A year ago now i wrote a few lines about my Ironman experience in Kalmar Sweden.  Now I know some of you will wonder why someone of my age still takes part in such events and many will dismiss me as being mad.  This year shortly before I left for the wonderful city that is Copenhagen a friend asked a pertinent question,”do you think your race could possibly be as good as last year?”

Taking part in an Ironman race with your son in the same field is quite a thing.  Of course we could exchange banter before the race and he set up my bike computer properly but when the gun went we were on our own. As the race progressed, just like last year,  and as they did a sort of ‘magic’ happened a ‘magic’ i will carry with me for all of my days. I PB’d in the swim.  Don’t know how or why as all the stuff I tell everyone else I plain forgot and just ‘went for it’- I even found myself laughing at one point.

My good friend “Chef’ had texted me the night before the race offering wise words-‘go steady all the way’ on the bike.  Yes I replied  I will-but I didn’t ,I torched it.  I PBd the bike too. 

The first piece of magic that occurred was around mile 40.  My son, who had started some 30 minutes after me, in another wave,came flying by .  We roared greetings and encouragement at each other and I laughed again. The course was gently rolling with only 3200 feet of climbing in total.  The wind was strong but mercifully, was only full head on for around 10 miles.  The course, unlike Sweden was relatively deserted as it was staged on main roads, some of them dual carriageways but all closed to traffic. There were two amazing exceptions, ‘hot spots’ as the organisers call them. Again the magic happened as we raced first up a hill and then down a cobbled street in a town with barely enough space between the crowds, like a scene from the Tour De France, we raced along my heart leaping with joy at the experience I was having.  I sort of sobbed and laughed all at the same time.  The two loop course meant two helpings of the same pie.

I had promised myself that I would walk the first mile of the marathon in order to loosen my legs.  However as I emerged from the transition tent I was confronted my a funnel of humanity clapping their hands and urging me, and everyone around me to run, and so i did, well my version anyway.  After 7 or 8 miles I decided to reward my  ‘plodding’ by a treat of salted biscuits washed down with coca cola, yum!.  Next thing I knew I had tripped over and was lying on the floor my biscuits in a puddle and my coke all over a worried looking marshal. Now I don’t make excuses and i am sure I would have run out of puff anyway but this tumble that hurt my knee and caused me to walk most of the rest of the course also allowed me to meet and experience some more wonderful moments of magic that will live with me for ever. 

 First and perhaps best of all shortly after my setback  I heard a familiar voice and Tom’s arm appeared around my shoulder.  Now I hope you will excuse me for singing my sons praises but his performance on the day was just fantastic and it would have been even better if he had not chosen to jog a couple miles with me in order to make sure Liz and Aileen (our wonderful support crew) would have the opportunity to take some pics of us together. Thanks Tom.

I met a man who runs a programme for Danish war veterans who are suffering from post battlefield stress (We are not the only European country in Afghanistan) They have used triathlon as a way of rebuilding people, giving them back their pride and instilling a sense of purpose. He was also a Danish International Rugby prop forward (Denmark do have a rugby team I now know).

 I met a delightful Danish man who only that week had become a father for the first time, a baby boy. When I told him about my son being in the same race he looked at me and tears filled his eyes. 

At one point my head was bowed, more for fear of falling on some cobbles than from fatigue, when a gentle hand touched my shoulder and a soft voice encouraged me to look up and see beautiful rainbow.

 I met an English woman who had a disabled child and for who this race really was a big thing a sort of ‘giving something back to herself’ . As she got within 2 miles of the finish the emotion got to her and she began to shake.  I am sure we broke some rules but she held on to my arm for nearly a mile as I encouraged her to calm down.  I finally managed to get her to drink a large red bull, which did the trick, as she finally took control and left me with a fond farewell.

 The final piece of magic had a wonderful symmetry to my life in triathlon.  Many many years ago i watched a man carry his seriously disabled son around the Kona course, you may have seen the video. I have never found anything so moving in my life.  When iI watched it my daughter often reminds me that that was the moment I announced I wanted to do an Ironman race for myself. Well you may have read in the Daily Mail or if you have not do visit this link and watch something specialhttp://vimeo.com/104312124 . Anyway as I approached my final lap, far away from the crowds as the lights were beginning to fade, I saw one superbly fit young man pushing his severely disabled twin brother. I do not know what they were saying but communicating they were and the words courage and love took on a whole new meaning for me. Life is full of setbacks and when they happen you can roll over or else you can face 

them full on. Seeing these two brothers in arms reminded me how lucky Tom and I are and all of us who take our bodies for granted. It also turned my mind to Louis Watts who thanks to all your help will now get his disability trike.

The blue carpet at the end of an Ironman is bliss.  You sort of line up to be hailed by the crowd. (i nearly tripped over the huge union flag Tom had handed to me-twerp that I am) All pain goes, a feeling of utter joy takes over. 

And so I now know the answer, the magic happened and the answer is Yes!! it was as good as last year maybe even better. Anyone for Zurich next year? (my finish time was 14 hours 6 minutes -a new PB!!) Tom was an amazing 104th out of 3200 racers in a time of 9:30. He was first GB athlete in his age group. Awsome.

