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...

Don't Rain On My Parade (II)...

Despite some initially pessimistic weather forecasts, Manchester Pride 2012 wasn't quite the wash out we were led to believe it would be. Saturday's Parade down Deansgate was bathed by blue skies to start with but got a little greyer by the time it reached the Village. There were stretches of sunshine that saw everyone spill out onto Canal Street and sudden showers that saw everyone run for cover again. Indeed, the same on/off weather persisted through much of Saturday, Sunday and well into Monday. I'm pleased to say that everyone's spirits weren't dampened by these occasional showers.

I guess many of us take Pride events for granted nowadays. Time was when they were more of a political rally than the carnival that we see today. I for one am pleased that they have become more of a fun event rather than the heavily policed, grim marches they once were. Now the police march with us. The theme this year was ‘Queer’d Science’, in honour of the centenary of the birth of Alan Turing, who was appallingly treated by the authorities over his homosexuality. How times change.

I was so pleased to see so many families out enjoying Manchester Pride over the weekend; there were so many kids at the event in the afternoon. And I was also pleased to see some pretty big companies, proud to sponsor Manchester Pride; companies such as easyJet, RBS Group, The Co-operative and Selfridges. It's a sign of acceptance; it's a sign of the times.

How disheartening then to wake on Sunday morning to the news that Cardinal O'Brien was to lead the Scottish Catholic Church in reading out a letter in each of the Church's parishes in Scotland criticising the Scottish government for plans to introduce gay marriage. How out of touch can these people get?

You may remember that Cardinal O'Brien called plans for gay marriage a "grotesque subversion" back in March. Having been part of Manchester Pride this weekend and seeing all the smiles and laughter and fun, I believe that the only grotesque subversion is the Scottish Catholic Church and Cardinal O'Brien.

After a damp Bristol Pride and the patchy weather that beset Manchester, let's hope that God sees fit to bathe Cardiff Mardi Gras this coming weekend in glorious sunshine. I'd pray for such weather, if I believed there was even the smallest outside chance that he existed.

1 Year Ago:

A little too highbrow...

Meretricious (and a happy new year)...

Sad news today to hear that Gore Vidal is dead. He was a friend of Eleanor Roosevelt, Princess Margaret, Tennesse Williams and Leonard Bernstein. He was close to John F Kennedy and confident of Jackie Kennedy. With his quick wit and brutal frankness, he often seemed the only voice of reason and critical thought to emanate from the US.

Vidal was an author, playwright, essayist, screenwriter and political activist. He wrote plays that were Broadway hits (The Best Man and Visit to a Small Planet), historical novels (Burr, 1876 and Lincoln), political essays (Armageddon? and United States: Essays 1952–1992) and film screenplays (Ben-Hur and the original draft for Caligula). His autobiography, Palimpsest is well worth digging out.

He was known for his acerbic tongue and lightning wit. Asked whether his first romantic encounter was homosexual or heterosexual, Vidal replied that he had been "too polite to ask". The BBC have put together a list of quotes to mark his death. They all display the man's sharp sense of humour.

My favorite quote is not included in the BBC's list. It goes something like:

The British writer Richard Adams, appearing alongside Vidal on That Was The Week That Was, called his work "meretricious" "Pardon?" said Vidal. "Meretricious" repeated Adams. In a split second Vidal was back at him, "Meretricious to you," he smiled, "and a happy new year."

You can find out more about Gore Vidal here.

1 Year Ago:

Where's the justice...?

Run 01/08/2012 17:29
Distance	5:01 km	Time	29:00
Pace	5:47 min/km	Cadence	81 spm
Comments: Heavy downpours.

Run 30/07/2012 17:38
Distance	5:01 km	Time	30:15
Pace	6:02 min/km	Cadence	79 spm
Comments: Grey.

Run 27/07/2012 16:57
Distance	5:06 km	Time	30:13
Pace	5:59 min/km	Cadence	79 spm
Comments: Sunny and hot.

A lovely, long and lazy weekend...

