A Berlin Diary...

+ Thursday 4th October
I arrive at Schönefeld Airport, southeast of the city, in the late afternoon amid darkening skies. After a 25 minute train journey through Ostbahnhof, Alexanderplatz and Friedrichstraße stations, I eventually arrive at the Hauptbahnhof. This is Berlin's main railway station and is known locally as the glass cathedral. Leaving the station in heavy rain and high winds, I can't help but think that were this the UK, they'd have issued a severe weather warning and cancelled the trains. This being Germany, everything runs smoothly and on time.

I walk the 5 minute journey across the bridge over the canal and down Invalidenstraße to the Adina Hotel. Thanks to an email from Howard pointing out that I turn 50 during my stay, I've been upgraded... Yay! After unpacking, I trace my planned running route for the week. I shelter from the drizzle to enjoy a lovely pasta dish (with much red wine) at Roma, a basic Italian restaurant on Friedrichstraße before retracing my steps to the hotel and retiring to bed.

+ Friday 5th October
My early morning run down through the Tiergarten and back up through the Brandenburg Gate, past the Reichstag and over the Spree is, quite literally, breathtaking. After a wonderful breakfast, the morning consists of a visit to the house in Schöneberg where Christopher Isherwood rented a room and wrote his Berlin novels. This I follow by a skip past Neues Ufer, the gay bar Bowie and Iggy Pop once hung out at.

The afternoon sees me visit every Zara outlet in Berlin in search of a check shirt that I first saw in Cardiff. My quest isn't a complete waste of time: I see Pariser Platz, Potsdamer Platz, Leipziger Platz, Alexanderplatz and everything in between. I think I even pass Marlene Dietrich Platz at one point (but maybe I'm dreaming). I'm thrilled and excited to discover that Alexanderplatz has a branch of C&A (this takes me back...).

That night I eat in Pas´Qua, a tiny basement Italian on Auguststraße. Lovely food and, again, too much red wine. As I totter up the road, I pass an upmarket fancy-dress shop called Maskworld on Oranienburger Straße. I leave 5 minutes later with a ginger afro on which I've just spent €45. The hidden costs of drinking!

+ Saturday 6th October
A very early run, accompanied (part way) by a fox along the Spree embankment, is followed by my first of 3 visits over the coming week to the Reichstag (don't ask). The weather is awful and so views from the dome are non existent, however, you cannot fail to be impressed by the building itself. This, in turn, I follow with a brisk but damp walk to Berliner Dom, taking in Gendarmenmarkt (very neoclassical) and Bebelplatz (very wrapped in scaffolding) along the way. Berliner Dom is a very big church and, other than that, I can't find much else to recommend it.

Next, a visit to the Museum of Photography: If you like huge prints of 70s style glamour shots of nude women, this place is heaven. I don't and it isn't. This is followed by a visit to the Contemporary Art Museum, housed at Hamburger Bahnhof (some impressive Warholes and a couple of Lichtensteins keep me happy). In the evening to the Berliner Philharmonie for a wonderful performance of Wagner and Beethoven by the Berliner Philharmoniker led by Bernard Haitink. I float on air all the way back to my hotel.

+ Sunday 7th October

After an early run and a long lazy breakfast, a morning walk to the house Bertolt Brecht and Helen Weigel shared on Chauseestraße. Today Howard joins me in Berlin. At midday I meet him at the Hauptbahnhof and then to Hackesche Höfe for brunch together. This is followed by a leisurely stroll through the Tiergarten, past the embassies, the Sony Centre, the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe, the Memorial to Homosexuals Persecuted Under Nazism, the Führerbunker (site of Hitler's bunker), the Brandenburg Gate and, finally, my 2nd visit to the Reichstag - very atmospheric in the failing light. The evening sees us eat at the basic Italian, Roma, I'd visited on my first night in Berlin.

+ Monday 8th October

A quick run and breakfast is followed by a trip to Alexanderplatz for a visit to the beautiful Fernsehturm. Great views but I'm more impressed with the 1960s GDR decor inside. Next a train to the East Side Gallery then back to Alexanderplatz for the DDR Museum and a chance to sit in a Trabant - very cramped. From here, a train to the Olympiastadion - undoubtedly a beautiful building; epic, simple, strong and impressive but ultimately, I can't help but feel, rather sinister.

