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Reg The Ledge

If you have the Team Poundie 2017 Calender, you will find me as Mr August 🙂 Enjoy!!!

I have an update for you 🙂  Well, when I say I have an update that is a lie!  Non-Baldy (one of my minions) has written another piece about me.  I will be reading it with you so let’s hope it tells you all how wonderful, handsome, graceful, intelligent, loving and modest I am.  Here we go …

2017 update …

In November Reg will have been King of this particular castle for six years.  Six VERY long years … very long years during which I too have aged in dog years.   If I am honest I cannot remember many days during those six years when Reg and I have not had a little chat about some aspect of his behaviour!

Reg is a ‘dominant’ dog … domineering, bossy and overbearing – think Jeremy Paxman with a bigger nose and pointy ears!  Training methods and equipment ‘guaranteed to curb bad behaviour’ were tried … all failed.  Mainly because Reg liked being Reg and didn’t see why he should change!   Consequently Reg carried-on being Reg and I went along with it.  There we are, I admit it – all of Reg’s problems are down to me.  My fault therefore I must suffer and Reg makes sure that I do.

At home Reg behaves quite well as long as he can do what he wants to do when he wants to do it.  Reg and I have a routine but that routine might begin at 02.30hrs if that is when Reg wakes and decides to bark until I appear.  ‘YES’, I have tried letting him in the garden (and back into the house of course) and then going back to bed and ‘NO’ it doesn’t work!

Ignoring his ‘I want’ barking later in the day doesn’t work either because Reg barks very loudly and can keep barking for a long time.  There is also the ‘Reg tantrum’ where, if I don’t get out of my seat quickly enough when called, Reg will run towards me while barking and then stamp both his front feet.   I could ignore all of his nonsense of course but I have found it easier in the long run to do what is required because Reg has a long memory and many ways of getting his own back!

Fortunately (for Reg) I rarely go out socially and the ‘friends’ I spend most time with are Virgin TV and Google so I am nearly always at his command.  My hobbies are craft-based therefore I can continue quietly and Reg sleeps without being disturbed – knitting has been replaced by crochet as Reg objected to the clicking of knitting needles.  I also do quite a bit of my work from home and as long as I don’t make too much noise with my paperwork Reg continues to slumber.

When Reg is feeling affectionate he will climb onto the sofa, trampling whatever happens to be there and heave himself on the knee of his chosen one.  He then throws himself around, jabbing with his elbows, pummelling with his feet, until in a position where only he is comfortable and, as he usually manages to change the TV channel and sit or lay on the remote, has no competition for attention.

Reg’s temperament has mellowed a little further towards the outside world – a combination of his advancing years and the knowledge that I always have treats ready to attract his attention.  However, even with Reg’s more relaxed demeanour I could not describe our walks as enjoyable – for me that is as I spend the entire time on high alert, scanning every direction for anything that will require a change of route, a growl-stifling handful of treats or all my strength and both knees to pin Reg against the nearest solid object until whatever it is has passed!

Many of the things that used to startle or annoy Reg now seem to attract him and he will head towards any noise or action when he is outside.  If it is too quiet when we are out Reg will plonk his backside down and wait for something exciting to approach to be barked and pranced and twirled at.  This might be the bin lorry or the local child-minder – crunching garbage or screaming toddlers are both thrilling for Reg.  So, despite his mellowing, Reg is still over exuberant, just instead of being Mr Grumpy he is these days Mr Frustration on a lead as he is still not allowed to get too close to anything and despite many attempts to tip-toe, crawl, roll or charge across the grid protecting the children’s play area he still remains firmly on the outside looking in.

It makes me sad to see how much Reg wants to join-in but I have yet to find a parent happy to allow Reg to wrestle with their small child, a jogger happy to be pursued along the footpath, an OAP eager to let Reg leap onto their shopping trolley, a cyclist willing to have their rear tyre gnawed or a cat owner prepared to allow Reg to bounce up and down on it to see if it will make that squeaky-toy noise.

