it turned out that he is in fact a figment of my sub-conscious (a little like the Edward Norton / Brad Pitt relationship in Fight Club*), I would not be entirely surprised. I may, however, question why my psyche has given him an accent that I couldn’t fully understand for the first few months of our friendship.

(*belated spoiler alert. Sorry if you’ve not seen the film, but it’s been out nearly twenty years, so you only have yourself to blame. Oh, and Bruce Willis is a ghost in The Sixth Sense, too. Oops.)

Partly because Gerard lives in Ireland, partly because we both now have families to look after, and partly because (as my wife constantly reminds me), prolonged exposure to some of Gerard’s ‘suggestions’, would almost certainly result in my boys growing up without a father, we haven’t seen each other in a few years. It’s probably for the best though, because the last time I spoke to him, he was still harping on about us kayaking down the River Lagan in Belfast, dressed as Mel Gibson’s William Wallace character from Braveheart. I’m not even sure why.

Anyway, as usual I digress. The bottom line is, I still like to set new challenges for myself every now and then (e.g. getting more than three hours of sleep, eating an entire packet of chocolate Hobnobs in one sitting, climbing a flight of stairs without developing back/knee/chest pains, etc…), but with one important distinction: I won’t be attempting anything dangerous. As such, skydiving and bungee jumping are definitely out of the question, as is swimming with sharks, cliff diving, and going to Port Vale away ever again.

These days, as I hurtle towards middle-age, I prefer my charity escapades to be feats of endurance, rather than anything which might result in serious injury or death. So, with that in mind, I have previously organised sponsored walks to away football matches (Macclesfield in 2013, and Hyde in 2015), as well as last year’s ‘Big Road Trip’, which involved myself and another good friend (who we shall call Gareth), driving 1,000 miles around the country, visiting twenty-eight football grounds in one weekend.

Our adopted good cause for these previous events, has been a children’s cancer charity based in Salford, called ‘Kidscan’. I first became aware of Kidscan, through my dealings with an online Stockport County fans’ forum in 2013, and since childhood cancer was affecting my wife’s family at the time, that’s when I took the decision to organise the first sponsored walk.

For my latest venture, I wanted to depart from anything to do with County (partly because there are no convenient away fixtures that we could realistically walk to this season – at least, not without a risk of snow – and partly because I simply fancied a change of direction), so I decided that my new hobby of running might be a suitable platform. Actually, ‘hobby’ implies that I enjoy running, whereas I merely tolerate it, in order to halt the advancement of middle-age spread. In all honesty, I am to running, what Boris Johnson is to foreign relations. Or running.

Having ruled out some kind of distance target (in my sleep-deprived state, I genuinely/naively Googled ‘how far is it to the moon?’, and then immediately dismissed the idea, when it transpired I would need to average 654 miles a day, for the entire year, to achieve my goal), I began considering other options.

Then, in a moment of weakness, I thought back to my first ever 10k race in September. At the time (and for a few days afterwards), I was telling anyone who would listen that I would never do it again. With aching limbs (and moderately tender nipples), still very much fresh in my memory, I had more chance of entering Iraq, or Katie Hopkins, than another 10k event.

However, time is very much a healer – of both memories and nipples (note to self: consider ‘Memories and Nipples’ as potential autobiography title), and it wasn’t long before I questioned whether I had been prematurely dismissive of competitive running. Maybe  I could grow to love it. Perhaps this was my sport after all. Perhaps I could still – even at my advanced stage of life – become one of the world’s great distance runners?

Ok, fine, if I’m honest, I just want more shiny medals to add to my collection (of one). Does that make me a bad person? No. If anything, it makes me a fucking magpie.

Then, one morning, I settled on the idea of running a number of 10k races throughout 2018. I briefly contemplated a challenge of doing one a month, but found this not only difficult to organise (I wanted to keep the events local, and there isn’t quite one a month in the surrounding area), but I also might need some flexibility in case of injury etc. So, having changed my plan slightly, I decided to try and run 10x10k instead.

The more I investigated the various running events throughout the calendar year, the more I realised that they all see it as one big competition between themselves, as they battle to be the best 10k event in Cheshire (not that such an accolade actually exists).

The ‘Knutsford 10k’ organisers claim to have the prettiest course and the biggest medal; the Alderley Edge 10k may be boring (the route essentially takes you down the ‘new’ bypass and back again), but is largely flat and promises the fastest times, not to mention a t-shirt in your goody bag at the finish; the ‘Poynton 10k’ is apparently like an assault course, with a route that includes some steps and a stile (although I do not necessarily consider this to be a good thing, as it’s meant to be a 10k race, not fucking Ninja Warrior UK).

In fact, each of my local 10k races seems to boast something the other’s don’t have, as if fickle sods like me are only attracted to material items and gimmicks, rather than the sheer love of running (ok, they got me, I’m only doing this for the silverware).