In the evening we eat in Kellerrestaurant im Brechthaus; it occupies the cellar of the house Bertolt Brecht and Helene Weigel shared and which I visited the day before. Lots of photos of Brecht and some wonderful food, made all the better by the friendly staff and the fact that they cook vegetarian dishes especially for me because they have little vegetarian choice on the menu.

+ Tuesday 9th October
Today I am 50. I never thought I'd live so long! This thought occupies me as I run around the Reichstag. A shower, a long breakfast and some card opening and gift unwrapping before we head out to the Pergamon Museum. This museum is seriously impressive with its Pergamon Gate, Market Gate of Miletus and Ishtar Gate - all massive in size; they really take your breath away.

We then hot-foot it to the Neues Museum in search of the bust of Nefertiti, followed by a quick visit to the Alte Nationalgalerie. In the afternoon we trek out to the Schwules (Gay) Museum but it's closed - out and proud 7 days a week apart from Tuesdays when it's a bit closeted! Still, a pleasant walk and a welcome relief from the objet d'art. Back at the hotel for a quick dip and sauna before getting a taxi to Alpenstuek, a restaurant on Gartenstraße. A lovely evening thanks to Howard. Happy birthday to me!

+ Wednesday 10th October
After whipping around the Reichstag on my run, we head out to the excellent Bauhaus Archive. This is followed by a marathon trek around the Gemäldegalerie's 900 paintings. Ordered chronologically, the Medieval religious art is wonderful but as we progress into later eras, I have to admit, I become blind to these masterpieces. By the time I get to Rubens I give up. Gluttons for punishment, we press on to the Neue Nationalgalerie, which by this point, quite frankly, we couldn't care less about. In the afternoon we visit the Jewish Museum, which is excellent and, at times, quite moving. It's worth a visit, not only for the contents but also the architecture of the building.

In the evening we make our way to Potsdammerplatz for the opening ceremony of the Festival of Lights. It's lovely to stand in the crowd and enjoy the spectacle. We take in some of the monuments and buildings bathed in various lighting effects as we make our way from Potsdammerplatz to Pariserplatz and onwards to Friedrichstraße and eventually Pas´Qua, the tiny basement Italian on Auguststraße that I'd eaten in on Friday. We are rewarded with good food and some unexpected entertainment, as the kitchen staff argue quite audibly.

+ Thursday 11th October
After my run, we decide to pop into the Bode Museum, as we have some spare time in the morning. The building is more impressive than the art it contains. We then visit the Reichstag (my 3rd and final visit) for a guided tour, which is fascinating. The dome is closed for cleaning but we've already been there (twice!). In the afternoon we visit the Berlinische Galerie, which I've been looking forward to seeing, with its late 19th and 20th Century collection of art. Difficult and sometime bleak pieces covering some troubled times for this city.

After a shower back at the hotel we make our way to Tipi am Kranzleramt in the Tiergarten for a cabaret dinner and a show by the excellent Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain. Very funny and entertaining. To bed, happy and a little bit drunk.

+ Friday 12th October
My last run around the Reichstag. The weather is beautiful. After a relaxed breakfast, we pack and check out. We spend the morning strolling through the Tiergarten and then along the Spree in the cold and clear sunshine. By lunchtime we're back at the hotel to pick up our bags before heading off out to Schönefeld Airport.

Our flights are about an hour apart: me to Bristol then Howard to Liverpool. I leave Berlin not just a year older but having somehow slipped past a half century on this earth. It has been a lovely holiday - a time to relax, unwind and ponder what this new chapter of my life will bring. During my daily runs around the Reichstag, I have thought long about concentrating on becoming a more responsible and mature person; a thought, I'm happy to say, I have whole-heartedly rejected.

1 Year Ago:

A strange day...

What a lovely day...!

What a beautiful day today has been. I cycled around in the lovely sunny weather, went for a refreshing swim, bought myself some new sun glasses and a hat in the sales and then met up with the lovely Jaime F for tea and gossip in the Bay.