We go out for ‘walkies’ four times on most days giving Reg many opportunities to be a nuisance and, as we are always connected by a flexi-lead, whatever the season, I wear boots, a padded coat and a hat to be ready to fight my way through undergrowth or streams because Reg doesn’t like to be held back if he can smell something worth eating or rolling-in – even if it is through twenty yards of overhanging bramble bushes.   The neighbours are used to seeing me returning from a walk silently seething, mud-covered, bloodied and tear-stained so if there is only a volley of foul language to hear they believe it must have been a good walk!

Reg has a certain celebrity/cult status locally and I really do not mind that ‘we’ are usually addressed as ‘Reg’!  ‘He’ sends Christmas cards to the neighbours, buys birthday cards and gifts for the children and has chocolates to distribute at Easter and Halloween.  Even if the local youths do refer to him as a ‘Pit Bull’ the number of times I overhear “that dog is cool” outweigh the “what is that ***ing ugly thing?”  One comical moment happened after a rude comment was shouted by one within a group of youths and Reg, with fantastic timing, turned and stared at them – the laughing stopped and one of them actually said, “He heard you.”

Due to his natural nosiness and the belief his territory extends as far as he can see, Reg is also known as ‘Mr Neighbourhood Watch’.  Friday is Reg’s busiest day because every wheelie bin moved onto the pavement for collection has to be charged or at least barked at – sometimes pee’d on!  Food recycling caddies are knocked about to test how tightly closed the lids are and if they fail their inspection Reg and I then begin a tugging contest to see if I can get him back to his walk before he has time to sample the contents of the caddy or drag it with him.

Friday might be his busiest day but Reg knows there is plenty to keep watch over throughout the week.  All building works receive a daily site inspection while gardeners, window cleaners, tradesmen can all expect to be scrutinised.  Road works, cable-laying, gas and water pipe repairs – if it creates a hole Reg likes to look in and if he can surprise someone working in it all the better!  Looking to extend his duties and being optimistic, or should that be opportunistic, Reg sees every open door as an invitation to look inside.  Car or house door, many have looked out to find Reg looking back at them.

Reg is neither a fighter nor a lover.  He has twice been bitten by other dogs and smacked on the nose by a cat without retaliating.  The only living creatures he has killed are a spider he sniffed-up off the floor and a few snails he has trodden-on.  The small girl next door had Reg frozen to the spot just by returning his bark and if any dog ignores Reg’s protestations and dares to sniff the ‘private areas’ Reg almost collapses in shock and expects me to protect his virtue.  But he is a big, brash, lumbering lump who likes to bark and bounce around and he does it with his mouth open and consequently his teeth are capable of colliding with things – like Baldy Man’s head on several occasions.

Toys and food can be taken from him without a grumble and I have had his jaws apart and my hand half-way down his throat to retrieve inedible objects more times than I can remember and I still have all my fingers.  He cries if he hurts himself and clings when he is feeling unwell.  On the rare occasions Baldy Man and I are out together Reg has a sitter who describes him as ‘the perfect gentleman’ – I’m not jealous because I know Reg cannot keep up that act for long and is only behaving himself because he thinks the sitter might be his next owner.

English Bull Terriers have been described as toddlers in dog suits which is a good starting point.  They not only look different to other dogs, they are different and if you are looking for a dog that only knows how to be a dog you really do not want an English Bull Terrier.  English Bull Terrier’s do not think they are human they KNOW it and naturally Reg knows he is a particularly superior human.  Me?  I am just here to serve! Non-Baldy (Reg’s assistant)

 

Previously …

Reg has been neglectful of his blogging duties for far too long so I am taking the opportunity to give the hooman view of life with Reg.  Enjoy!  Non-Baldy (Reg’s assistant)

… and then there was Reg!