Each of the races I looked at, within a 25 mile radius of Sandbach, had their own individual appeal, with the exception of Market Drayton. Not only do they keep the contents of their goody bag a secret until the day of the race (how can I tell if I want to run their stupid 10k, until I know what I get at the end?), but the wearing of headphones is ‘strictly forbidden’ (despite it being a perfectly safe, fully road-closed, course) and results in instant disqualification. Well, Market Drayton 10k, I don’t care if you ‘sold out within 24 hours’ last year, as far as I’m concerned you can piss off with your shitty secretive goody bag, and I’m not running unless I can have music to distract me from my burning nips.

I’ve already paid the entry fee for five races: Kidsgrove in January, Poynton in March, Whitchurch in April, Knutsford in June, and Alderley Edge in July; and I have four other definite races pencilled in, which aren’t currently open for registration (including a repeat of the Sandbach 10k next September). For my tenth race, I am toying with the idea of a trip to see the in-laws in Norwich next August (which would be the largest event by some margin – several thousand runners, in fact), but there are a few alternative options if that doesn’t work out.

For now, I’m just eager to get going, as I think I’ll be less apprehensive when I have the first few races under my belt by Easter. All details – which will be updated as I go along – are contained within my JustGiving page, https://www.justgiving.com/greg10x10k, and if you feel like sponsoring me nearer the time, or joining me at any of the races (or both), well that’d be just grand.

And the best part about all of this? That’s at least ten blog entries for 2018 already.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Blogs Are Back In Town

Last week, I told you about the first day of the charity road trip that my friend Gareth and I took part in at the end of June, and when we left the story, Gareth and I were retiring to bed (separately) at my in-laws in Norwich…

Sunday 26^th June 2016 – 08:00

After breakfast, our trip continued very much as it had finished on the Saturday evening – bang on time. We aimed to depart my in-laws at 8:00am, and depart at 8:00am we most certainly did.

Realising it would not take us an hour to get to our first destination of the day, Lowestoft Town (even allowing for the fact we might have to pass through some kind of passport control to get there, being situated, as it is, somewhere near fucking Holland), we decided to visit yet another bonus ground – Norwich City’s Carrow Road. Little did we know that, upon leaving ‘The Canaries’, we were about to encounter an entirely different kind of bird altogether….

#12 – Lowestoft Town – 09:00

Our arrival at Lowestoft Town was greeted by four people, including a lady who was easily the best dressed of the entire trip (even accounting for the gate-crashed wedding reception at Boston the night before).

‘Helen’ (I’m calling her that because, well, it was her name) looked resplendent in a long purple ball gown, complete with giant beehive hair-do. Quite what possessed her to dress like that, in order to meet two strangers in a football ground car park, remains a mystery, but we soon learned that she often ‘overdresses for the football’, and had not, contrary to our first suspicions, simply crawled out of bed from whichever party she had attended the night before.

Two things struck me about Helen, and I suspect they both struck Gareth too, such were their colossal size. It was like she had smuggled two bald men into her very low cut dress, and neither of them were especially keen on staying in there. I hope I speak for both Gareth and I when I say we are not perverts, but if we looked anywhere within a five metre radius of Helen, passers-by would naturally assume we were ogling her boobs. They were so big, I would not be surprised if they had their own gravitational field.

It then transpired that the other lady in the group was the club photographer, and they had kindly opened the ground to take official pictures on the pitch. As Gareth and I stood at the centre circle next to Helen, she began to glance downwards (in hindsight, I suspect she was simply adjusting her scarf), before suddenly asking ‘Oh, and have you met Matthew and Daniel?’

Now, it later transpired that she knew two Stockport fans who had travelled down the previous season, and she wondered whether we also knew them (we didn’t), but our initial assumption was that she had actually – and rather comically – named her breasts ‘Matthew’ and ‘Daniel’ (or, presumably, ‘Matty’ and ‘Danny’ once you got to know them a little better). This kept us entertained, and laughing, for at least the next hour…

#13 – Corby Town – 11:45

Having waved goodbye to ‘the Trawlerboys’ (Lowestoft’s nickname, rather than another unfortunate sobriquet for Helen’s ample bosom), we faced our longest journey of the weekend – just over two hours to Corby Town.

Having briefly stopped at another bonus ground en route (Histon) we arrived only slightly behind schedule, and were met by another exiled County fan – ‘Market Harborough Hatter’ – with his two young daughters. Not only did his daughters produce some bags of change to go in our collection tins, but he then presented us with a County shirt worn by one of our legends many years ago, which he was generously donating for us to auction.

The five of us then entered the ground, to be greeted by the sight of balloons, flags and colourful bunting. Initially overwhelmed by such a tremendous gesture, we then spotted a large bouncy castle on the pitch, and realised none of it was for us.