As this blog is mainly for my family and good friends I have been encouraged to add a few articles I wrote for other publications mainly on the sport of Triathlon so here we are.

Over the recent years I have taken enormous pleasure from being Chairman of East Devon’s N1 Tri Club. Watching people gain, or regain, a passion for a sport is a wonderful thing and the human spirit thrives on the process. Triathlon races are staged over all sorts of distances, but over time I have built the greatest admiration for those who have taken on the ultimate test -The Full IronMan Distance – a jaw dropping 2.4 miles of swimming, followed by 112 miles of cycling and finally a 26.2 mile marathon run.

So it was that last week I found myself in Kalmar on the start line of the 2013 ‘Ironman Sweden race’. To give my effort some context my race number on the day was 2015, the year when I will begin to draw my state pension!

I had chosen the race in Sweden for two good reasons. First of all the bike section is relatively flat (no apologies there) and secondly the race has gained a reputation for superb organisation and also an atmosphere, second to none, which is generated by the involvement of the whole local community. I was certainly not disappointed.

At 7am in the morning I found myself standing in the middle of 2,000 plus highly trained athletes, including professional tri-athletes and a former stage winner of the Tour De France, waist deep in the Baltic Sea!

The banks of the harbour of Kalmar were mobbed and a local churchman read a moving prayer seeking safe passage for we racers. As he finished a cannon boomed and the race was on.

I quickly learned I had made a terrible mistake as I was caught in the middle of a headlong charge for the first marker buoy.

It was like being in the biggest washing machine in the world as the water churned with the efforts of swimmers fired with a potent charge of adrenaline. I gulped for air and drank large amounts of sea water as I tried to find a way out. Panic took over and I literally fought my way to the side of the field lengthening my swim, but finally finding clear water. I emerged from the water battered, but hugely relieved despite my slow time, the result of my bad planning.

So to the bike and it was here that I began to see just why it is that the Swedish race is so popular. The racers swept out of the magnificent town of Kalmar with its ancient castles and ramparts as a backdrop – a signal of former power and glory.

The first few miles involved crossing a magnificent achievement of modern engineering, a five mile long bridge, normally closed to cyclists, but on this day two of its four lanes were closed to cars, police motorbikes buzzed too and fro, and we raced high above the waters beneath. As I crossed the bridge I first became aware of the strong wind we were to face on our ride as my carbon fibre deep section bike wheels twitched violently in the wind. Off the bridge we turned on to the neighbouring large island of Oland and turned into the strong 25 mph headwind. For the next 35 miles I was bent as low as possible in a long line of racers all clad in various bright colour of lycra, aero helmets and many riding top of the range time trial bikes with disc wheels and aero handle bars. Amazingly, the whole 112 miles was staged on closed roads and every junction was manned by an orange shirted marshall with a red flag. Ironman rules insist no ‘drafting’ of other racers and motor cyclist patrolled the course carrying the ever present threat of the dreaded black card and disqualification. Each and every farm we passed we were cheered on by the families who owned them and as we passed through small towns and villages street parties were in full flight and we were urged on with the soon to become familiar Swedish cry of ‘Heya’- a mix of greeting and exhortation. I offered some ‘Good Mornings’ in my best English accent and

was repaid with cheers and further messages of good will   The hills of East Devon, Dartmoor and Exmoor have built some power in my ageing legs but the relief I felt as we turned at the end of the island was considerable. With the wind now driving us my speedo signalled a constant 22 miles an hour and I began to overhaul other racers. Back into Kalmar then a second loop on the mainland where we raced through housing estates and shopping centres with huge crowds urging us on. With 10 miles to go on the ride an awful feeling came upon me that soon I would have to leave my bike and face the daunting prospect of a marathon run. In truth my knees are a little worn and my longest training run was just 15 miles. My stomach churned with fear as I anticipated the effort. I need not have worried.

The run course was a three lap affair out around a peninsula on which beautiful houses are built overlooking the sea. Seemingly every house had its own garden party, many had flags and bunting, and some provided music to spur the racers on. Every three miles an aid station was in place where a team of orange shirted helpers served a menu of energy drinks and various foods, each runner making their individual choice of sustenance. The most amazing element for me of the race was the people I met on my journey. Some conversations lasted many miles, others lesser distances, but with my friends from Canada, Australia, America and of course Scandinavia, I developed a most reassuring bond. After one lap we entered the old walled town of Kalmar and I was just blown away by the experience. We ran down a channel of crash barriers for some two miles as the course zigzagged through the cobbled streets. The crowds were huge and the packed street- side bars and cafes had become watching places for thousands of spectators. In Ironman races the race number also carries the first given name of the competitor so now the familiar ‘Heya’ was coupled with my name. Tantalisingly the final section through the town passes through the main square where the large finishing grandstand was erected and the huge crowd roared home those who were already finishing. We were made to pass down a separate corridor alongside the finishing channel. I looked down and tried to blank out the feelings it provoked. As I left the town a yellow bracelet was placed on my arm and my second circuit began.