At last, the bank holiday Jubilee weekend is here. Yay! Anyone would think I'm a monarchist. Nah, not really; just looking forward to a lovely, long and lazy weekend. As for marking 60 glorious years of Queen Elizabeth II; beyond this post, I shan't give it another thought. I'm sure there'll be many references in the media to what the world was like when she first became Queen...

In 1952 Winston Churchill was Prime Minister and Harry S Truman was US President, Joe Strummer, Jenny Agutter, Liam Neeson and Douglas Adams were born, the films Singing in the Rain and High Noon were released, the United Nations moved to its home in New York, The Mousetrap opened in London's West End, Churchill announced that the UK had an atomic bomb, the US signed a peace treaty with Japan, Helsinki hosted the Olympics and Italy, France, West Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands and Luxembourg formed the European Coal and Steel community (later to become the European Union). The world has changed much.

Plans for this weekend? Some running and swimming, no doubt. I have a friend staying and consequently I shall be on best behaviour, so no drinking to excess or being naughty; although I might introduce him to my local homosexual hostelry on Sunday - something I certainly wouldn't have been able to do openly 60 years ago.

An Englishman's home...

Wales has some of the finest examples of medieval castles in Europe. It's been said that Wales is the castles capital of the world. Although the Principality is littered with some 400 defensive monuments from iron age mounds and ditches, Roman forts and right through to 19th Century follies; it is the flourishing of stone castles after the invasion of the Normans in 1066 for which, perhaps, we are best known.

Caerphilly castle, built in 1271, is one of the largest in Europe and Raglan castle, built mainly in the 1460s is, I think, one of the most romantic. Perhaps the finest examples are those built by Edward I during the Welsh Wars of the late 13th and early 14th Century; Aberystwyth, Builth, Flint, Beaumaris, Caernarfon, Conwy, Harlech and Rhuddlan. Other notable Welsh castles are: Kidwelly, Llansteffan, Chepstow and Monmouth. Have a look here for a list of  Welsh castles.

Beautiful though they undoubtedly are; before we get too proud of these Welsh castles, let's remind ourselves that they are, for the most part, English castles, designed and constructed to oppress the Welsh.

The Popes: A History...

I'm reading The Popes: A History by John Julius Norwich. As you might surmise, it's a history of the 280 Popes; heads of the Catholic Church from St Peter to Benedict XVI. The book opens with the assertion, "What cannot be denied is that Roman Catholicism began with Christianity itself; all other Christian religions – and there are more than 22,000 of them – are offshoots or deviations from it." As the Guardian review states, this is a bit dismissive and cavalier of Norwich. However, his book doesn't suffer from this approach.

What drew me to this book was the write up on the back cover,

Of the 280-odd holders of the supreme office, some have unquestionably been saints; others have wallowed in unspeakable iniquity. One was said to have been a woman, her sex being revealed only when she improvidently gave birth to a baby during a papal procession. Almost as shocking was Formosus whose murdered corpse was exhumed, clothed in pontifical vestments, propped up on a throne and subjected to trial; or John XII, of whom Gibbon wrote 'his rapes of virgins and widows had deterred the female pilgrims from visiting the shrine of St Peter'.

And that's before you mention the Borgia Pope Alexander VI and his crimes of adultery, theft, rape, bribery, incest, and murder.

It's the more salacious passages that appeal to me (and, I dare say, many others). Norwich's style certainly plays to the gallery in this respect. Of Paul II: “He seems to have had two weaknesses, for good-looking young men and for melons; the stroke that killed him was said to have been brought on by a surfeit of both.” On John XXIII: “The most scandalous charges were suppressed; the Vicar of Christ was only accused of piracy, murder, rape, sodomy and incest.”

Of course, the book is more than a romp through the Vatican's dirty laundry over the last 2,000 years; there is much here that is informative as well as entertaining. When Christ said to Peter, "And I say also unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church"; if claims that Peter was crucified then buried outside Rome on the Vatican Hill are true, then Peter is quite literally as well as figuratively the foundation stone.

Today's run at 18:03
Distance	5.10 km	Time	27:42
Pace	5:26 min/km	Cadence	81 spm
Comments: Grey and cold.

Immortality...