Sure enough, we had now managed to gate-crash a children’s birthday party as well, although when the chap behind the bar found out why we were actually there, it turned out he had heard about our trip, and kindly invited us in for a quick drink.

#14 – Brackley Town – 13:25

Fuck me, that’s bleak.

Chalking up yet another bonus ground on the way (Northampton Town’s ‘Sixfields’ Stadium), we arrived at Brackley just under half an hour late. ‘The Saints’ had certainly not come marching in to meet us however, so we managed to take a quick photo of a stand which closely resembled a Cold War bunker, and then got back on the road to try and make some time up.

#15 – Gloucester City – 14:45

Gloucester City’s ground was badly flooded a few years ago (making it easier to bring their subs on, arf!), so they currently play their home games at Cheltenham Town’s ‘Whaddon Road’, which was actually a bit nearer for us, and enabled us to restrict our tardiness to just fifteen minutes.

We were met by Gareth’s sister-in-law and her partner, but realising we still had most of the Midlands still to conquer, we were unable to spend as long with them as we would have liked.

#16 – Worcester City – 15:50

Like Gloucester City, Worcester also spent last season residing at their neighbours’ larger property, playing their home matches at ‘Aggborough’ – the home of Kidderminster Harriers. Here we met a good friend of Gareth’s – ‘Kiddy Andy’ (being a reference to his supporting of the Harriers, rather than anything more distasteful) – but again we were sadly unable to spend very long with him.

Andy kindly presented us with a bottle of beer each to enjoy when we got home that evening, and we bid him farewell (making a quick detour to Worcester’s new ground in, erm…. Bromsgrove, before our next stop).

#17 – Solihull Moors – 17:00

Solihull were the other team to be promoted from County’s league last season and, like North Ferriby the day before, their ground was also a disappointing cesspit. Continuing my tradition of christening certain grounds, I again took a piss behind their stand (although, unlike at Stalybridge, this was a urinary protest), and away we went.

#18 – Nuneaton Town – 17:30

I think this picture says it all really. Shut. Shit. Move on.

#19 – Tamworth FC – 17:55

Prior to our trip, I had joined as many online supporter groups as I could – in an attempt to spread the word of what we were doing – and while the response from Nuneaton’s fans had initially been very positive (even though no one bothered to actually donate or turn up to meet us), their bitter rivals Tamworth were the complete opposite.

In fact, I only received one reply to my post on their forum, and it was more of a pro-Brexit rant than anything else, so my view of Tamworth was not particularly favourable before we arrived. However, that was all about to change.

One Nuneaton fan had jokingly referred to Tamworth’s Lamb Ground as ‘the tip’ (even promising to donate, if we would take some of his garden waste with us to deposit there), but, having subsequently seen Nuneaton’s ‘Liberty Way’ ground from their rusted and locked gates, his comment struck me as very much ‘people in fuck-ugly glass houses….’

In fairness, The Lamb Ground was hardly the Taj Mahal either (a delightful looking curry house we had passed on the way), but that was mostly due to the fact they were laying a brand new pitch at the time. What matters, is the welcome we received.

Unlike at Harrogate and Lowestoft – where we had anticipated some form of greeting – we hadn’t had any contact from Tamworth whatsoever, so when we arrived and saw a few cars in the car park, we initially feared a repeat of the ‘Glanford Doggers’ from the day before.

However, it turned out that, far from being unsavoury sex-pests, the five Tamworth fans who had braved the rain to honour our (late) arrival, were the loveliest of people. Not only did they invite us in to the ground to have more official photographs taken, but they then presented us with a huge bag of goodies, including snacks, drinks, and even a signed football for auctioning.

As a result, Tamworth – rather unexpectedly – joined Harrogate and Lowestoft in our top 3 clubs of the weekend.

#20 – Hednesford Town – 18:35

The only downside to such a nice reception at Tamworth (when we had been expecting a quick photo and hasty departure), was that we were now badly behind schedule again. Fortunately, not only had I over-estimated how long it would take to get to our penultimate ground, Hednesford’s ‘Keys Park’, but it was again locked and deserted, so the quick photo we had planned at Tamworth, merely got delayed by one stop.

Determined to try and get as near to the ground as possible (which looked more like a factory or army barracks than a football stadium), we parked up at the gates, leapt over them, and ran down the track that lead to their main stand like we were on ‘Challenge Anneka’ (or another more current – and less camp – reference).

We posed, comically, outside their main entrance, before noticing the signs which warned that there was constant CCTV in operation. Oh well, that should give the security team something to talk about (although not, I would imagine, as much to feast their eyes on as their counterparts at Scunthorpe).

#21 – AFC Telford – 19:15

Our last ground of the adventure before heading back to Edgeley Park. No official welcome again, but we were met by our good friend and fellow County fan ‘Shropshire Hatter’, who posed for some quick photographs, before making his way home in the rain.