This time many of the faces were familiar, the greetings even warmer and amazingly my legs began to work well. The second passage through the town was as uplifting as the first as I was encouraged to keep going and finish the course and as I passed the grandstand this time I looked across at the finishing line and for the first time I dared to dream I would finish. On my final circuit dusk was drawing in but amazingly all the spectators were still in place. My second band, a blue one, signalled my final loop. At each aid station the volunteers lined up to ‘high five’ me and offer congratulations and I was able to thank each and every one of them for their support. I received a huge hug from a man who had built a pyramid of beer cans during the afternoon and a kiss from an old lady in a wheel chair. I later learned that every the person in the race received the same treatment, even those who were cruelly denied a finishing medal as they failed to cross the line within the 16 hour cut off time.

As I entered the towns walls for a final time an amazing thing happened, two young Swedish boys dressed in the organisers orange tee shirts, appeared and took up station on either side of me to escort me on my final mile. They urged me on as I passed the bars and restaurants packed with my new ‘friends’. The emotions coursed through my body, hands reached out from young and old alike. As I approached the market square the two boys disappeared, I never got to thank them. The sight in front of me was awe inspiring, the square was packed and the master of ceremonies announced my arrival, his booming mike drowning the music of some rock classic on the PA system. As luck would have it I spotted my wife, who had endured a day of endless stress and worry, standing by the finishing shute. She handed me a Union Jack flag and I proceeded down the final steps of my journey. The confirmation of my joining an exclusive club was left to the crowd as the MC had, by this time of night, trained them well, as I crossed the line he announced ‘Dennis Elliott of the N1 Tri Club Great Britain, you are an’, and the crowd roared ‘Ironman’.

My race was run and I had achieved a life long ambition and experienced one of the greatest days of my life. I have learned even at my age that setting goals and working hard to achieve them brings great joy and satisfaction especially when shared with friends and loved ones.

I am involved in a wonderful sport and as I returned to my home in England I reflected on the many people who during the day had encouraged me to return to Kalmar next year and race again. I just might do that. After all personal bests are there to be broken.

For the record it took me 14 hours 53 minutes to complete the course in 1544th place.

I was beaten in my age category (60-64) by 11 impossibly fit looking Scandinavian men (it must be genetic!) but there was at least one American and mercifully one Australian in my wake!

It is the day after the inauguration of Joe Biden and Kamala Harris. As I watched the ceremony I experienced a sense of hope. The wonderful words of Alex Gorman reminding us all of what values we should aspire to in this mixed up world.

Lady Gaga’s magnificent performance got me thinking. About National anthems. I woke in the night and I thought further around which ones I like and those I do not. So I thought I would write my own list of favourites down, just for fun.

There are some really bad anthems. ‘Flower of Scotland’ is up there but in truth so is ‘God Save our Queen’ as it carries all sorts of messages that do not appeal to me in the least. I dislike those ‘dual’ anthems that involve a verse in some ‘older tongue’ followed by a change of rhythm and a more modern rendition. Surely places like South Africa and New Zealand and now Australia ought to think that one thing they are trying to respect by recognising heritage in fact signals division.

When Land of My Fathers is played at a Rugby match or indeed at An Ironman start, as I have reported recently, tears flow. However examination of the translated words and the rather unattractive guttural sounds of the Welsh language temper my enthusiasm. The Welsh can really sing though.

Only this week I heard an interview with the rather pompous Simon Halliday who is now Chairman of all things rugby. I remember well when, courtesy of him being an England International as well as my employee, I watched England play France in a world cup semi final in Paris. The French band would come second to no-one and as it struck up the hairs on the back of my neck did too. Alas the drama of the occasion was somewhat dented when the French anthem, belted out in its alternative version by around 30,000 Englishmen, came to the crucial line that in French calls the ‘populous to arms’. I swear we English out muscled the French as we collectively enquired as to where the “toilet paper had gone’!.

The Argentinian anthem is fantastic as it seemingly has the capacity to make some of the best looking men on the planet shed buckets of tears. Then of course Italy and its lilting rhythmic section followed by a staccato pledge of allegiance. There are many more including Japan that I love.

However back to yesterday and Lady G. My mind went back to 1986. There I was living in a Utopia. Riverside Connecticut USA 06878!! Our house like many others sitting on its own 1/3rd of an acre lot. Beautiful tree lined roads and manicured lawns reflecting the various American ‘standard house’ designs. Clapper Boards, Colonials -ours was a ‘Tudor’. Any way Riverside and Old Greenwich is as beautiful a place as you can imagine. The people coexist with great friendship and respect omni present. They are all ‘winners’ and the amenities they have collectively come to share are beyond anything that most could imagine. Liz and my young family were part of it and we could not believe our luck. A good friend Dean Allen invited us to share their family picnic on the occasion of American Independence day, July the 4th. Apparently an annual picnic occurs in the local park and the majority of the population attend we were told. A beautiful hot day and the uniform of choice beach shorts, tee shirts, flip flops and shades. Binnie Park looked splendid its flower beds manicured and filled with beautiful flowers. On the Band Stand the Old Greenwich Fire Department brass band belted out show time favourites. The picnics laid out it was a joyful scene.