I found this recently while clearing documents from my laptop.  It was written after Reg’s first eighteen months with us.

Reg is my fourth canine sidekick.  The first was a Doberman Pinscher followed by Bullies – all rescues.  I have often said that if Reg had been my first English Bull Terrier rather than my third I would never have another one!

So, here we go back to the beginning …

Reg had been left late one night tied to a bus-stop in a not too salubrious part of London.  He was taken home by a kindly man who did not want Reg to fall into the wrong hands but unfortunately, due to his own ill health and frailty, Reg ended-up being crated most of the day and night with only brief visits to a small outside area.

Reluctantly Reg was signed-over to a rescue and after an assessment period with a fosterer (including a trip to the vet for ‘that’ operation) he was ready for us.  Reg was delivered and when he had decided we, the house, garden, sofas and food on offer were acceptable we all agreed he had found his ‘forever’ home.

Reg was very handsome and white apart from what looked like a bright-red, shiny pomegranate between his back legs where things were taking a little extra time to settle.  This certainly got Reg noticed when he was out and about – men either gasped at the size of his ‘assets’ or winced at the perceived pain of the swelling!  Children pointed and laughed while women gave a wry smile – probably thinking of who they would like to nominate for a similar operation!

We went to our vet to make sure all was going well and that was the last time Reg voluntarily entered the building!  The vet dared to touch the ‘pomegranate’ and nearly lost his hand as Reg showed his disapproval – needless to say subsequent visits are not eagerly anticipated by anyone involved.

Both previous Bullies had been mature in years when they left us (Oliver 13 and Rosie 9) so Reg’s arrival was like waking-up in a hurricane.   He was in to everything and found the entire world tremendously exciting as he rushed to take it all in at 100 miles an hour.

As well as being younger (probably around 4 years of age) than Oliver and Rosie, Reg was also taller, stronger and LOUDER which made for a rollercoaster first few months:

Taller – Reg would stand on his back legs and with his front paws work his way along the kitchen worktop eating whatever was in reach – we almost lost our Sunday lunch before we, relaxing in the sitting room, realised what was making the strange ‘shuffling’ sound in the kitchen.

He felled the bird table to get to the suet blocks and chomped his way through the soft fruit after getting onto the raised beds.

Stronger – Once harnessed-up Reg was always raring to get out and at the world.  He rocketed out of the door and I was often left clinging to the letterbox trying to lock the door with one hand while Reg would see just how far my other arm stretched!

During our walks I suffered many injuries caused by Reg tripping me up, pushing me over, pulling me into lamp-posts, trees and walls and dragging me through shrubbery and across front gardens.  However, Reg’s ‘pièce de résistance’ was the introduction he created for me with a new neighbour!

After several days of rain the ground was very slippery as we made our way around the park at our more leisurely, stroll’n’sniff pace.  Then, way, way, WAY over the other side of the park, appeared the new neighbour (a fireman … but not one for the calendar!) with his French bulldog.  Without warning Reg took off.  I tried to keep-up while reeling-in the extending lead but after doing a triple-Salchow and a double-Lutz or two I was on my face and being dragged across the football pitch.  I came to rest at the feet of the new neighbour while Reg and the French bulldog bounced, barked and lunged at each other.  Managing to haul myself upright and with the little dignity I could muster while still covered in mud, grass, the (fresh that morning) white paint and a fair amount of dog poop I introduced us while disentangling everyone from Reg’s lead.

Once I had secured Reg and apologised on his behalf I trudged back across the pitch to retrieve my hat, then apologise to the groundsman who was on his way to repaint his white lines.  I managed to stop swearing long enough to get past the beautifully behaved canines of the morning dog-walking group and got into the car vowing never to take Reg out again!