Swimming in a virtually empty 50m pool is the perfect opportunity to ponder the big moral questions that face us, such as the meaning of life or is Madonna better than Kylie. Today it was Easter that captured my attention as I thrashed, gulped and gasped up and down my lane.

As the different Christian churches and denominations struggle to make their story more relevant to the communities they claim to serve, I think it's time they sat back and reassessed the situation. Our engagement with their message may not be as pessimistic as they sometimes assume. As an increasingly secular society, we may not actually be that dismissive of and far removed from the central Christian story.

The Gospels would have us believe that Jesus, the son of God, died for our sins and was resurrected today, Easter Sunday - the most important date in the Christian Calendar. In doing so, Jesus proves his immortality to us and, with his aspirational message of "Be nice to others and you'll go heaven", offers us this immortal option too, come the day of judgement.

I'd argue that we have all of us, believers and non-believers, taken that message on board in some shape or form. Immortality has captured our imaginations for thousands of years and has been a tantalising quest for many down the ages. It seems to be a universal obsession. Along with Christianity, many of the other major religions have dangled this carrot as a reward for signing up and living by their rules. Literature too is littered with stories of immortality: Dr Faustus, Dorian Grey, Peter Pan and Orlando, to name but a few.

Pictured on the right is me aged 34 - about the same age as Jesus when he died, give or take a couple of years. No thinning hair, no grey, no wrinkles (other than a few laughter lines) and able to eat any crap in any quantity I fancied. How time changes us! At that age, would I have welcomed being frozen in time as I then was? Probably not. Ask me the same question today and, while it's not quite the simple and straightforward answer it was 15 years ago, I think the response still has to be a no.

While I have no desire to live for ever, I wouldn't mind prolonging my health, maintaining my looks and hanging on to my faculties for a little bit longer. Who wouldn't? At 49, I don't think I'm doing too badly; I try to stay reasonably fit, I try to eat a healthy diet and I try to stay active both physically and mentally. Ultimately though, as you well know, I'm fighting a losing battle; we all are.

As sure as (Easter) eggs is eggs, we're all gonna die. In the meantime, should we need a helping hand in squeezing the brakes and resisting the ravages of time, there are many options open to us, in addition to simply trying to remain active and eating a good diet: anti-aging creams, hair restorers, botox, cosmetic surgery and cryonics are, depending on your budget, worthy of consideration. However, no matter what advancements they make in science, cosmetics and medicine, deterioration and expiry are, ultimately, an inevitability.

While many of us no longer believe in the Gospels' every word, I think that the desire for immortality is part of our culture - even if that only stretches to a momentary and cosmetic defying of mortality and a slight postponement of the inevitable. And, for you believers out there: in the unlikely event that the Gospels got it right and immortality is really an option; well, even you are going to have to age and die prior to your moment of rapture.

How priorities change...

I once used to think of Good Friday as bit of a waste of a public holiday; most shops and public buildings were closed and licensing laws meant that pubs were open Sunday hours only. There was simply nothing to do.

Many of you will be scratching your heads in puzzlement: what in hell's name are Sunday hours? Well, time was when pubs used to have to close in the afternoon before reopening in the evening and on a Sunday those hours were restricted even further. Good Friday always followed the opening hours of a Sunday and so the start to the Easter weekend was always delayed until this archaic practice was finally binned.

Today has been a relaxed day with no thoughts of any restrictions on shopping or drinking or, for that matter, any other activities. To be honest, I haven't given a thought to anything being shut because it's Good Friday. Indeed, everything I've needed or wanted to do I've done.

I walked to Cardiff city centre today. It was packed with shoppers; a busy day it seemed. The shops were full and restaurants and cafes were doing a brisk trade. Families now treat a visit to Cardiff centre for a look around the shops and a bite to eat as a day out. Time was when there'd have been nothing open in the centre of Cardiff on a Good Friday.

I've not been swimming in over 3 months. It's strange how quickly you can fall out of the habit of doing something. Until early December, I was swimming at least 3 times a week but because of the bike ride to get to the pool, the dark nights and damp weather, I replaced swimming with running. How lovely it was to get back in the pool this afternoon. Time was when the pool would not have been open on a Good Friday.