At 3 pm sharp there was a roll on the drums and the assembled throng, thousands, not hundreds, turned their attention away from their elected ‘spreads’ and stood to attention. Many placed their right hand on their left breast. To begin with I was not sure what was happening then I did and oh my goodness!!. Men, women, boys, girls belted out ‘The Star Spangled Banner’. The predominantly college educated throng had had much practice at fine tuning their individual contribution to the performance as a result of the intense sporting culture that pervades the various campuses of the country and all its associated pageantry of marching bands and the like.

Men belted out their words women harmonised and descanted. It was quite literally awesome. “As The Rockets Red Glare” rang out I literally shook with emotion as I still do today every time I hear the thing. I did yesterday and it made me feel good. Good Luck Jo and Kamala!!

Now as you may well gather sport has played a huge part in my life. I love the technical side of sport, how to do things well, learn the skills and train to maximise ones abilities. I love the glamour of sport. The anticipation of an event that scared/excited feeling. I love the thrill of being in a team when a victory is registered or sharing an exhilarating event with a good friend or family member. I love more than anything else that beer in the bar when the chance to relive the ordeal or event presents itself.

Like many, witnessing sport can move me to tears as the sheer elation of a conquering hero or heroine or the combined joy of team explodes along with music and all the rest.

There is one sporting moment however that I witnessed that out-shines all others for me. Here I will tell the tale of a good friend of Liz and I and the day he took on The Dragon-Ironman Wales.

Matt Collins is amongst the most delightful people I have ever met. He is tall good looking with a friendly face and eyes that convey warmth and fun. Matt is the best all round craftsmen I have ever met, by a ‘street’. A number of years ago he faced a particular health challenge and during that time Liz and I got to know him very well. His spirit and attitude marked him out as being special and we are very happy to say that we have retained our friendship to this day and every meeting with Matt is a joyful occasion made even better if his Dad Mum or indeed brother are along for the ride.

One day about 5 year ago Matt came to visit and declared he wanted to “do an Ironman’. I suppose in truth my efforts had convinced him that it was obviously possible and as an excellent cyclist there was only the swim and run to think about. It is important to say here that Matt really could hardly swim and his idea of running was limited to the odd dash across the road.

What happened next therefore was extraordinary. He appointed a personal trainer who knew zipp about Triathlon but was keen on strength and looking at the label she decided that to do an Ironman you need to be strong. As a result for 12 months Matt lifted weights and strained his body to exhaustion several times a week. He ‘looked’ at several videos on swimming ran a little but not much-‘you get injured running’was his view. The day he finished Ironman Vichy will stick in Liz and my minds for many reasons but watching Matt gallop over the finishing line was wonderful to watch. We had presided over his first swims in a wetsuit in various lakes but this was the first day he swam the full distance! His strength on the bike was a given and his run strategy was excellent. He would run 3 miles stop have a drink and something to eat, maybe walk a while then repeat.

A year later he had joined me in Copenhagen and was instrumental in ensuring my aged legs completed the course as he stayed with me and encouraged me in some of my darkest moments and dissuaded a medical official from pulling me out of the race by telling him I was fine.

However in his fortieth year Matt Collins was to take on the biggest challenge of them all Ironman Wales-The Dragon. Now Tenby is well known to the Collins family as they station their caravan there.As a result support for Matt was there a plenty with Aunts and Uncles swelling the family group all probably unaware of the enormity of the Ironman Challenge.

Tenby is so beautiful and on the morning of race day the seafront turns into a magical place. The 2500 racers queue up to get on to the beach and at 9 am sharp the sound of Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau (the welsh national anthem) blares out. The atmosphere is electric and the raw emotion so high that many openly weep-I certainly did. The racers filter down to the sea and we saw and greeted another friend who was racing and then there was Matt. Matt loves AC/DC and whilst I did not notice at the time Matt assures me one of his favourite songs ‘Highway to Hell’ was playing as he headed for the sea. The words somehow provoked a panic attack in him and fo a few agonising moments Matt considering turning round and going back leaving the frothing sea which was being churned up by the racers. He did not however and soon he was on his bike. Liz and I moved around the course and we saw Matt a number of times. Always upbeat always cheerful and happy to report on the alternative feeding strategy he had adopted involving mini pastors and the like. Matts logic was sound as he said he would not eat energy gels and the like whilst working hard as they would make him feel sick so why race on the things. He did his own thing and it worked.

Many will know the four lap run course around Tenby. It is fabulous as the crowds are huge. It fascinates me because you witness local people who clearly do not take exercise and probably know little of Triathlon imparting energy and strength to the racers with wonderful expressions of encouragement delivered in a Welsh accents. “Come on Matt make your family proud of you” I heard one woman cry .’Respect Matt, you have got this you look great’ another shouted. Each racer with hs or her name on their number belt were treated to such exhortations and as the laps moved on the most challenged received the greatest support. As an act of human behaviour, one to another, it is splendid, uplifting and joyous.