When I looked at at the weather forecast yesterday, today was going to be a bit of a wash out but it turned out alright, didn't it; I even put my shorts and some suntan lotion on before going for my bike ride... and the rest of the week doesn't look too bad!

Did I bring some of that Canarian sun home with me...?

Bobbing along...

I said in last Sunday's post that "swimming in a virtually empty 50m pool is the perfect opportunity to ponder the big moral questions that face us". Tonight's rather crowded splash in a 25m pool was not spent thinking about anything earth shattering but rather something as mundane as the appropriateness of buoyancy aids in a family pool.

When I was here last Sunday, I was having a shower after my swim when a youngish man passed with an inflatable buoyancy aid tucked under his arm. At first glance, I thought I was seeing things; I did a double take. No I wasn't seeing things. There he was as bold as brass. I have to admit it did make me smile... but then, I'm not a parent with two inquisitive kids who are always asking embarrassing questions.

Was it an inflatable shark or maybe an inflatable killer whale or perhaps an inflatable crocodile? No. You guessed; it was an inflatable doll. That's right, with a fully inflated female doll tucked neatly under his arm, this guy strolled about the pool, like he was carrying a swan rubber ring. He even passed a number of pool attendants but they didn't even bat an eyelid.

Next week, I may wear my mankini, just for laughs...

How to tie a bow tie...

I'm off to a black tie do tonight. I've always bought a self-tie bow tie rather than a pre-tied bow tie. I mean, you'd never wear a pre-tied conventional tie would you - unless you work in mental health.

So here are instructions on how to tie a bow tie. A diagram and a video: take your pick. You can practice by tying it around your leg above the knee whilst seated.

And remember, when it comes to bow ties, practice never makes perfect. If you want perfection buy a pre-tied bow tie. I much prefer the self-tied variety because it doesn't look as neat as the pre-tied version; it has character.

Having said all of that, I may just wear a conventional tie tonight.

Today's run at 08:31
Distance	4.01 km	Time	23:25
Pace	5:50 min/km	Cadence	81 spm
Comments: Squally showers.

Not waving but drowning...

During my lunch hour today I went in search of a suit that I can wear to a black tie function that's a couple of weeks away. I had two dinner suits that I threw out earlier this year because they had become too big for me.

This time around, I didn't want to buy a traditional dinner suit as they always seem to look so square on me - I invariably end up looking very cuboid and stumpy in them. I was after something that would make me look slimmer; something you might describe as elegant and stylish rather than traditional/functional. I was after something that didn't cost me an arm and a leg and, for some reason, I had become set on something in navy blue.

For some reason, I ended up in Moss Bros. How this came to be, I know not; I don't particularly like their styling or their aggressive sales technique. Despite all this, I stumbled upon a navy two piece suit that I liked and all at a reasonable price too. Within seconds one of the shop assistants had swooped and was bundling me into a changing booth to try on the suit.

The jacket fitted perfectly as did the trousers, except for the calves, which were too tight. I asked the assistant if I could try a larger pair of trousers on. He said he'd get me a suit the next size up. I explained that it was only the trousers that needed swapping as the jacket fitted perfectly. He said that he couldn't mix different size trousers with a different size jackets. I tried reasoning that not everyone comes in the standard sizes and proportions in which they make their suits but he wouldn't budge. It was policy.

I eventually gave up and agreed to try the next size up. This suit fitted my calves perfectly but unfortunately was far too big elsewhere. I was drowning in it. It looked worse than the ill fitting, boxy dinner suits I'd recently thrown out. The assistant said that it would be no problem to have it adjusted at a local tailor's and that it would not, in all probability, be that expensive for me.

I explained (slowly, in case he didn't follow): that I was looking for a cheap suit that I may only get 3 or 4 wears out of, that I did not want to spend additional funds on top of the cost of the suit, that I did not wish to get the whole suit altered simply to be able to cover my calves. He looked perplexed. I left.

