Well, it’s been years in the planning, but finally, Hartlepool is about to host the tall ships. and, I, as a normal resident who will have to get to work on the other side of the town for the next three days, I can’t help but think that these years of planning have simply gone into making the lives of regular residents a complete and utter nightmare.

I wonder how much of the planning went into sticking yellow lines on almost every street, and making the whole of the headland a residents’ only park zone…. that’s got to be great for the businesses down there.

ENough of the negativity – unfortunately, I won’t get chance to “cover” it, as I’m in Employment Palace for 3 days out of the 4, still, I’m sure I’ll nip down at some point and get some photies.

EDIT: Yes, I think I will take some photies. As soon as this light turns green, I’m outta here…

Christ, I’m running a little behind with these posts. I’ve had so much to type about, but even though I’ve had the past 9 days off work, I’ve not had the chance to actually sit down and type much. In fact, most of the time was spent drafting up that previous Jedburgh post.

Anyway, you can’t have failed to notice that last Saturday was Grand National day. One of my favourite annual events, and one I keep saying to myself that I’ll actually go and attend. It’s not happened yet, unfortunately. Of course, it doesn’t really make much difference, seeing as BBC now transmit their coverage of the event in HD. Hurrah!

Some of you may have remembered the disaster I experienced in 2009, following the victory of a horse nobody had ever heard of… Mon Mome, winning at 100/1.

This year, I took a look at the listings (or whatever they call them), only to find out there wasn’t a horse I fancied… er, I mean… wanted to bet on. I had planned to bet on something linked to the memory of Stu, the security guard, following the failed works bet last year. Nothing came to mind, and after spending a totally lazy afternoon on the sofa, I decided I couldn’t be arsed to bet on anything – my money was safer in my wallet.

Chris phoned me up moments before the race….

Him: You watching the national?
Me: Yeah, didn’t bother putting a bet on, though I would have gone for my lucky numbers, 27 and 6
Him: Oh. I put a bet on. No idea what I put it on though.
Me: Okies. Well, I’ll phone you back after the race.

I hung up, and laughed like a drain, as horse #27 rooted itself to the spot on the start. 10 minutes later, #6 romped home. Gutted, I texted Chris back, and let him know my “results”. My phone bleeped seconds later. He had only put his unknown bet on #6. Bastard.

There were no fatalities in this years’ race, meaning that the french restaraunts in Liverpool were short of “chevale” for a few days.