The finishing shute in Tenby is like all Ironman events a sea of sound, colour, baying crowds and raw emotion. The microchip embedded on each racers person flashes information on a giant screen announcing the name and time of a finisher. All racers are treated with equal reverence by the crowd and a fleet of commentators announce the words that mean so mush to each person who treads that hallowed carpet. John Smith, Jenny White “YOU ARE AN Ironman”. The commentators are all very good but on this night in Tenby a new voice was on duty when our ‘boy’ was due to enjoy his moment of glory. This man was very good as he played with the crowd and the lighting systems and dipped the volume as each racer approached the ‘carpet’ Inviting then to make a theatrical step on to the glorious final metres exhorting the crowd and flashing the lights and blaring the volume.

I know not what this man’s name was but presently he announced that he would be handing over but just as he did he saw that the next song on the playlist was one that ‘he personally loved’ and therefore he would stay for one more song. Thee lights were dimmed and the sound of AC/DC blared out ‘Highway to Hell’. Coincidence, fate, divine intervention who can say but what was to happen will stay in my mind for ever.

There at the end of the runway stood Matt Collins. His silver race suit reflecting some strobe lighting. Matt stopped raised his two hand heaven words and to an explosion of appreciation he began to dance. Matt is way over six feet tall and seeing this figure gyrate and swirl was just awe inspiring. The commentator, like everyone else fell silent and simply watched the show. I looked along the sea of faces and there was Barry, Matts Dad, his face a kind of ecstasy watching his sons performance. The dance, the jig, the twirl what it was I will never know but it was wonderful. The tears rolled down my face as Matt finished his ‘Gavotte’ and crossed the line a smile from ear to ear. The road going wild. Matt Collins ‘You are an Ironman’ the commentator found his voice.

Those moments will stay with me for ever not just because of the pure theatre of the event but because they represent so much more. How to deal with adversity, how to confront challenge how to dare your self and experience the joy it bring you if you succeed in really big challenge. One of the logos of the Ironman company is “Anything is Possible’. Matt Collins knows that sentiment is way more true than most will ever understand and for that reason and may others he will carry my admiration where ever he goes.

Before you read this just a word of introduction. You could easily be offended by it as it is a bit ‘look at me’! It has been difficult year and sometimes looking back on just how you have lived your life and the decisions you have taken can be reaffirming in a purely personal way. I am writing this just because some time in the future it might make me feel good about myself and the crazy existence I have enjoyed.

I once worked with a man called Richard Watkins. He was effortlessly stylish with everything in an order. From clothing to stationary, from cars to ski brand he had seemingly worked everything out so as tho create the maximum amount of impact for his effort. He was not especially clever but what he lacked in grey matter he more than made up for in his personal style and the impact it had on others. I have known no-one else who would put himself on a ‘champagne diet’ for January and resister dramatically positive results. (he ate little but sipped a lot of champagne!). He was the master of how to tip and how to get benefit from the action. (tip a doorman well and many doors will open-try it). Now aside form all of this Richard beloved passionately in one thing ,’toys’. His oft repeated phrase was ‘never mind grand ambitions of power and influence at the end of the day the man with the most toys wins!!

The thing was all of the ‘toys’ he had were bought after extensive research and as a result were amazing. The Porsche he drove was a particular Targa model that looked splendid either with or without its roof. The suits he wore were hand tailored by the best and every detail revealed a man of considerable taste and style. The fact he was descended from the Duke of Wellington may have had something to do with it but he was and probably still is a an amazing human being to observe.

Now I have had lots of toys. Some of them well thought out some not so but I will certainly not die wondering want would it be like to own a …

I have owned three Porsches myself and to be honest two of them were rubbish and cost me a fortune for the privelage. The best car I have ever had was a Mercedes 420 SEC although my USA BMW 7 series was one hell of a car. A Volvo 4 wheeled drive performance beast was awesome. I have owned a jeep, several land rovers, a family van that was equipped with TV and a bed and amazing seats. I now have a transit van that has covered 160,000 in my ownership. I have had some horrible cars. A Rover, A desperate Fiat called a Qubo and a Triumph Mayflower. I have recently ‘gone electric’ and am the proud owner of a ridiculously priced Tesla model X- it is fantastic to drive though. I have had several motorbikes too from Sports to vintage to enduro.

I have owned several sailing boats. From a simple dinghy to two Ocean going beasts and I have chartered something that would blow most peoples minds. I currently own a 1949 wooden sailing dinghy that cost me a fortune to restore.

I have owned many houses with Liz. From the humble to the amazing. Big ones small ones. Thatched ones, ones with gyms. Ones in old villages and super modern ones overlooking the sea. A magnificent apartment in France and a farm in Spain. Together liz and I have played with these particular toys (houses) and had so much fun.