I eventually picked up a similar suit in Next. Yes, again the trousers are tight around my calves but having bought the next size trousers up, I only need to get the trousers altered because Next have a sensible policy around mixing and matching suit trousers and jackets.

Today's run at 18:23
Distance	4.17 km	Time	23:10
Pace	5:32 min/km	Cadence	81 spm
Comments: Rain. Backache

WTF...?

There are things I've seen this last week to which I should not have been exposed. Certainly, children, the elderly and those of a nervous disposition who were subjected to these abominations may well have suffered lasting psychological damage.
In short:

Sandals worn with socks.
Three quarter length trousers (Can someone explain what's the point?).
Leggings (Eurghh!).
T shirts with text such as, "I'm with stupid" followed by an arrow pointing left or right.
Beach towels with prints of naked women (Sleazy or what...?).
Sunglasses that grip over the top of the head rather than the conventional folding arms over the ears.
Crocs.
His and hers matching lesiure wear.
Plunging necklines on leathery wrinkled collapsing cleavages.
Baseball caps worn back to front (Unless your name is Bart Simpson).
Trousers that give you a camel toe effect.
Too much bling.
Combat boots (I know they're in fashion but not on the beach in 25C+ heat!).
A tweed suit with a thick shirt and knitted tie (You're in the Canaries not the Cotswolds).
Black knickers under thin white cotton trousers (Buy some white knickers ffs).
A ginger toupé.

Perlease...!

Words of advice...

There are two doctors that I see at the practice I attend; one I get on with really well, the other less so. On my way back from work tonight I got off my bus early and called in at the surgery and, as luck would have it, saw the one I get on with. As I left the surgery, it was getting dark and it started raining quite heavily. This was made worse by the sharp gusts of wind that seemed to splash the rain at me from every angle. I was drenched.

All I could think of on my 1,500m walk home was that this was awful weather to walk home in but perfect running weather. I was so looking forward to a lovely run and enjoying the rainy, windswept, cloudy and dark Autumn evening. Once in, I quickly changed into my running kit and hurtled out the door, eager to enjoy this weather.

Tonight I ran a route I'd not run in years. After crossing Clarence Bridge, I followed the Taff up Taff Embankment and then turned right onto Penarth Road. I followed Penarth Road behind Cardiff Central onto Tresillian Way and across Callaghan Square, then briefly onto Herbert Street before turning right onto Lloyd George Avenue (Boy George Avenue for those in the club). I followed Boy George Avenue back into the Bay and then cut across the Oval Basin and through Mermaid Quay and home. It made a change form the usual route.

I would have done well to contemplate the phrase less haste, more speed before setting off.

• Jumping over walls and taking shortcuts down dirt tracks on a route you've not run in ages, as you know, isn't advisable in the dark; not with your appalling night vision. Stick to the well lit pavements.
• Take a note from yesterday: look where you're going rather than at your new Nike+ watch. That way, you might outlive the watch's warranty.
• You will feel hotter than you think when you're out running. This you know. There is no reason to wear your running jacket just yet.
• You really shouldn't feel disappointed that your route isn't strewn with new personal bests, especially when it's blowing a gale and, for the most part, in the opposite direction to which you're running.
• Go for a pee before you set off. Remember that all that jogging about will exaggerate that bursting feeling.
• If you run with that stupid grin on your face, don't be surprised when people stare at you.

Advice is rarely followed and we seldom learn from experience. I came close to accident and injury so many times tonight; how I didn't trip, slip, fall, overheat or wet myself I don't know. I shall take it as a warning shot from the Baby Jesus.

Tonight, another faultless performance from my Nike+ Sportwatch and another so-so performance from me: I ran 5.08 km in 28'50" at an average pace of 5'40"/km.

The men's underpants special edition...

I was pulling on my shorts to go running tonight when I noticed a tear in the in-built underpants. Such a shame as they're one of my favorite pairs of shorts. They'll last for a few runs more but they've had their day. I'll soon have to throw them out or run the risk of chafing or even worse; suffer the indignity of a wardrobe mafunction. I guess I could turn them into dusters like my gran. Anyway, it got me thinking about yesterday's post as I ran.