And that was it. The race was then on to get back to Edgeley Park for our scheduled arrival time of 9:00pm.

Edgeley Park – 21:05

Ok, we didn’t quite make it back on time, but turning up only five minutes late, having driven over one thousand miles, was not to be sniffed at, and we had two good reasons for being ever-so-slightly late.

Firstly, we were very nearly involved in a nasty crash, when I came around the bend on a country lane to be greeted – very abruptly – by the mangled wreckage of a car blocking the road. Thankfully, not only did everyone appear to be ok, but my reflexes were not as subdued as they might have been after such a long drive, and we were able to safely navigate around the crash without further incident.

Any confidence in my driving ability was, however, rather short-lived, as a far more serious incident occurred only moments later. Remember how I mentioned, at the start of last week’s entry, that there had been a murder on the trip? Well, I was the murderer, and my car was the weapon.

Actually, ‘murder’ is a little extreme a description, but I may not have held your interest for so long, had I more accurately referred to the crime as ‘vehicular avian slaughter’. In fact, technically, it was vehicular avian suicide, and that is certainly what I would argue in a court of law, but I doubt the surviving family members (the ones who didn’t bounce off the front of my car and end up in a hedge) would see it that way. Oh, the guilt.

Still, we had a deadline to keep, and we arrived back at Edgeley Park tired, but ultimately very proud of what we had achieved.

The total amount raised has now exceeded £2,000. Not bad, considering we essentially spent the weekend dicking around, whilst eating sweets and listening to music. To everyone who donated, no matter the amount, thank you so very much. We’ll be in touch about our next big adventure soon!

Oh, and for anyone outraged at me for senselessly murdering a door-to-door make up sales lady, that’s Avon you twat. ‘Avian’ means ‘bird’.

Thanks for reading x

Notorious Blogging Spot

As some of you will know, last weekend I embarked on a rather elaborate road trip with a good friend of mine, who we shall call Gareth because, well, that’s his name.

I won’t go into detail explaining what it was about, who it was for, and why we were doing it, as I covered all of that in entry #71 (‘The Blog Trip’) but, briefly, we were attempting to visit all twenty-two football grounds in Stockport County’s league (as at last season), in just one weekend, to try and raise funds for local children’s cancer charity, Kidscan.

Now, I could sum up our trip in just three words – ‘we nailed it’ – but that would not be doing the adventure justice, and would not be telling the full tale. And, oh boy, do we have some tales to tell….

Saturday 25^th June 2016 – 08:00

We aimed to depart around 8:00am and, as became something of a trend over the weekend, we were bang on time. Waved off by the two ladies who run County’s club shop, Gareth’s wife and son, and another County fan, ‘Northyorksexile’ (who is, thankfully, an exiled County fan living in North Yorks, rather than a North York ‘Sexile’ – whatever that may be), we set off.

In the two days which followed, we visited all twenty-two ‘official’ grounds (plus eight ‘bonus’ ones); took a thoroughly underwhelming trip across the Humber Bridge; gate-crashed a wedding reception and a children’s birthday party; and witnessed an enormous pair of breasts, a murder, and some dogging. Now, if that doesn’t make you want to read on, nothing will…

#1 – Stalybridge Celtic – 08:25

We arrived at Stalybridge’s ‘Bower Fold’ ground, on time, to find it locked and deserted. I took a piss behind one of their stands (I was strangely desperate for the toilet already, rather than this being any kind of urinary protest at the absence of anyone to greet us), and we were back on our way.

#2 – Curzon Ashton – 08:45

It was, sadly, the same story at Curzon – only without the piss. We had initially received a very enthusiastic response from the club a couple of months ago, promising an official welcome and photographs on the pitch but, alas, this never materialised. Bizarrely, however, the ground was actually open – presumably because they felt there was nothing worth stealing – so we managed to go in and take some photos anyway.

#3 – FC United of Manchester – 09:10

To complete the hat-trick of disappointing Greater Manchester clubs, the ‘Old Trafford Deserters’ also hadn’t bothered to welcome our arrival – whether that be fans of the club or anyone more official – and the gate to the car park was locked, so we again just took a quick photo and left.

#4 – Chorley – 10:00

Before arriving at Chorley, we decided to stop off at our first ‘bonus’ ground of the day – Bolton’s ‘Reebok Stadium’ (I refuse to call it the ‘Macron Stadium’, in the same way I still insist on referring to the ‘M.E.N. Arena’ and ‘Opal Fruits’), before heading on to Chorley.

In contrast to the first three clubs on our travels, we didn’t really want to meet anyone at Chorley, since – as a result of some recent transfer dealings between them and County – they don’t seem to like us very much. Consequently, even though a couple of their fans had already been supportive and donated, we rather feared that any ‘Magpies’ (their nickname) turning up to greet us, may very well do so fully-armed. One for sorrow, two to kick the living crap out of you…

Imagine our terror, therefore, when we arrived in the car park, only to have someone tap on my driver’s side window shortly afterwards. Having damn-near shit ourselves, we were relieved – and surprised – to discover that my brother had driven down from Preston to say hello and bring supplies.