LOUDER – Every noise in the house was barked at irrespective of hour of day or night – door bell, telephone, washing machine, television, vacuum cleaner, microwave, creaky floorboards, neighbours, cars or people passing-by, in fact you name it and Reg barked at it and not just one or two barks.  I even got bitten on the backside for daring to continue using a power-tool despite the barking – Reg managed to bash open the door separating us just so he could demonstrate his displeasure in a way I would not forget!

Outside the world was full of exciting things Reg just had to bark at and leap and twirl – birds, leaves falling from trees, bicycles, joggers, people talking, cats, small children, old ladies with shopping trolleys, wheelie bins, other dogs – the list was very long because Reg found nearly everything exciting and barked and lunged his way around the neighbourhood.

Visitors to the house were another source of excitement for Reg who either tried to stop them getting in, barked non-stop at them, sat on them and refused to get off, stuck his tongue in whatever they were drinking or tried to prevent them leaving.

After 18 months of Reg …

I would love to say Reg is now perfectly behaved, walks beautifully to heel and is as quiet as a mouse but I would be lying!

Reg has calmed slightly but is still an in your face, larger than life character and I think this is the way he will stay – it’s rather like sharing the house with actor Brian Blessed!

He no longer surfs the kitchen worktops but hangs around when food-related activities take place in the hope of picking-up anything that drops to the floor – quite a successful strategy on Reg’s part because whenever you turn round you cannot avoid tripping over him.  Otherwise Reg can be found trying to encourage open the door to his treat cupboard – fortunately for us he still seems to be trying hypnotism and the door remains unresponsive.  Try shutting him out of the kitchen and … well let’s just say Reg can bark for a long, long time.

Walks are on the whole a little more manageable although Reg is unlikely to let other dogs pass without at least one bark and anything fast moving like cyclists or joggers are still of interest so we have to hold on tight.  Most of the neighbours are now used to Reg’s ‘exuberant’ nature and, although they still keep their distance, no longer look terrified.

Just like the rest of us Reg has his idiosyncrasies and in exchange for the entertainment and comedic moments he provides at home (even brief moments of affection) we live with them.

2017 update …

To be continued …

 

Reg does the Olympics!  I don’t know about everyone else but I found watching all that activity absolutely exhausting. Mind you, watching all those calories being burned-off meant I could snack more without feeling guilty so I’m glad I put the effort in.

Dogs know hoomans are very strange and watching the Olympics showed them at their strangest! I decided there were lots of improvements needed so obviously I set to work straightaway and dedicated many hours thinking how best to help the hoomans. Of course many hours of thinking requires many extra calories and extra hours of rest – that is why it has taken me so long to publish my blog this month. It is a bit of a ‘marathon’ blog so you will need a snack when you have finished reading.

Before I share my sporting observations I do have to ask “What twisted hooman invented Lycra?” The idea of hooman clothing is so that we dogs don’t have to see all the untidy bits jiggling around like ferrets in a sack – but hoomans in Lycra … yuck, yuck, yuck! With all that running and jumping and throwing there were hooman lumpy and bumpy bits wobbling and shuddering all over the show … and the jangly bits! OMG the jangly bits! Hideous! Practically waving at me down the camera from Rio they were. All that swaying and bobbling in HD close-up … why, I could even tell most of them hadn’t been ‘done’!

I think Lycra must be very expensive too because there obviously wasn’t enough money left to make proper outfits for the ladies after the men’s costumes were finished. It wasn’t very fair that men had big shirts and shorts and onesies while the ladies had to make do with little tops and teeny, weeny knickers that didn’t cover their cheeks – unless it was just to encourage non-sporting people like Baldy-Man to watch?

OK I’ll move on to the actual sports while I try and get those images out of my mind and start with running. I get why they do the running very fast thing and on a good day, on a slight slope, with the wind in the right direction, I am a bit of a Usain Bolt myself but I bet if they made all the running very fast Olympic hoomans dress as delivery men/women and had barky, nippy dogs chasing them they could all go a bit faster.