In yesterday's post, I wrote that after a night on the tiles celebrating my birthday on Sunday I'd spent yesterday "lying on the sofa, watching TV and eating Weetabix, wearing nothing but underpants, flip flops and an old fleece top." And a couple of you picked up on the fact that I'd been lolling about in my underpants. Nobody questioned the flip flops, the fleece top nor the Weetabix but several of you mentioned the underpants.

I must admit that I was a little perplexed because whenever I'm home that is what I wear: flip flops, underpants and a fleece top in the autumn and winter. I know some of you buy sweatpants to lounge about in but, given that I live alone I don't see the point. I should point out that my underpants for lounging around the house are not the underpants that I've worn to work and they're not the underpants that I'd change into were I going out. No. These are underpants that I've bought for the express purpose of lounging about at home. My work underpants are Calvin Kleins whilst my going out underpants are AussieBums. My lounging about underpants are Lonsdales. I would never dream of wearing one of the above sets of underpants on an occasion for which they were not bought.

I once started a facebook group called I Like Walking Around the House in my Underpants... It was a bit of a joke that no-one got (I guess the joke's on me) but, please, feel free to join if, like me, you lounge about at home in your pants.

I've given away far too much personal information in this post but I think we know each other well enough now...

My inner Imelda Marcos...

Is it wrong to sneak a look up the pool attendant's shorts? For such was the sight that befell my eyes as I clung onto the side of the pool after today's swim. I think it was God rewarding me for cleaning the flat this morning and then bothering to do some physical exercise. Except that I don't believe in God...

After oggling at the pool attendant until I went blind, I went into town and bought a new pair of shoes and a new jacket. I don't need a new jacket and I certainly don't need a new pair of shoes but they looked so irresistible. A pair of ox blood red brogues calling out my name. And so, surrendering to my inner Imelda Marcos, I offered to find them a good home. It would have been cruel not to.

And speaking of Imelda Marcos; has anyone else heard the David Byrne and Fatboy Slim concept album about her life? There are some wonderful songs on it. My favorite is the title track, Here Lies Love, featuring the magnificent Florence Welch.

That's why God gave us membranes...

I nearly didn't go on my run tonight. It was late by the time I got home and I'd managed to convince myself that it was a bad idea. But then I put my foot down, gave myself a stiff talking to, threw on my running kit and managed to enjoy the sunset as I whizzed around the bay.

On my run tonight, I passed a pair of runners; one male and one female. They were in their 40s, probably husband and wife and dressed in matching running kit - mauve polo shirts and grey sweat pants. They reminded me of the American husband and wife tourists you used to see in Bath in the mid 90s in their matching shell suits.

Seeing them made me think of a woman I often see jogging who lives near me. Her run lasts no more than 15 minutes and yet she always carries her runners' flask of water. It's part of the look, I guess. Her matching Nike running kit is always bang up to the minute and her trainers are immaculate. On hot days, rather than leave the running jacket at home, she'll tie it around her waist. And come rain or come shine, she always carries the runners' flask. Let's face it, she's never gonna dehydrate in that time.

That's why God gave us membranes.

Retail therapy...

I went shopping at Asda this morning. The service was a bit shoddy and the assistant a bit patronising (in his determination to give me the right answer he neglected to listen to my question). I left the shop feeling a little frustrated. Well... quite a lot frustrated!

Later, I visited Zara to return some t-shirts I'd bought online and the process for trying to get an exchange was impossible; apparently (so I was informed), Zara online and Zara in the Hight Street are two completely different and seperate companies (I pointed out that this was despite having identical stock, pricing structure and logo). Again, it would be an understatement to give the impression that I left the shop a little unhappy.

I thought about these two incidents, with their Alice-In-Wonderland logic whilst swimming today, comparing them with a completely different experience I'd had at the Apple Store. Now, I don't need an iPad; I don't need another computer but I visited the Apple Store during my lunch hour late last week and somehow managed to leave clutching a shiny new iPad.

As I completed my lengths of the pool today (somehow, really hard going), I played back the conversation between the Apple Store assistant and I; it was natural and easy, the sales process was smooth and quick and the entire interaction reflected the Apple branding exactly.