I have never owned a plane but I have rented many for ‘special occasions. Planes I have flown to Paris In more than once. Sea planes that have taken me on exciting trips. Planes that have flown me over the Grand Canyon and planes that have given me pilot lessons -although I never saw the thing through.

I have owned every ski known to man and every piece of equipment to with them. Down hill, Slalom, Randonne, cross country too-both styles in fact. I have boots and clothing and gloves for all occasions. ( Mitts I love them).

Cycling is something I came to love in later life but guess what I have the lot. A tandem of course although it could be upgraded. A mountain bike, a magnificent Fat Bike, a gravel bike (cyclo cross). I have a magnificent Time Trail bike whose wheels are carbon and probably worth more than most people have ever spent on a bike on their own. Finally I have two road bikes and one of those claims to be the best bike in the world. It certainly looks cool.

I have had clothes too. Loads of tailored suits and shirts. I have tried most brands and whilst I am not the greatest of body shapes I have certainly improved my appearance. I have had my hair cut in the best salons in the world and whilst this is strictly not a toy it is a fun thing to do, and closely aligned I think.

I have collected amazing perfumes and after shaves. This is a game that I so recommend.

I have had some of the best lawn mowers you could ever dream of if like me you love grass. Everything from scarifiers to machines that caress and fine cut the best of lawns.

I have several musical instruments from trumpet to guitar and for a while I managed to have drum kit in the house!

I have tried every culinary device going and I can never resist a gadget. I have had several Pizza ovens. Yes I like pizza ovens but having you own wood burning device is just great.

I have, with the help of my good friend Matt, bought more tools than I will ver need. Another friend is aware of my equipment and regularly calls in to avail himself of some of the more obscure items. (example is I have bike tools that fit both Italian and Us models).

I could I am afraid go on for a while and if I was able to include such things as olive oil and wine then we would be here for a while but I will stop here. You may reasonable of course snub your nose and say ‘show off’, ‘silly fool’ but I would invite you to take a step back. So many people live their lives acting as if they are practicing for another. In the various pieces I have written I have hinted that on a number of occasions life has really got me down and I have been depressed. One of the lessons I have learned from those moments and indeed from this years experience is that collecting digits in the bank is beyond stupid. Set your self up so you can afford your daily experience I would say then if you have anything left over satisfy those dreams you have. Looking back it was dreams that catalysed my effort and caused what ever success I have enjoyed. Planning a wonderful holiday as reward for the daily drudge is a great thing to do. I would say that if you dream big then you are way more likely to achieve things in your working life as if you really want that house or boat or pair of skis or holiday in The Maldives you will go the extra yard and what is more your industry and effort will make sense to you.

I often wonder what i will think on my death bed. Will I worry whether I got that promotion or whether I was recognised for the charity work I may have done. Will I worry about whether I am maximising my income return in the bank or whether I have got the appropriate insurance rate on my car. I severely doubt it. I hope a grin comes on my face and just maybe I will think of Richard Watkins and whilst compared to him and many others I am but a small part player I will be able to reflect on the experience the ‘toys’ gave me and crucially the people I shared them with.

So the answer is clear for goodness sake do buy toys. They won’t make you eternally happy-nothing does. What ever you do though don’t let digits in a bank somehow reassure you or comfort you when out there are experiences and memories to be created.

Again this choice is routed in triathlon. The first ever ‘Ironman’ branded race I did was in Mallorca it was a so called 70.3 race. The half distance of the full Ironman. Here again were closed roads and all the fun of competing in the same race as professionals and elite athletes. Better still Liz was in the same race and as older athletes in this race we were in the first wave of the race such that we entered the water first and hopefully exited it before the masses caught up. I remember clearly emerging from the water and seeing mass of humanity on the beach forming a tunnel. Each face searching for a loved one. The crowd was huge. I ran through the throng into the bike park where literally millions of pounds worth of TT bikes were lined up awaiting their owners. As I did so the Black Eyed Peas ‘Tonight is going to be a good night blared out’. I was so psyched by the feelings I experienced I sort of sobbed for joy.

All my life I have enjoyed to celebrate. Enjoy a beer with mates. Enjoy the camaraderie and celebrate success and put failure into perspective. I have found the best way to encourage this most pleasurable feature of human behaviours is sport. I played Rugby to a decent level but I laughed more with my teammates way more than I had any right to enjoy. I played cricket and laughed too but also a shared beer helped relive some magic moments of skill. I took part in some daunting marathon races, often with Liz, but it was the look in the eye over a raised glass that cemented the achievement. I have taken on some daunting cycling challenges, skied thousands of miles and many other things and through sport I have made life long friends created some incredible memories and ticked many boxes dreamed up in the darkest of nights.

I was 68 when my running legs finally gave out and I knew that was the case because the marathon leg of ‘Ironman Copenhagen’ was by a mile’ the hardest thing I have ever done. All the wonderful things I have experienced in my life were set in my mind against the pain I felt in my legs on that day and some how I got to the finish line, just before the cut off time. I had made it my business in other Ironman races I had been in to encourage others those who were really struggled but on this night in Copenhagen it was two people who made sure I got to the finishing line. Vanessa Glynn Jones all but bullied me to ‘get on with it’ when I was faltering in the dark reaches of the course. Elliott Maslan ‘marched me’ round the final six miles or so. A man I have not met since but whom I still message-I will publish the full story sometime soon.