Again, Chorley’s ground was left fully open, so the three of us had a quick look around, I took another piss behind the stand (I don’t know what was the matter with me, but I appeared to have developed the bladder of an incontinent pensioner) and we gave our heartfelt thanks to my brother, before heading off.

#5 – AFC Fylde – 10:45

At AFC Fylde’s ‘Kellamergh Park’ (which appears to be situated in the grounds of a pub), we were greeted by another County fan, ‘Bringbacklenwhite’, and his lovely wife, who had also brought more supplies – two bottles of beer and some cakes. As we arrived bang on time, and since our next ground was a bit further away, we were able to spend a little longer with them in the glorious Lancashire sunshine.

#6 – Bradford Park Avenue – 12:15

Bradford Park Avenue was another ground where we expected something of a more formal welcome, as I had been in touch with the club only the week before to ask for permission to lay a white rose at their ground. One of our donors had requested that we do this for her, in memory of her fellow Yorkshirewoman, Jo Cox MP, who was murdered recently.

Sadly, the only person at the ground when we arrived was there by chance, and was in the process of cleaning their club bar. It’s fair to say he was more than a little perturbed by two blokes in Stockport shirts turning up to ‘decorate’ the ground with foliage, but the club had said it was ok, so tough.

#7- Harrogate Town – 13:15

Remaining in sunny Yorkshire, we then travelled northwards to Harrogate, which was our planned lunch stop for the day. The only reason for selecting this ground over any other, was because our ETA was 1:15pm, and ‘lunch’ was expected to be snacks in the car, but the welcome we received was a fantastic surprise.

Not only were we met by some guys from the club (as well as aptly-named fellow County fan ‘Harrogate Hatter’), they then brought out a platter of sandwiches and cakes (which were delicious, and I’m not just saying that because they may read this) as well as some drinks from the bar.

Even better, as we were leaving, they informed us that a group of their fans had clubbed together, and would shortly be making a generous donation to our Just Giving page.

Harrogate Town, from that day onwards, will always have a special place in my heart (unless they beat us in next season’s play-off final, then they can fuck off).

#8 – North Ferriby United – 15:15

If Harrogate was delightfully surprising, North Ferriby (who, Gareth and I often quip, are our ‘favourite of all the Ferribies’) was very much the opposite.

Not only was it a tiny, run down ground – which, having won promotion via the play-offs, will depressingly see North Ferriby play one league higher than County next season – there was no one around apart from a cricket match on the adjacent field, and they didn’t seem the types to take kindly to two blokes asking for donations.

The one good thing about North Ferriby? It was so shit, we could take a quick photo and get back on the road.

#9 – Gainsborough Trinity – 16:30

Prior to our arrival at Gainsborough Trinity (of which I have very little to say), two ‘highlights’ of the weekend took place. The first was planned, as I took my inaugural trip across the Humber Bridge (the best £1.50 of someone else’s money I have ever spent), and the second was very much not.

Gareth had consulted the map, and suggested we could detour, ever-so-slightly, to take in Scunthorpe’s ‘Glanford Park’ ground. I was keen to do this for two reasons: firstly, I have never seen it – and with Scunny being a League One side, I had hoped it would be more impressive than some of the grounds we had encountered thus far – but secondly, it gave me a rather childish (and entirely unoriginal, I imagine) idea for a ‘selfie’.

As we parked up next to two other cars in the secluded car park, Gareth went one way to take some photos of his own, while I positioned myself under the ‘Scunthorpe United’ sign, to try and line up the shot for my comedy photo.

As I stood there, with my phone at arm’s length, I can appreciate in hindsight that it may very well have looked like I was pointing the camera at the cars opposite. This didn’t occur to me at the time, as I had assumed they were unoccupied, but all of a sudden, a rather embarrassed looking man got out of one car, half-jogged to the other car, got in and drove hurriedly away, while the woman who was left in the first vehicle followed seconds later.

I don’t think my grinning and shouting “Oi Oi!” as they raced away will have helped, either. I bet they’re nervously waiting for my photographs to appear on some ‘doggers caught in the act’ site. And in a car park in Scunthorpe too – hardly showing a girl a good time, is it?

(Side note: doesn’t ‘The Glanford Doggers’ sound like a terrible folk band?)

#10 – Alfreton Town – 17:30

I have never been to the centre of Alfreton, but if it is anything like the area where the football ground is based, I can only hope it is twinned with an industrial wasteland in Siberia, otherwise the partnership is distinctly unbalanced.