I called in the supermarket on my way home and picked up some food for my dinner. The aisles were jammed with trolleys as people did their weekly shop. In addition to food, I picked up a couple of bottles of wine that were on offer. Time was when the supermarket would not have been open on a Good Friday and even if they were, they'd not have been able to sell me any alcohol.

How priorities change...

Maundy Thursday...

Maundy Thursday commemorates the last supper and Christ's washing of his Apostles' feet. Indeed, the word Maundy comes from the first word in the phrase Mandatum novum do vobis ut diligatis invicem sicut dilexi vos. According to the Gospel of John, this is the explanation that Christ gave to his followers for washing their feet, instructing them to love one another. Such a shame that so many Christian leaders have ignored this Mandatum.

In the UK, it is traditional for the monarch to distribute Maundy Money on this day - well, you couldn't have her washing people's feet, could you? It's a custom that dates back to King Edward I. Maundy Thursday is treated as a public holiday in Denmark, Norway, Iceland, Spain, Colombia, Paraguay and the Philippines.

Today's run at 17:53
Distance	4.13 km	Time	22:35
Pace	5:28 min/km	Cadence	81 spm
Comments: Cold and grey.

Parents and their favorites...

When it comes to children, parents aren't supposed to have favorites. My gran had favorites. My mother wasn't one of them. This she realised at an early age. My mother never really got on with her mother.

Swansea was one of the most heavily bombed cities in the UK during the Second World War. Children in their thousands were evacuated to the relative safety of the welsh countryside, including to Penclawdd, the village my gran lived in and I grew up in.

During the war my gran was heavily involved as a warden with the ARP (Air Raid Precautions). In fact, so heavily involved was she that she sent my Mum to stay with her aunt, my gran's sister, for a large part of the war.

And where did this aunt live? That's right, in the centre of Swansea.

Beware the Ides of March...

...So said the Soothsayer in Shakespeare's play Julius Caesar. Of course, we know that Caesar ignored this warning, along with premonitions his wife had, and was assassinated on March 15th by conspirators led by Marcus Junius Brutus and Gaius Cassius Longinus.

So, what exactly are the Ides? The Ides originally referred to the full moon at around the middle of the month. Later it referred to the 13th day of most months except for March, May, July, and October, where it referred to the 15th day. The Ides of March were a feast day dedicated to the Roman god Mars.

For how long was Julius Caesar Emperor of Rome? Julius Caesar was never Emperor of Rome. Rome had been a republic for nearly 500 years at the time of his death. Caesar, having marched his army across the Rubicon River to Rome (hence the phrase, crossing the rubicon) was proclaimed dictator in perpetuity. It was the fear that he wanted to dismantle the republic that drove the conspirators to assassinate him. The first Emperor was Caesar's adopted grandnephew, Gaius Octavian; later to become Augustus.

And he was assassinated at the senate in the Roman forum in 44BC? No, he was assassinated at a curia in the nearby Theatre of Pompey. A curia is a meeting place for discussion and the senate were the elders who met there. The curia at the Theatre of Pompey was used temporarily whilst the curia in the forum was being renovated.

And his dying words were, "You too, Brutus?", right? Well, it's often cited that he said "Et tu, Brute?" meaning "And you, Brutus?" but there is some debate over this. There are some Roman historians that support this while others cite he said nothing. There is also debate as to whether his last words were in Greek, "Kai su, teknon?" meaning "You too, my child?"

Julius Caesar was the first historical Roman to be officially deified. He was granted the title Divus Julius by the Roman Senate on 1 January 42 BC.

Desperate times...

Twenty-eight years ago last Monday began one of the most bitter industrial disputes this country has ever seen. It was March 5th 1984 and the miners in Yorkshire went on strike. They were soon joined by miners from all over the country. The dispute lasted a year, put an end to coal mining as a major UK industry and tested the resolve of the miners who suffered great hardships during that year long strike.

"We had to fight the enemy without in the Falklands. We always have to be aware of the enemy within, which is much more difficult to fight and more dangerous to liberty" - so said Margaret Thatcher about the miners' strike. You've no doubt heard many stories over the years of miners breaking the law during this action; either through riots at picket lines and rallies or through the use of flying pickets. I dare say there's much truth in these stories. These were desperate times.