With perhaps 600 meters to go he made polite excuses and left me to ‘enjoy’ the final steps alone. Like many times in my life events seem to begin and end on a similar note. Yes you have guessed it as I passed Copenhagen’s Opera House and the lights of the finish beckoned me home the Black Eyed Peas blared out. I was welcomed at the finishing line and presented with my medal by the woman who had won the women’s race outright that same day. She kissed me gently on the cheek held my shoulders and looked in my eyes. Her words will live with me for ever. ‘ Today was one of the hardest of your life but you know this because you are an Ironman’. Not quite sure exactly what she meant but heh who cares. I waddled off and looked for a beer. That beer and many others was sipped with Liz some fellow team mates who were more than that. ‘Brothers and sisters in arms’ if you like. Maybe it all routes back to my early days in rugby I cannot say. But if anyone reading this has experienced any sport with me or any of my many adventures you know that you will be welcomed for a beer. With any luck it may turn into a ‘good night’!

My final song: The Black Eyed Peas Tonight is going to be a good night.

My final two choices have an apparent link being the sport of triathlon. In later life an amazing thing happened to me. I had retired from formal work and there was a gap in my life. Golf did not fill it. I needed a challenge, a real challenge.

Since the early 1980s when triathlon had gained a consciousness in the sporting world I had admired those who dare to dream and take on the awe inspiring Ironman challenge. 2.4 miles of swimming, 112 miles of cycling and 26.2 miles of swimming. I could hardly swim a length, cycling was something I had not done since I was a youth and my frame had filled out somewhat. Yet there I was standing on a beach in southern Sweden in the town of Kalmar along with 2500 competitors on the startling of ‘Ironman Sweden’. Why Sweden? I cannot say why but there I was. Fitter than I had been for years full of fear and excitement.

The song ‘One day like this’ was not one I knew. It amazes me when people say I like triathlons but I can’t see what Ironman races are so expensive to enter. First of all they are not, they coast less than a bike wheel. Secondly why would you not want to race on close roads?. Is the feeling of running in front off huge crowds not just the best thing you have ever experienced and if the general atmosphere including all the music and light shows is not something that excites and stimulates you then you are made of different stuff than me.

So there I was on the beach and the Elbow melody blared out. Over subsequent years when I have felt low I only need to play that song and instantly I will be transported to that thrashing mass of humanity in my first ever mass swim start (i got that wrong!) I will once agin be on my bike riding through the lovely villages around Kalmar being welcomed along with my fellow competitors with shouts of ‘Heya’. I will feel the sheer exhaustion of plodding around the run course accompanied by some fellow stragglers all encouraging each other.

Most of all I will remember the pretty woman who ran alongside me and translated the urging of the crowd. Swedes love physical challenge and a man of 64, doing his best, apparently encourages admiration. The hairs on my neck rise as I think of it. Most of all I will remember approaching the finishing shute down a narrow road illuminated by the flame of ancient torches and entering a huge auditorium with packed Grandstands. The final steps as Liz ,there as my sole supporter on the day, she had positioned herself at the entry way to the finishing shute. She handed me a Union Flag and as my eyes were blinded by the light I heard the words that brighten my darkest day. The commentator played a familiar line as each racer was ‘welcomed’ home. Dennis Elliott, Great Britain you are an (the crowd finished the job) IRONMAN.

My penultimate choice is One day like this by Elbow.

I became a great fan of opera courtesy of a hairdresser in New York city. One day I was having trim enjoying the banter a native New Yorker feels the need to direct at his Australian clients-all Americans first assumption is that English people are Australian. The haircut was fair but the hairdresser had a remarkable marketing tool he employed. ‘I hope you enjoyed the music I was playing’ he said. I had not noticed but his request to take the tape and play it in my car ‘in the background’ he insisted I readily accepted. “I am about to give you a wonderful gift’ he said. ‘You will be very grateful to me” he was right. the clever bit was of course it meant I returned to have my haircut by him for some time.

I had a most beautiful BMW 7 series at the time with a fantastic stereo. I put the cassette in the machine and over the next few weeks I became acquainted with many of the classic ‘opera arias’. To begin with I was unimpressed but as the tunes became familiar I was awe struck. Later on in life as a senior figure in my firm I had the great privilege to have some fantastic seats at The Royal Opera House and I was to hear many of these arias again as part of the great operas. This tale is so sad and yet in its own way it like an opera in real life.