I can understand the running very fast and passing-on the baton when they are worn-out to the next very fast running person but why the loaf of bread? If they have to pass-on something it would be much more exciting if they had to carry and pass-on a slice of cake – a really fancy cake with cream and chocolate and nuts and decorations and soft icing and all sorts of yummy stuff – and when the last person in the team finishes the slice of cake has to be judged and the team with the least damaged piece of cake wins. I suppose if the rules say they have to run with bread the race could end with the last person making a sandwich for judging. Or, tee hee hee, if they won’t allow sandwich making they could use a French stick instead of a baton – that would be really funny because Non-Baldy cannot even get back from Tesco without breaking or bending a French stick.

Why don’t the Olympic hoomans complain when builders leave bits of fence in the way? How can they do very fast running when they have to jump over things as well? Instead of bouncing around and smiling at the camera before the gun goes off they could all move the bits of fence off the track and then the very fast running would be so much easier. After the race the person that comes last has to put all the fence bits back where the builders left them.

Before I leave running I have to say I really don’t understand why hoomans want to run long distances. I know not everyone has a car but surely they can always get a bus or a train or even borrow a bicycle. It obviously isn’t good for them either – they were all so thin with little twig-like legs and some of them fell down and couldn’t get up without the help of a normal-sized person. Silly hoomans!

I mentioned a bicycle there so I’ll move on to the cycling events … there were too many and some were silly. There I said it! The race around the roads was too easy because all the traffic had been stopped, there were no ancient hoomans trying to cross the roads and if their bicycle stopped working someone gave them a new one. It would have been more entertaining if they had to do it in national costumes, their bicycles had a trailer thingy with children in, if they broke their bicycles their coach would bring them a little repair kit in a tin and say something inspirational like “You broke it so you fix it. I’m not going to get you a new bicycle every time you break the old one.” and if they missed the bin when they threw away their empty water bottle they had to go back and pick it up. Yes, that would make it much more interesting.

The indoor bicycle races certainly need sorting out – I have seen through the Olympic hoomans’ cunning and can tell you there is only one race going on and they use silly names and different tactics to make it look otherwise. They might call it a Madison or an Omnium, have individuals or teams, men or women, start at opposite sides of the track or in a big scrum but believe me … just one race! If they really wanted to make it more interesting everybody goes off together, the bicycles could have baskets on the front with shopping in and they have to end the race with all the shopping still in the basket and instead of wearing those pointy bicycle helmets they have to wear top hats. There, much better for spectators.

I’m going to get rid of that silly thing where the hoomans dress like they are riding a motor-bike but then get on a bicycle with no seat to race around corners and over bumps until they fall off. When I go out on my walks I only ever see children riding those silly bicycles so it is not dignified for full-sized hoomans to do.

OK, on to throwing – we dogs have always known that hoomans enjoy throwing toys and it is not for our benefit at all but where we have been getting it wrong is just bringing it back to the hooman. No! What they want us to do is whip out a tape measure and check how far they have thrown it. Yes really, I saw it happen! They give the toys different names but every time the Olympic hoomans threw a discus (Frisbee), shot put (ball), hammer (rope tugger) or javelin (stick) a gang of official hoomans dashed out and marked where it landed.

Jumping – Olympic hoomans like to jump in really silly ways! There were some taking turns to do really fast running in the hope of jumping over a sand pit and they all fell in. If they had just used dog-logic they would have looked round the side of the sand pit and then just a little jump would have seen them over the other side! Some other Olympic hoomans did funny loopy running and threw themselves backwards over a fence. Stupid if you ask me when they could have just walked under the fence.