What you won't hear so much is of the police brutality when mounted officers charged against picket lines or when they goaded miners to retaliate. You won't hear of Thatcher's government ordering the illegal sequestration of strike funds or the illegal tapping of phone lines. You won't hear of the libelous stories served up daily in some tabloid newspapers. These were, indeed, desperate times.

My own perspective was of a time when political connections were created. For the first time I saw working class communities ally themselves with minority groups they had hitherto kept an unfamiliar distance from: the feminist movement, the peace movement, student politics and the lesbian and gay movement. Students stood shoulder to shoulder with miners on picket lines, miners' wives visited the women at Greenham Common to thank them for donations, Sian James, a miner's wife from South Wales, addressed the London Lesbian and Gay Pride rally following support from Lesbians and Gays Support The Miners.

Furthermore, the mining communities started to to question the media where before they had accepted what was said. They questioned the BBC after they lied about the miners instigating, what became known as, The Battle of Orgreave. They stopped buying The Sun after it repeatedly portrayed them as the enemy. They ceased their unquestioning respect for the village bobby after their first hand experience of police violence.

Radical politics seem to have melted away. With the demise of Thatcher and the unions and the fading of her legacy, we no longer live in what most people would perceive as desperate times. The police are no longer trusted blindly as they once were. The media are no more believed as organs of the gospel truth.

The world has changed much. I dare say the connections made during this bitter dispute that happened 28 long years ago have a lot to do with social and cultural changes in the UK over the last three decades. As a gay man I have seen a growing acceptance of my sexuality and it is my belief that some of the seeds were sown during those desperate times.

Only connect...

God fires a warning shot...

Last night God fired a warning shot to indicate his displeasure at Cardinal Keith O'Brien's Sunday Telegraph piece, We cannot afford to indulge this madness.

The Lord's displeasure is being passed off by the liberal and well meaning BBC as a meteor but many observers understand this heavenly fireball to be a direct reaction to Cardinal O'Brien's unchristian and intolerant attitude to Elton John, Dale Winton and homosexuals the world over.

Many within the Catholic Church have expressed regret at his remarks, stating that Catholicism had tested the Lord's patience lately. Some have cited the church's recent involvement in numerous child sex scandals, its homicidal advice about HIV prevention and the Vatican's Nazi sympathies during the Second World War as having worn the Almighty's patience pretty thin.

A high ranking US cleric said he hoped that Pope John Paul II's expression of regret in 1992 over the Vatican's persecution and incarceration of Galileo Galilei would count somewhat in their favour. However, he did acknowledge that John Paul's statement occurred 350 years after Galileo's death, by which time the principle that the earth orbits the sun had become universally accepted anyway.

Cardinal O'Brien, leader of the Catholic Church in Scotland, was unavailable for comment and reports on Twitter of a plague of locusts settling in Morningside, Edinburgh have yet to be verified.

Today's run at 08:37
Distance	4.01 km	Time	22:16
Pace	5:33 min/km	Cadence	82 spm
Comments: Raining and cold.

Horst Buchholz made me gay...

Horst Buchholz died 9 years ago today. He was born in Germany 1933 and died aged 69 on March 3rd 2003. He had a beauty that was strangely modern - the picture to the right was taken, I think, during the 1950's. You'd be forgiven for thinking that it was taken during the 1980's.

He appeared in many films, most notably as Chico in The Magnificent Seven. But it is for his appearance in another film that I love him. In 1959 he appeared in Tiger Bay alongside John Mills and his daughter, Hayley Mills, in her debut picture. The film follows the story of a Polish sailor (Korchinsky), played by Horst Buchholz, who shoots his girlfriend whilst on shore leave in Cardiff and is helped whilst on the run by a young girl played by Hayley Mills - the only witness to the murder.

It's a highly entertaining film and has an added interest for me in that it's set in a now long disappeared Cardiff of the 1950's. More specifically, the main backdrop for the film is Cardiff's docklands, once known as Tiger Bay but now called Cardiff Bay, which is where I now live.