Michale and I had become good friends when we worked on the floor of The London Stock Exchange. Michael was a well educated Cambridge graduated who had some how got a job with the most Jewish of organisations called Smith Brothers. Many years later he was to have a top Investment job at The Norwich Union Investment group now Aviva. He had become a client of mine and We got on well. Michael had bought an old stately home that was falling apart and with his lovely wife Gina he was rebuilding it. By day Investments, by night and weekends hard hard manual work. Perfection his benchmark. I visited his home on an number of occasions and marvelled at this couples ambition and guts. Along came son’s Tom and James and then one day the most awful of phone calls. I am writing this down not to be dramatic but to remind all who might read it that disaster does indeed happen and sadness is part of life. It can be, in only in other’s sadness, one can realise just how lucky ones own life is. For me sadness is as much part of life as is joy. If by some chance Michael you are to read this and disapprove I apologise most sincerely.

Gina was pregnant with a third child but she had also been diagnosed with cancer. Save herself or the child was the choice. Gina gave birth to Arabella but sadly became more ill. I remember calling Michale and asking him a question that could have caused offence thankfully it did not. I offered to give Gina a ‘night to remember’ if she would like and I left Michael to choose what it might be. A night at the Opera was his response.

A limousine picked Michael and Gina up from the station and we had a one course meal at The Ivy I think. My mother had curiously had a love for opera. Where that had come form I had no clue but her favourite opera was La Boheme and the aria ‘Mimi your tiny hand is frozen’ moved her to floods of tears. We took up our seats and as we did so I had the realisation of some amazing coincidences that were about to play out. The Opera was of course La Boheme and given that Gina herself was dyeing I became alarmed at what I had chosen for Gina to watch. I looked across at Michale and his look reassured me. As that haunting aria to Mimi washed over the audience I looked across at Michael and Gina their hands entwined. A few months later I stood in the chapel on their land where Gina was buried. The coffin was followed into the church by two small boys. The small congregation witnessed a site that was sad beyond any words.

My son Tom played a part in supporting Tom and James in later life. Arabella has apparently been very successful. Michale has a whole new life a farmer. I have visited him but something tells me that I am part of a very sad chapter in his life and reminding of it serves no purpose.

When life is bad and desperate things happen it sometimes serve to recall the saddest moments of your life. Mimi and La Boheme represent this sentiment in full. I am also glad to say that Opera is still one on my musical joys.

My next song is ‘Mimi your tiny hand is frozen’ from la Boheme.

David Lis is a very special man. He has talents that go way beyond the professional skills for which he is broadly recognised. If you visit the National Garden Scheme and watch the video on Havoc Hall you will get a flavour of what I mean. David and I were the closets of friends for a long time and whilst we seldom see each other now I trust my feelings for him are reciprocated in some way.

One of David’s many gifts is his taste in music. As a younger man he would create the most amazing playlists that he would record on those cassette things. A Sony walkman and any run, flight or walk or drive in the car would be transformed into a celebration of music and emotion.

Living in America for 5 years was a gift beyond words. I am glad I no longer live there but the time I spent was maybe about perfect. Enough to love and appreciate the place, learn how it really works and make some life long friends too.

When I first visited America I loved it. It was like a whole new world. (yes I know but I mean a new world to me). I loved the smell of the place. The wonderful opulent hotels where I stayed. The food, the bars, the sport and of course the people I met.

Strangely suited to a boy of Irish Liverpudlian roots I got on so well with the people in my business life it was amazing. I dressed well, I acquired the forward way of greeting and interrogating strangers and I felt quite unencumbered by the restrictions of class that bedevilled my business life in the UK. Be open, be friendly and appreciate other’s success are but three tips to help one succeed in the USA.

There are many many songs that come to mind that illustrate this joyful segment of my life. The song I have chosen however was the first tune on a playlist David Lis made for me when I left the UK to start my new life. A rather apprehensive family had taken up residence in our delightful rented property in Lake Avenue in the leafy back woods of Greenwich Connecticut-a place that is just wonderful. Jet lag and anticipation had affected my sleep and early and in the morning I put on my running shoes and set off. I got lost I seem to remember but that does not matter here. As I jogged down the leafy lanes I pressed the button on my Walkman and my ears were filled with the first song on the tape. As ever David had hit the nail on the head.

Breakfast in America Supertramp

You can read elsewhere ‘ all about the girl who came to stay’. but is another Beatles song that makes it to my playlist. In truth it could just as easily be a song by Richie Havens called ‘I started a joke’ but copyright issues make that song difficult to access so ‘Imagine’ it is.

Do you believe in ‘love at first sight’? well I do. There I was in A beautiful village in Greece surrounded by history. I had met a wonderful woman who simply enchanted me. We sat on a roof- top of a villa. The lights from the town and bay flickering in the warm breeze. An ancient record player played but the two discs it had, on repeat. The Beatles and an Album by Richie Havens. Two songs stick in both our minds. As I have written else where this is the place that I suppose Liz and I fell in love and where we set out the first tentative steps of our life together. What Liz was wearing, how her nails were painted her jewellery are printed in my mind as if it were yesterday. Imagine is a song that carried a message that resonated with the youth of the day. I know it carries its message now but then it was different or so I seem to remember. I cannot waste the chance to offer my thanks to this wonderful woman. She is beside me still today brightening my existence and I love her more than any words can say.

My fourth song: Imagine The Beatles. (check out Richie Havens I started a joke if you can too)