However, the most irritating jumping is something called the pole vault. Now we dogs have to endure endless laughter from our hooman assistants when videos appear on the instantnet thingy showing fellow canines … um … how best to put this … shall I say … being slightly over-ambitious with their stick gathering. You know the videos. Where a canine dude has a magnificent stick in his mouth and then it won’t fit through the doorway no matter how many times he pushes it against the frame. It is not until he realises (sometimes with the help of his hooman assistant I will admit) the stick has to be turned through ninety degrees and pulled that it goes through the doorway. Well “Hello Olympic hoomans” – oversized stick … doorway!! Sound familiar? There were bodies and sticks going everywhere in the pole vault event – the Olympic hoomans did the running very fast while carrying their long, long sticks and then every single one of them got the stick caught in the floor and it went one way while they either flew over the doorframe or knocked the top off and not one of them got through the doorframe with their stick. If it hadn’t been for someone fly-tipping a big mattress just inside the doorway there would have been lots of broken Olympic hoomans. It was ridiculous. All they had to do was grab hold of the end of the stick and pull it through!

I’m not going to talk about all those events with horses because they are just wrong. If a horse wanted to jump over stuff or prance about to music it could do it without a hooman on top! The Olympic hoomans just wanted to get in on the act and pretend that the jumping and prancing was all their idea.

There were too many boat events too. Some boats with sails were in the sea. Other boats were paddled over rocks, with the hoomans sitting down or kneeling. Hundreds of other boats had oars and one hooman or pairs of hoomans or lots of hoomans, sometimes with a small hooman shouting at them. Craziness so I am replacing all of them with one event – Hawaiian Outrigger racing to the theme of Hawaii 5-O or if they cannot do the music I’ll settle for Dragon Boat racing.

As well as throwing stuff the hoomans did shooting with guns and bows and arrows but didn’t have darts, Aunt Sally or knocking the coconut off – strange!

There were soooooooo many games where a ball had to be flung over a net. I don’t know who worked out the rules but they were rubbish. They could have saved so much time if they had just all played together. The games had different names, the bats were different sizes, the scoring was different, the nets were in different places (in Ping-Pong they even nail the net to a table – Non-Baldy would have been furious), some had one person each side of the net while others had a whole gang of Olympic hoomans, men or women and men and women but they were all flinging a ball over a net. Why didn’t the Rio deciding committee just do an “eenie meenie miney moe” and pick one place for the net and one size of bat. If the scoring was the first one to 10 points they would have saved loads of time. They could have given it a new name – I think Bad-Pong is a fab name – and to decide who played Bad-Pong they should have picked just one name from each country’s ball flinging players out of a hat and they were the one who played.

Baldy-Man’s favourite ball flinging game was one where gangs of Olympic hooman ladies played in teeny weeny clothes on sand without bats – stupid game but as I like to keep my hooman assistants happy that game can stay.

If the Olympic hoomans wanted to run about more they could kick balls into nets, knock balls into nets using a stick or kick balls through sticks. Rather than mix all these games together I think I’d make them all wear big, big shoes like clowns.

There were Olympic hoomans who wanted to prove they were strong by lifting stuff until the veins stuck out on their heads or they fell down. Others wanted to prove they were tough by hitting each other either wearing big gloves or hitting and kicking each other or by throwing each other to the ground. This last one was done in something called a ‘leotard’ or in what looked like pyjamas. Baldy-Man said ladies did similar rolling around and throwing in mud but I must have been having a nap when that was on.

I don’t know if they were trying to prove they were tough but there were other Olympic hoomans wearing bee-keeping outfits prancing about with pointy things that kept making an annoying noise so that one will have to go when I am in charge.

Indoors there was something called Gymnastics where Olympic hoomans did lots of stuff like springing over a big box, waving their arms around on an ironing board or waving their legs around on an ironing board with handles, twirling around bars or rings or prancing and rolling on the floor to music. It was fair because everyone had a go on nearly everything but it did take such a long time. Maybe they should have made people go home straightaway if they fell off something and not give them another go. Not very fair I guess but Hey! I still have to pee outdoors even when it is raining – life isn’t always fair!

There was even a prancing to music event in water where Olympic hoomans with pegs on their noses and lots of make-up did arm and leg waving … truly bizarre.