In truth, Gareth and I – perhaps unfairly – hated Alfreton long before we arrived, purely because it was so far out of our way when we were making good progress down the eastern side of England. And, when you have already agreed between you that ‘Alfreton can go fuck itself’, it needed to be especially pretty to change our minds. Unfortunately, on the prettiness scale, Alfreton Town’s ludicrously-named ‘Impact Stadium’ is some distance below Susan Boyle, and its only ‘impact’ is to make you want to gauge your own eyes out with a rusty spoon.

To make matters worse, as we pulled into the car park we were watched by a rather unsavoury looking chap who was sat, by himself, on a nearby wall. He was, as Gareth quite rightly pointed out, very similar to the character ‘Tom’ from Father Ted.

‘Alfreton Tom’ continued to stare at us, as we parked up and began to hurriedly take photographs. Alarmingly, he then started walking over towards us, before standing with his hands in his pockets and grinning. I am sure, in hindsight, this was a grin of friendship, but at the time we both feared it was the last smile we would ever see.

We quickly tried to explain what we were doing, before he interrupted us to say that he knew why were there, as he had been following our progress on Twitter, and had some change to put in our collection tin. See, you should never judge a book by its cover, folks, and I feel rather guilty that we jumped to the conclusion we were about to be made into a nice new coat for a crazed lunatic to lounge around his cave in.

Alfreton Tom (not his real name), we salute you, Sir.

#11 – Boston United – 19:15

Our final ground of the day and, unlike the two which preceded it, Boston’s ‘York Street’ was all rather uneventful – save that we accidentally gate-crashed a wedding reception in order to try and use their toilet. Deciding against spoiling the happy couple’s big day, we instead made a hasty departure, keen to get to our overnight stop with my in-laws in Norwich.

We arrived almost exactly on schedule, filled the car up with fuel ready for the morning, ate a delicious meal cooked by my father-in-law, drank the beers given to us by my brother and Bringbacklenwhite, and crawled off to bed (separately, mind, we’re not Bert and Ernie).

And, I shall tell you about the remainder of our adventure next week….

The Blog Trip

I have mentioned previously that I am part of an online forum of Stockport County fans, and that my involvement with that group is partly responsible for the name of this very blog.

Let me explain. For those who are unaware, my beloved County are known as ‘The Hatters’ (due to Stockport’s proud hat-making history), so my pseudonym/moniker on the forum is ‘Sandbach Hatter’ (it’s not very clever, granted, but it tells you everything you need to know about me really).

It also doesn’t take a genius to work out how I later developed that alter-ego into the name of this blog. In fact, there is nothing genius about the name whatsoever, bearing in mind I rarely talk about the town where I now live, so readers might be forgiven for feeling somewhat misled. In fairness though, did you really think I would be able to write over seventy blog entries about a sleepy market town in South Cheshire? Or have you continued to stick with me until now, in the hope that I might soon discuss the roadworks on Middlewich Road, the desperate need for a crossing person outside Offley Primary School, or the fact that The Wheatsheaf appears to have changed hands yet again? Sorry to disappoint.

As it happens, I have thought about re-naming this blog for that very reason, so that it better reflects the utter (non-Sandbach related) bollocks that I come up with each week, but three things have held me back:

1. All the clever names that I have since come up with, have already been taken;
2. A good friend of mine designed the banner which adorns my Facebook page, and I would hate to see his work go to waste;
3. It would mean re-training mum on how to find the new blog.

Anyway, this is all irrelevant. The main point is, I have been a part of this online community for many years now, and have met a fair few of its members in ‘real life’ – almost all of whom are lovely people and proper football fans. They are like my second family. Well, third family if you count the in-laws.

A few years ago, a random thread appeared on our site, posted by a children’s cancer charity called ‘Kidscan’. I’ll admit that I had never heard of them before – despite their being located relatively close to County, in Salford – and, to my shame, more often than not I would have treated their post as spam and ignored it. However, it just so happened that members of my wife’s family were being affected by childhood cancer at the time, and it consequently struck a chord with me. So I read on.

It transpired that, unlike many charities, they were not approaching us with a sob story, in an attempt to guilt-trip our members into donating (and then pestering us for more money later on, as some sadly do). They were simply asking if any of us would like to take part in a charity bike ride they were organising in Manchester.

For whatever reason, I don’t believe any of us were actually able to take part (a lack of any functioning bicycle, as well as a deep hatred of cyclists, contributing heavily to my own personal absence), but because of the effect the post had on me, and the fact that I hadn’t taken part in a charity event for a few years, I decided to organise something myself.

It struck me that, of all the possible fundraising events I could consider, the easiest – and cheapest – to organise (and certainly the most accessible for the majority of people), would be a sponsored walk. Linking this to County was easy – we would simply walk to an away game. This is not a new concept, as I remembered a group of Brentford fans walking to their last away game of the season, at County, a few seasons earlier (about two hundred miles), so I decided to give it a go.