It was a delight from beginning to end; an expensive delight but a delight nonetheless.

Following through...

Tonight's run was very windy; and I'm not talking about the weather. As I jogged along this evening with every step I took I could feel an increasing pressure building in my lower abdomen. I'm sure that many runners will have faced the same thing, where the repeated bounce involved in running causes flatulence (there, I've said it). It's not the best of feelings but is quickly dealt with, although care must be taken not to follow through. This is easier said than done and, what was intended as a quick release of methane, can soon pass the point of no return and turn into a very sticky situation indeed.

This reminds me of a conversation in work today. Someone read out the lonely hearts column in the Metro and one of the ads was from Richie in Hastings who labelled himself as AB/DL. No-one had any idea what this meant. Some of the team hazarded guesses but after Googling it I was pleased to announce that it meant Adult Baby / Diaper Lover. There were a few puzzled looks, a couple of penny-just-dropped looks and the odd look of disgust. My look was puzzlement; puzzlement at why he chose to advertise in the Metro rather than in a more specialist publication.

Whilst the wearing of a diaper or nappy would undoubtedly be of use to any runner who thinks they may follow through mid run, they are not the most practical of items to wear on a marathon - and the chafing must me terrible. Of course, Paula Radcliffe paid a dear price when she had her mid race mishap in the 2005 London Marathon with a bad case of runner's trots. I bet she had to boil wash those shorts afterwards.

Mirror, mirror on the wall...

Mirrors are interesting. I mean, I don't think mirrors in themselves are interesting; I mean, the way we use mirrors is interesting. There are those who could spend the rest of their lives gazing at themselves and there are those who avoid them at all costs. I have a full length mirror at the end of my hall which does a very good job of startling me when my doppelgänger passes it in his parallel universe.

There are a series of mirrors that run the length of one wall at Cardiff International Pool changing area. Under each mirror is a shelf; to rest your bag on, to place your child on, to eat your snacks on, to lean on and gossip and (judging by the flecks and smudges of mascara now ingrained in its surface) to place your make-up on.

When you make your way to the International Pool after changing into your swimwear (as I did this morning), you are confronted with this wall of mirrors. I always notice because each mirror is warped slightly to make the subject seem thinner than they are. I don't need help here and hate that view I get of a pinched and emaciated image of myself. Perhaps they want everyone to take confidence from the new svelt self glimpsed in the mirrors and to enjoy the facilities even more (if such a level of enjoyment were humanly possible).

During my swim this morning I began to think about how we use mirrors. I began to ponder on the increase in mirror photography since cameras were added to mobile phones. Look on the internet and it won't be too long before you find a photo of someone taken by themselves in a mirror. That mirror shot of you at the gym speaks volumes: it's a portrait snatched on the fly (although you may have spent hours on setting it up); it boasts a healthy outlook and brags of your wealth in being able to afford the astronomical gym membership and the very latest iPhone. Such are the things that swim through my mind during my swim...

In the afternoon I cycled into town to meet a friend of mine, Alan. We get on very well, despite not having known each other that long; I think this has something to do with us both sharing a very childish and really filthy sense of humour. We met today for a catch up first and then for the express purpose of clothes shopping. For some reason, Alan thinks I'm good at helping him pick out clothes. I suspect what really happens is that he waits for my approval and then buys the exact opposite.

Anyway, I have seen the inside of so many changing cubicles today, I think I may still be suffering from a temporary claustophobia. I've seen bigger coffins! And please, explain to me the point of putting a mirror in such a tiny box; you're far too close to it to see anything. All I can do is look down my torso at my legs in the trousers I'm trying on.

And in the few shops where the cubicle is large enough to grab a look in the mirror, it seems they are warped in the opposite way to those at the swimming pool. I looked as if I'd gained 30lbs. Who let that walrus in? It's not really what you want from a cubicle mirror and it can't be very good for business.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens...

There are times when everything just seems to go wrong. You tip things and burn things, you are blocked at every move you make. Nothing seems to go your way. You end up thinking, "What have I done to deserve this?"