I first saw the film when I was eight or nine years old and I remember being fascinated by it. Of course, at that time, it was not the location that interested me as I didn't move to Cardiff's docks until the 1990s. No, I was fascinated, enraptured, besotted even by this man's beauty. Before I had the faintest inkling that I was gay; in all innocence - I fell in love with a Polish sailor called Korchinsky. I never tire of watching the film.

It's almost as if Buchholz shaped my idea of male beauty entering my imagination as he did at such an early age. How interesting to now learn that he was bisexual. Here's a clip from the film Tiger Bay. The area where this scene was filmed is now known as Mermaid Quay; how times change.

R.I.P. Horst Buchholz.

Today's run at 08:29
Distance	4.01 km	Time	22:45
Pace	5:40 min/km	Cadence	82 spm
Comments: Sunny, blustery, cold.

St David's Day...

St David is the only patron saint of a UK country who was actually born in the country of which he's patron saint; St Andrew was from the Middle East, as was St George and St Patrick is thought to have been Welsh.

St David is thought to have been born about 500 AD and died on March 1st 589 AD. To commemorate his death, March 1st is his feast day. He was a tea total vegetarian.

His flag, consisting of a yellow cross on a black background, is often used as an alternative to the Y Ddraig Goch (The Red Dragon). Neither flag fits in easily with the other flags of the UK and is one more reason why Wales is not represented on the Union Jack.

On St David's Day, it's traditional for Welsh people to wear leeks or daffodils. Towns often stage St David's Day parades. Young girls dress in Welsh national costume (a 19th Century invention) and school children sing Welsh songs.

Rock 'n' Roll...!

Tomorrow is a leap day...

I knew a girl who was a couple of years older than me at school; she was born on February 29th. She was fond of asking people how old they thought she was. When they guessed at 16, she'd correct them and say that she was 4. How we'd laugh... It soon lost it's appeal.

Tomorrow is February 29th or leap day, as it is sometimes known. Leap day is an additional day inserted into the calendar to correct the 6 hours not counted each year as the earth orbits the sun every 365.25 days.

Persons born on February 29th are sometimes known as leaplings. In non leap years, depending on the law, they either mark their birthday on February 28th or March 1st. Notable people born on February 29th include: Gioachino Rossini, Jimmy Dorsey and Dinah Shore. James Milne Wilson, the Premier of Tasmania from 1869 to 1872, was both born and died on February 29th.

BBC Radio 4's PM programme is asking its listeners to take a leap this year by thinking of February 29th as a free day and to mark it by doing something different.

On PM we've been highlighting listeners' planned leaps every night: a man debilitated by depression and almost unable to leave the house who hopes to take the bus to Swansea, a pensioner who's getting her first tattoo, a man who's been spurred on to finish his first symphony and many more.

It's an interesting way of looking at this leap day. What are you going to do?

Today's run at 17:49
Distance	4.26 km	Time	23:11
Pace	5:26 min/km	Cadence	81 spm
Comments: Overcast.

You can't take it with you...

Earlier this evening, I joked on Twitter about helping someone spend a million pounds. Chance would be a fine and pleasurable thing. But seriously, how would you spend £1m?

It used to be a question that took a while to answer. With inflation taking its toll over the years, the answers have gradually grown shorter. Time was when your imagination would run dry well before the cash ran out.

The world's first millionaire is said to have been 18th Century merchant, Elias Hasket Derby. Whilst undoubtedly wealthy, it is thought that he was just one of a number of wealthy and successful Massachusetts businessmen during the period.

History is littered with the wealthy; money can even buy you an entry in the history books. Notably wealthy figures from history include:

Alan Rufus, a companion of William the Conqueror
Marcus Licinius Crassus, Roman politician who made up the first triumverate along with Pompey and Julius Caesar
Tsar Nicholas II of Russia, the richest monarch in history and the wealthiest saint.
The Rothschilde family, a European dynasty of German-Jewish bankers and financiers

According to the World Wealth Report, the US has more millionaires than any other country, with Japan in 2nd place and Germany in 3rd place. The UK comes in at 5th place after China and ahead of France. The US$m was used as the measure here.