Now, if someone had suggested to me that we walk a similar distance to those Brentford fans, they would have been met with a resounding ‘fuck off’. As I have already explained, I wanted to make the event as achievable as possible for most people, so a local derby seemed far more appropriate. At the time, this narrowed the choice down to just two away games, and since one match was taking place over the Christmas period, it made the other – Macclesfield Town on Easter Saturday – a clear winner (which is about the only time Macclesfield Town have been the clear winners of anything).

So, on 30^th March 2013, the first ever ‘Hatters Hike’ took place. Eighteen County fans (and Bexley, our dog) set off from Edgeley Park in Stockport, and walked the thirteen miles to Macclesfield’s ‘Moss Rose’ ground, prior to our match there. Everyone completed the walk (apart from Bexley, who was collected by my wife at the half-way stage), and we raised over £1,800 for Kidscan in the process. It remains one of my proudest achievements.

For a variety of reasons (not least of which was County’s relegation from that league at the end of the season), we did not repeat the walk the following year, but then, in 2015, I decided it was time to do it again. So, on Saturday 28^th March 2015, almost exactly two years on from the original Hatters Hike, a slightly smaller – but no less determined – group, took part in ‘Hatters Hike to Hyde 2015’. As the name clearly suggests, our destination this time was Hyde FC and, because the distance to their ground was a considerably shorter seven miles, we walked back again afterwards.

Despite there being fewer participants this time (around half of the original Hatters Hike, in fact), we still raised more than £1,500 for Kidscan, which was again a fantastic achievement.

In organising both walks, I was assisted by a very good friend of mine, who we shall call ‘Hatter in Macc’ (or ‘Maccy’ for short) because, well, that’s his name. It’s not his real name, of course, his real name is Gareth, but he has asked that I refrain from using it, to preserve his anonymity.

I have known Gar… Maccy for around six years now, but it wasn’t until August 2012 that our partnership was formed (not literally – at least, not in the civil sense), when we were invited to take over the writing of an article in County’s match day programme.

Over time, not only has our article become a firm fixture in County’s programme – and arguably the best bit – but we became something of a double-act. I don’t mean that in the sense we toured the nation performing comedy (not yet, anyway), but we were invited to write articles for other teams’ programmes, we represented the forum at various County events, and generally became a well-oiled team (again, not literally).

Our latest venture – ‘Sandy and Maccy’s Big Road Trip 2016’ – is taking place in four weeks’ time, as we endeavour to visit all twenty-two football grounds from the Conference North (as at the 2015/16 season) in just one weekend. It promises to be our biggest challenge yet – by some margin.

Despite its name, the ‘Conference North’ actually covers most of England, so we will be travelling as far as Fylde in the North-West, North Ferriby in the North-East, Lowestoft in the South-East, and Cheltenham in the South-West. If things go according to plan, we will leave Edgeley Park early on the Saturday morning, and return around 9pm on the Sunday evening, having travelled just shy of 1,000 miles.

Here’s our itinerary:

Saturday 25^th June 2016

Stockport County – 08:00

Stalybridge Celtic – 08:25

Curzon Ashton – 08:45

FC United of Manchester – 09:10

Chorley – 10:00

AFC Fylde – 10:45

Bradford Park Avenue – 12:15

Harrogate Town – 13:15

North Ferriby United – 15:00

Gainsborough Trinity – 16:00

Alfreton Town – 17:20

Boston United – 19:15

Sunday 26^th June 2016

Lowestoft Town – 09:00

Corby Town – 11:45

Brackley Town – 13:00

Gloucester City – 14:30

Worcester City – 15:30

Solihull Moors – 16:30

Nuneaton Town – 17:10

Tamworth – 17:45

Hednesford Town – 18:15

AFC Telford – 19:00

Stockport County – 21:00

I have contacted all of the other clubs in the league to ask for their support, and around half have replied so far, with a handful of those posting an article about the trip on their own sites. I have also done an interview with a newspaper, and Maccy will be appearing on Tameside Radio tomorrow afternoon.

Our aim, aside from raising a huge amount for Kidscan, is to try and meet fans of every team as we go around the country, as well as – where possible – exiled County fans.

This is where you fine people come in. If you happen to live near to any of the grounds we will be visiting, even if you don’t necessarily support that team, we would love it if you could pop along and say hello when we arrive. The more people to welcome us at each ground, the better. Unfortunately, we will only have a few minutes before we have to be on our way again, but there will be live updates over the weekend via Maccy’s Twitter account – @GarethE77815055 – so that people can keep up to date with our expected arrival times, since our itinerary is very dependent on traffic.

If you are able to meet us, I can be contacted at sandbachhatter@hotmail.co.uk, so that your name and contact details can be added to our list.

