dastardly don in last of the summer

well. well. well. i gave up football in my early thirties due to aggressive idots winding everyone up and fighting over absolutely nothing and took up the more respectable sport of hill running. the events of sunday 2nd june have forced a rethink and a scramble up the loft for my old puma kings and sondico shinguards. the race kicked off with 30 or so seniors and approx. 3000 kids. i nestled in nicely in 1952nd place along the road section avoiding trampling on small heads when dastardly don sneaked past. he smiled menacingly, as he does and then taunted me, inviting me to race him to the top and back down. i tried to reason with him that i was here just to have a bit of fun, but the old bastard was having none of it. i cannot remember word for word but it went a bit like,”call yersel a hill runner….you’re nothing but a fat fun-runner. i am gonna whip your large wobbly arse.” i was shocked and a trifle saddened but mr reid’s attitude. he knew that i had been out for a night on the sauce, but started running backwards gesticulating and inviting me to ‘catch him, catch him’ before turning and running off into the distance. quite frankly i was glad to see the back of his westies vest and concentrate on the fine race itself. mr nasty was bullying himself into 4th place at the top (and finish, 26.08) leaving a trail of a hundred or so small children crying in his wake. roadie stephen wylie was slipping and sliding his way round in 1st place, 24.08 in a pair of racing pumps. i was yo-yoing around 7th spot in my gorgeous new trainers finishing in 6th place in a time of 27.29. i hung around a bit for the spot prizegiving and this is when don really kicked off. shouting and screaming that he was just off a nightshift and was ranting about just being here for a pot he was hunting, race organiser nat taylor mistakely gave don’s over 50 prize bottle of wine to ayr seaforths tom mcculloch. reid reacted in typical fashion vaulting over three unsuspecting under 12’s before knocking over a pregnant woman pushing a pram to confront nat whilst wrestling the bottle from tom’s grasp. the ensuing fight resulted in a swift end to the prize-giving and indeed the carrick lowland gathering with tom whisked off to the first aid tent with a suspected broken wrist and the prospect of nothing to drink with his sunday roast. apart from that is was a great wee race and i will be back again next year searching for that pot.