If ever you were in the enviable position of needing help in spending a fortune, have a look at this Independent article from last July: EuroMillions: £154 million, how to spend it all in one week.

Today's run at 17:48
Distance	4.15 km	Time	23:29
Pace	5:39 min/km	Cadence	80 spm
Comments: Grey and spitting with rain.

This Charming Man...

I've spent today playing The Smiths and humming along to them. I've been a fan ever since my days as a student in Cardiff in the early 80s. I saw them at the Mayfair, Swansea, in 1984. I was enthralled by Morrissey's image: National Health glasses and hearing aid - not sure what that says about me...?

I remember pushing my way to the front at that gig in Swansea and, as the guitar intro to This Charming Man started, I thrust my hand toward Morrissey, who, squatting at the front of the stage, grabbed it and held it for the entire duration of the song.

With all the sweaty pushing and shoving at the front, the dye from my black belt had run into my new white trousers. I didn't care; Morrissey had just held my hand and sung This Charming Man to me. I was in love! I could have died there and then and my life would have been worth it. To quote another Smiths song:

And if a double-decker bus
Crashes into us
To die by your side
Is such a heavenly way to die
And if a ten ton truck
Kills the both of us
To die by your side
Well the pleasure, the privilege is mine

You've got to love that mix angst and humour. I don't get those people who write him off as miserable - they're not listening closely enough. I think his songs are painful and real and funny.

Morrissey once did an interview where he was asked what he thought of TATU's cover of How Soon Is Now? Morrissey said that he thought that it was magnificent but admitted that he did not know too much about TATU. The interviewer explained, "They're teenage Russian lesbians." To which Morrissey replied, "Well, aren't we all?

I'll leave you with a video of This Charming Man.

Today's run at 15:01
Distance	4.01 km	Time	22:04
Pace	5:30 min/km	Cadence	79 spm
Comments: Clear and sunny.

Happy days...

Pictured on the right is a London Transport Photocard from 1987. And pictured on that card is me aged 25. I came across it at the bottom of a drawer a couple of days ago.

I was working as an actor for Gay Sweatshop, a London based gay theatre company. We were touring out of London and it was my first professional acting role. I was (despite the rather earnest look on my face) chuffed to bits.

I spent my spare time drinking endless cups of tea at the newly opened First Out Cafe or watching Lily Savage (before she hit the big time) at the Prince of Wales in Brixton or the Royal Vauxhall Tavern in Vauxhall. First Out closed last year, the Prince of Wales is now a straight bar called the Prince but, I'm happy to say, the Royal Vauxhall Tavern (or RVT as it's now known) is still flying that rainbow flag.

They were uncertain times: Thatcher was at the height of her powers and there was always something to protest about or march against. Happy days, indeed...

See you next Tuesday...

Cunt. Probably, the most offensive word in the English language. It's quite fashionable to say fuck; not an evening passes at the best parties without its mention - even the Royals use it. Cunt, however, is a different matter altogether. Germaine Greer has said that "it is one of the few remaining words in the English language with a genuine power to shock."

The etymology of the word is disputed. It is thought by some that the word is related to the Old Norse, kunta and Middle High German kotze meaning prostitute. It's been linked to the etymology of country and kin, although this again is disputed, as has its connection with the Latin word cuneus, meaning wedge. It has even been suggested that the Welsh word cwm, meaning valley, is also related.

Offensive as it maybe throughout the English speaking world, in other languages I get the feeling it doesn't have quite the same taboo status. Take, for example, the Spanish equivalent word coño, which, when used as an exclamation, seems to be on a par with damn or shit in English.

Many people will be aware of using the motor-racing driver's name James Hunt to reference cunt and most people are now aware of the phrase See you next Tuesday as an allusion to the word. I'm guessing though that many will not know that the term berk is short for Berkeley Hunt; rhyming slang for cunt.

My favorite witticism involving the word has to be Stephen Fry's definition of countryside - the murder of Piers Morgan. And you can't really discuss cunt without paying homage to Kenny Everett's creation, Cupid Stunt.

Today's run at 17:09
Distance	4.01 km	Time	21:24
Pace	5:20 min/km	Cadence	80 spm
Comments: Blustery.