Last, but not least, it would be awfully remiss of me if I didn’t appeal to your good nature and ask for donations. If you could take just a few minutes out of your day to take a look at the fantastic work that Kidscan do (www.kidscan.org.uk) and then spare a little change to help us reach our target (www.justgiving.com/bigroadtrip2016) we will both be eternally grateful.

Just think, if each of my regular readers donated just £2, we could add something in the region of £12 to our total.

If you donate AND come and meet us to lend support, I might even give you an uncomfortably long hug.

But don’t let that put you off.

 

Bill And Ted’s Blogus Journey

I have previously mentioned that I am a founding member of an online Stockport County fans’ forum called ‘County Heaven’, and it was there that I first received (well, chose) the nickname ‘Sandbach Hatter’ (County being known as ‘The Hatters’ for those not particularly au fait with their football club nicknames).

A few years ago, a new member called ‘Kidscan’ joined our forum, and it quickly became apparent that they were not even a real person, let alone a County fan, but rather a charity based in Salford that funds research into new and improved treatments for children with cancer.

Not that any of our admin team are/were heartless bastards (I should know, I’m one of them and I’m lovely), but at the time we had been bombarded with new ‘members’, who were in fact companies trying to saturate our happy little online community with advertisements for their various products, and our patience was wearing thin.

But Kidscan were different. They never once pestered us for donations, nor filled the pages with sob stories in order to guilt members into contributing. In short, they just wanted to let us know of their existence – being a small independent charity – and welcome any of our members who might like to participate in some of the fundraising activities they were running that year.

Their timing was somewhat fortuitous as, not only had I been planning to organise a sponsored walk for charity anyway, but my wife’s cousin had recently had a little boy who, before his first birthday, had been diagnosed with cancer (thankfully he is now fully recovered). It had hit my wife’s family, and in turn me, pretty hard, and so I took some time to look at Kidscan’s website. I, along with a good friend of mine, had previously organised some sponsored events in aid of cancer charities, including watching all the James Bond films at the time – up to and including The World Is Not Enough – back to back (which took us 43 hours) and abseiling down The Europa Hotel in Belfast, but there is something about seeing children who are suffering with cancer that is especially distressing.

I decided to get my arse in gear and organise the walk that I’d been considering for a few months. The idea had been to gather a group of County fans together to walk to an away game, and being in the league we were in at the time, the only feasible distance was to walk to Macclesfield (13 miles). As the away fixture at Moss Rose fell quite nicely at the end of March 2013 (no one wants to a sponsored walk on a freezing Tuesday night in January), the plan was put in place.

In total, eighteen walkers and our beloved dog Bexley took part (although Bexley was collected half way – in Poynton – as he wouldn’t be allowed into the ground and, in truth, he was struggling after about 6 miles anyway), and we all arrived just in time to see the game kick off.

Even better, I had set a speculative target of raising £1,000 for Kidscan when I announced the walk,    and whilst it looked as though we would fall just short of that amount with a week to go, not only did we reach the total shortly before we set off, but due to contributions on the day, both online and in our collecting tins, the final total was a staggering £1,836.25. This was something we were all delighted with and immensely proud of, and certainly Kidscan were very grateful for our efforts.

Apart from one demented driving instructor, who mid-lesson decided to unleash a tirade of abuse at us, for no apparent reason other than the fact Bexley had briefly stepped out into the road when his learner student was a good half a mile away, we were all very well received and supported.

So enjoyable and successful was the walk, that I always planned to repeat it the following year, but sadly County got relegated (making a walk to Macclesfield a tad pointless), and I became busy with other projects, so it never happened last season.

I was therefore determined to organise another walk this season, and whilst awaiting the fixtures last July, I realised that the only two realistic fixtures would be Stalybridge and Hyde. As it transpired, not only was the game at Stalybridge at the very start of the season, affording little or no time to organise the walk, but Hyde away fell on exactly the same weekend, two years on from the Macclesfield walk.

So, earlier this season, ‘Hatters Hike (To Hyde) 2015’ was born, and it takes place this coming Saturday – 28^th March 2015. The distance to Hyde is significantly shorter than it is to Macclesfield, being around 6 miles from Edgeley Park, so we’re walking there and back this time. It will still be less distance in total than two years ago, but now we’ll have the added complication/nuisance of having stood around for ninety minutes in the cold, undoubtedly watching County get beaten by the team currently sitting bottom of the table, so mustering enough energy for the walk back to Stockport afterwards could be enough of a challenge in itself.

We are again raising funds for Kidscan, and by all means contribute, should you wish to, by visiting www.justgiving.com/HattersHike2015. As things stand, we look likely to meet our target, which is again to raise at least £1,000, but any contribution will be greatly received and, should we ever meet (or, if we already know each other, the next time we do), there’s an uncomfortably long hug in it for you (optional).

Thanks for reading. ‘Normal’ blogging service will be resumed again shortly.