Those that didn’t want to prance in the water did jumping into water from a long way up without making big splashes. Sometimes they were so far up that they had to do a few twisty things on the way down to stop getting bored or they did it with a friend so they had someone to chat with. Or they did swimming which went on and on and on! I can do swimming so I think this was quite an easy way to get a medal. The swimming was just like the running really – except for the water that is! There was really fast swimming, really fast swimming before handing over to someone else (they didn’t use a baton though because bread isn’t waterproof) and some swimming that went on for so long the hoomans would have been really wrinkly by the time they got out. They had different races to swim in different ways – on their front, on their back, arms and legs doing the same thing and arms and legs doing different things. It would have been quicker if they got rid of all the swimming that wasn’t really fast swimming and all did doggy-paddle and then there would have been time to do the race where they have to jump into the water wearing pyjamas to prove they can do lifesaving.

So that covers most of the Olympics but I have kept my particular favourites until last. I am going to apply for the job where you get to shove a load of stuff together and make Olympic hoomans do them. Some hoomans must be desperate to get a medal because they do loads and loads of stuff for just one medal. Obviously the Rio shove-together-event-organizer wasn’t as inventive as I would be. Men did ten running, jumping and throwing events in the Decathlon and ladies did seven in the Heptathlon but I am going to put them together in a Hecathlon and everyone does it together. I’m getting rid of the any running events that are not really fast running and there is no point keeping the pole vault, high jump and long jump now I have told everyone how to do them properly. They can keep the Frisbee throwing but the ball and stick throwing can go so that cuts it down to … um … oh … only the Frisbee and 100 metres.

Maybe I need to add a few things. I know I’ll get my own back by adding some stuff hoomans make dogs do! They can do one of those agility courses where they have to go through tubes, over a see-saw and between sticks against the clock. After that they can have tennis balls fired at them to catch and run to put in a box – to make it easier for them they can use their hands so they don’t need to catch the ball in their mouth. Then they can round-up sheep on their own and then … oh this is a fabulous one … they can stand on a box in front of hundreds of strangers while another hooman pokes at them to stand properly, keeps fluffing their hair, checks their bits and decides who they like the best … that will show them what we have to go through. There will be a sack race and then they have to cook an omelette as fast as they can – hoomans do the omelette thing on the TV so they must like it. OK there we have all eight events in the Hecathlon.

Non-Baldy likes those Brownlee brothers who do the Triathlon so I won’t mess about with it too much – even though it is another of those events where going by car would be quicker than swimming, cycling and running to get somewhere. Maybe, to make sure no one ever beats the Brownlee brothers the swimming can be replaced with a pedalo race before the cycling bit on a tandem and then the running bit becomes a three-legged race. Simple!

I can’t decide whether to do away with this last shove-together-event or just bring it up to date. It is called the Modern Pentathlon but it is all old stuff – fencing, swimming, jumping with a horse, shooting and running across a country. I’ll have a go at updating it first … Ok … five challenging, more modern tasks … here goes … I knew watching the Discovery Channel on TV would come in useful one day … put together a piece of flat-pack furniture, do the weekly shop using one of the handheld scanners, book an online flight for the advertised price of £29 that meets the following criteria – it goes somewhere you have at least heard of if not necessarily wanted to visit, it doesn’t only depart at 23.15hrs on 29 February, the flight is actually longer in distance than the bus/train journey required from the airport to the advertised destination and finally it does not incur additional charges if you want to carry a tissue in both coat pockets. Then, without using Google, the instruction booklet or a passing four-year-old child set-up a Fitbit and finally, using a 3D printer, produce a wearable crash helmet before getting on a Segway to race to the finish line! There I’ve done it.

Sorry it took so much reading but every time I thought I had finished I remembered another Olympic event the hoomans needed help improving. You can all go and have your snack now to recover.

Next month I shall try and choose an easier topic to blog about. RegX

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