The thing I find most difficult about writing anything is how to begin.
Granted, letters are pretty much a given (although I'm still not entirely comfortable writing 'dear' before a man's name), and emails are a generally a less formal, more badly spelt version of a letter. Texts end pretty much before they've begun so they don't count, but anything else is a chore.
My most recent bout of incompetence has come as a result of being asked by a friend to compile a profile for him on a dating website. He's not so painfully shy that he can't do it himself (in fact he's pretty gregarious), nor is he illiterate (he's a working journalist). The concept of the site is that each potential date (I nearly used the word singleton then, at which point I would have had to rip out my own tongue. Yes I know I have used it now, but it's written in bile) has at least one official friend. Which is not necessarily something you might say about the average 'lonely heart'.
On receiving the invitation from mysinglefriend.com, I put my mind to trying to describe my witty, interesting and I'm led to believe attractive friend in a way that was witty, interesting and that I am led to believe other people might find attractive. Let me tell you, it is nigh on impossible to do this without sounding like you are: selling a house; selling a second hand car; selling a range of eliptical training machines on a three hour-long infomercial; announcing a spot prize on Wheel of Fortune (the original Nicky Campbell and Carol Smillie version, not the subsequent John Leslie and Bradley Walsh debacles); or a twat.
Such has been my indecision on this that my mate has now decided that he's so repellent that even a good friend can't write a short appraisal of his good qualities. What seemed like a bright idea is actually potentially more demoralising than the old fashioned approach, eh Sarah Beeny? She should stick to meddling in people's property affairs, and always being right, rather than sticking her inconsistently pregnant nose into personal affairs.
I've digressed incredibly. If you don't start well you can just stray off anywhere. It's about time I explained myself. I've started something else recently. I'm training for the Flora London Marathon. My decision seems to have coincided with a fairly dramatic downturn in the weather, which is hindering my ability to train outside, so I've taken what I'd like to think is a novel and creative approach to my craft. I'm doing it on a treadmill. While watching football.
So far I've managed to take in a few pretty decent matches, and it keeps me out of the pub. I'm slightly dependent on the game I watch being at least a bit gripping, but it's working well so far. Liverpool against Arsenal did the trick, while the East Anglian derby, a match that means a lot to me as a Norwich fan, allowed me to reach a new level of self control. It;s difficult to have a paddy when your team goes two down in a match they've dominated if you're commited to a running rhythm. It's an even more exhilarating way of celebrating their equaliser if you can pick up your pace and thrust your arms in the air in a kind of double version of the classic Alan Shearer-in-his-Blackburn-pomp stylee.
By writing this blog as regularly as work/training/socialising/having anything interesting to write about will allow, I'm aiming for a few goals. One is to log how well my training's going, hopefully in a boastful manner. Another is to use it as a platform for some musings on football and television, intrinsicly linked in mine and many others' minds. Finally, and most importantly, I'm scrounging. Part of my winning a place in the Flora London Marathon is that I have committed to raising money for Arthritis Care. I'll try and keep this fairly dignified, so all I'll do is make you aware that there is a website, www.justgiving.com/lambontherun , where you can donate. I'm also open to challenges.