This weekend has been nothing like that. This weekend has been abso-bloody-lutely lovely.

It started on Friday when I bought some shorts in the Zara sale for the bargain price of only £7.99. Ching-ching! This was followed on Friday evening with my first run in a week - and my hip wasn't sore. On Saturday I cycled about quite a bit in the afternoon sunshine and then went for a lovely, long relaxing swim.

On Saturday night, I went with my friend Jaime to the impressive, newly renovated Royal Welsh College of Music & Drama to see the excellent Only Men Aloud perform in the intimate Dora Stoutzker Hall. With no microphones and only a pianist and cellist to accompany them, the first half of the show was almost entirely made up of classical pieces. The second half saw them on more familiar territory and the show as a whole made for a frequently moving, often rousing, always stunning and ever enjoyable evening out.

Afterwards, we joined some of them for a few drinks at the Cameo Club in Pontcanna (I have a vague memory of a Justin Lee Collins look-alike). You soon realise why they work so well together on stage: that is because they are such friends together off stage.

Today saw me surface from under my never-been-slept-in, brand new bedding, which I'd forgotten I'd put on before I went out last night. Mmmmmm! I spent most of the day mooching about on my bike again in the good weather (sporting my new Zara shorts). I cycled around the Bay and into the town centre and then onwards out to Bute Park before retracing my steps. This I followed with another long and relaxing swim at Cardiff International Pool before returning home and eating my own bodyweight in cheese. That done, all I can now do is gently rock from side to side.

Happy days...

Elaine Carmody fights for your rights...

Cardiff International Pool opens at 06:15 on weekday mornings and it's usually full from the start. Swimmers training for events have arrived for their first swim of the day and anyone who fancies a pre-work dip gets in there as well. I don't usually go until after work in the evening when it's a lot less busy. On the rare occasions I have gone for a swim in the morning, I usually try and avoid the place until after 09:00, when most of the early birds have cleared.

If I do go for an early pre-breakfast swim, I'll just just jump out of bed, throw on an old pair of shorts and a t-shirt and then cycle the 10 minute ride over to the swimming pool for a quick dip. However, I always feel a bit scummy; not having washed or made any effort at all. I feel the same when I have to pop to the local supermarket first thing if I've run out of milk.

Feeling scummy and unwashed and wearing yesterday's t-shirt whilst buying a pint of milk is one thing but I really can't conceive of popping anywhere, swimming pool or supermarket, in my pyjamas. However, if I did decide to leave my flat sporting nightwear, I wouldn't be alone in Cardiff Bay. When I'm going to work in the morning I frequently see people in dressing gowns leaving the local shop; usually clutching a carton of milk, the Daily Mail under their arm and a ciggie in their face.

I haven't yet seen anyone at the pool wearing pyjamas. The sort of people who go to the pool that early aren't really the sort who'd pop to the shop in their jim jams for 20 Benson & Hedges. Although, I can remember wearing pyjamas to my local pool once but that was when I was a 12 year old a Boy Scout and I had to dive to the bottom of the pool and retrieve a brick wearing them. I think I got a badge for it.

Does anyone remember the Elaine Carmody news item that broke in January 2010? My friend Carl reminded me of this classic David and Goliath story of a full time mother of two fighting a multi national for her right to wear her pyjamas to go pick up a packet of fags. It's comedy gold.

If she was in the Girl Guides, they'd have given her a badge.

More Saga than sagger...

Last year a friend of mine told me that I should wear my jeans lower; more on the hip than the waist. Not wanting to risk comparisons with Simon Cowell, I made the change - although, I must admit, it still feels odd. I don't feel secure without a belt around my waist and, I have to say, part of my reluctance to wear my jeans lower is an aversion to the sagger look.

Dressing for your age is a hard one to guage. I don't want to turn into some sad old queen before my time; out of step with everything other than nostalgia. Equally, I don't want to become one of those older gay men who try so desperately to cling on to their youth at all costs; squeezed into the latest fashion and cramped by their own style. It's a tough life steering a safe passage between Simon Cowell and Louis Walsh.

Tonight's run was a short one. My third run in three days, I am being careful not to over do it. During yesterday's run I felt a twinge just above my right hip; like I'd strained something somewhere deep inside. By tonight's run it was transforming from twinge into pain and during the run it got worse.

As a young man, I spent my life shrugging off such pains and twinges but, as I get older, I can't help wondering is this just a fleeting pang or is this something far more serious. Is that just an ache or is this a cue for a hip replacement?

As you get older, you become less spontaneous and more conscious of everything. What once you just did, now you have to plan for first. Look at Saga and their strap line, "Doing things properly." As you get older, doing things properly becomes more important.

Of course, I make it sound like I'm over the hill and past it when, in fact, I'm nowhere near that. As the song goes, "Oh, it's a long, long while from May to December" - and whilst I'm nowhere near December, autumn is fast approaching.

Budgie smugglers...

People wear the strangest things to go swimming. It seems they always have done: the bikini, tankini, burqini, monokini, unikini, mankini and fundoshi. I never knew there was such a choice! But despite that choice, I've seen people in the swimming pool wearing cut off jeans, shorts, boxer briefs and even y-fronts.

It seems that the French had the right idea with their ban of shorts style swimwear in favour of the swim brief. The reason they stated was hygiene; you're less likely to wear such things for anything other than swimming at a pool and therefore you're less likely to carry grit and dirt into the pool.

I was swimming tonight alongside a man in a pair of calf length floral board shorts. How do you swim in those? The weight and drag must have affected his ability to swim. They were almost trouser length. I wondered why he'd bothered getting changed.

I must admit, I'm a Speedos fan, myself. I know that people think I'm a bit kinky in my liking for them but they make sense, especially when you swim for exercise: they're small and roll up in a towel easily, they dry quickly, they're hygienic (if you believe the French) and they don't produce drag when you're swimming.

I'm more than happy with my banana hammock, slug huggers or budgie smugglers... take your pick!

Nothing but an orthotic wearing, high arched, under pronator...

...I'm also a 48 year old, Welsh, gay diabetic. Oh, and I like to run.

There, that's that out of the way. So why am I telling you this? Well, I  always find it difficult knowing when to drop information about myself into conversations and whenever I do, it always sounds like a small explosion. I guess I'd rather get it all out the way at the beginning. So, now you know...

On Saturday I bought myself a new pair of trainers for running. My old ones had started making a funny slapping noise with every step and after 18 months wear it was time I changed them. It's always difficult buying new trainers: whilst I was ready to trade in the old ones, my feet were still best friends with them. I'd done some research on the internet and made a note of some pairs (suitable for a high arched, under pronator) I'd like to try on. That done, one pair stood out from the rest: the flagship cushioning shoe in the Asics collection, the Gel-Nimbus 12.

As soon as I got home I went for a 5km run. Whilst you're actually running, it's hard to know whether a new pair of trainers are good because during the run you scrutinise every step: is that twinge because of the new trainers, are my legs just heavy today, what's that slight ache in the small of my back...? And on it goes. Nothing conclusive during the run.

After the run I noticed that my slight back ache had not subsided. And then I realised; I'd forgotten to insert my orthotics. I've worn inserts in my trainers ever since I broke my ankle 3½ years ago; I get a bad back if I don't use them. How did I forget to insert the orthotics? Duh!

On Sunday I went for another run. Only 3km this time. Just long enough to test drive the new trainers - with orthotic inserts this time! The run was fairly comfortable and I tried to forget I was wearing new trainers and just enjoy it. This I managed to do, despite the sweltering heat at the end of a beautiful day but after the run as the evening wore on... how my poor legs ached. With every trip to refill my wine glass my simian gait grew more pronounced!

I was dreading tonight's run. My calf muscles have been tight in work all day and the thought of my run this evening only drew a foreboding gloom that I'd bought the wrong trainers and all this would be confirmed by tonight's agonising 5km. However, tonight's run was nothing but pleasurable. Yes, my calf muscles are still a little tight, yes, my back still aches slightly and yes, the shoes still feel a bit "new" but they seem to be bedding in.

Whilst they're not quite best friends yet, my feet are well on their way to getting to know my new trainers.