Never Been Much of a
Joiner
Today was the 100th Parkrun on Coldham’s Common,
Cambridge. I have banged on about Parkruns already, but for those of you who
don’t know, they are organised 5 kilometre runs which take place in all sorts
of places round the world at 9 am on Saturdays. The Coldham’s Common Parkrun
was inaugurated as I recall in the innocent days of 2019, when we were
blissfully unaware of what was about to hit us.
I usually either marshall or run at a neighbouring Parkrun,
Storey’s Field. However today, in honour of their 100th event, I ran
at Coldham’s Common. Suzy, the driving force behind the creation and
maintenance of the Coldham’s Common run (setting up a Parkrun is no dawdle),
gave a short but moving and inspiring address, first paying tribute to a keen
parkrunner who died last week, then noting our great good luck in being able to
run on this gloriously bright Saturday morning in the most beautiful city in
the world, in these wonderful fields. Now, there may be some hyperbole there,
and you will all have your own nomination for the most beautiful city in the
world, but it put the appropriate fire in our bellies for running the three
miles. It was a lovely event.
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It used to infuriate Madam that I was reluctant to sign up
officially to groups or societies. My excuse was that I’ve never been much of a
joiner. I wasn’t in the Scouts or anything like that as a kid. I had the
attitude of the chap in Flann O’ Brien’s funny and creepy novel about Hell, The
Third Policeman, that No is a better answer than Yes. As a postgraduate student
in 1978, I joined the Labour Party, and thought that was my lot as regards
joining.
Then, when I entered the world of work, I joined my trade
union, and indeed for twenty years was a trade union officer, like my dad and
my oldest brother. I used to boast that I had a 100% record: everyone I
represented ended up resigning their post.
In the early 2000’s, reluctantly, I joined what was then the
Horangi Taekwondo class, to be a buddy to my son Tom. I presumed that this
would last until Tom no longer needed me, and then I could return to sitting in
front of the telly with a beer in my hand. As it turned out, when Tom went to
University in Bradford, he switched to Jiu Jitsu, in which he is now a black
belt. Instead of packing in the Taekwondo as I had anticipated, I persevered
and now I too am at Dan level. If you had told me thirty years ago that this
would happen I would have been incredulous, to say the least.
I suppose that the most surprising joining I have done has
been the Hash. This is a Hash House Harriers run every Monday night, which
starts and ends at the pub. Madam joined the Cambridge Hash following an
illness in the early years of this century. It was a terrific safety valve for
her, and provided a community of support when she really needed it. I resisted
all temptations to join, as I had seen the rituals after the Monday night run,
and as noted in previous blogs, found them deeply embarrassing. Again, as
observed before, they reminded me of The Sons of the Desert, to which Laurel
and Hardy belonged.
So why did I cave in? The pandemic. In the first 2020
lockdown, the Hash continued to operate, albeit without any social interaction.
The hare would lay the flour trail on the Monday, and then at different times over
the next few days, hashers would run the course either individually or in
family bubbles. As the course could sometimes lead through lonely areas, I
started to accompany Linda so that she wasn’t there alone. Over the course of
the next few months I came to admire the spirit which kept it going every week,
without a single lapse throughout the year, and ended up being a Monday night hasher
myself. I still find the ritual embarrassing, though.
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A few years ago, in yet another reorganisation of health
services, cancer screening was moved from the NHS to Public Health England (now
defunct), and so much of its management and the associated research became more
formal. Retiring from the directorship of the NHS Cancer Screening Programmes,
Julietta Patnick noted in an email that she felt that those of us who worked in
the programmes or researched them had been like a family. Julietta will not be
offended when I quote a colleague who said that she ran the screening
programmes like a benevolent dictator, but you might argue that that is what
the head of a family is. In any case, she made the decisions and took managerial
responsibility for them, something rather rare in these jobsworth days.
Since 2015, I have been a member of the EU Guidelines Development
Group for Breast Cancer Screening and Diagnosis. It includes people like me who
work or carry out research in breast screening, and a group of methodological
experts in reviewing the scientific literature. In the early days, there was an
element of friction between the two groups, and again, I felt that the
screening experts were like a family, presided over by the benign paterfamilias
Chris de Wolf, an expert in delivery of screening programmes.
So actually, I have done quite a bit of joining. As Donne
said, no man is an island, entire of itself.
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As a complete digression, I note that I mentioned my son Tom
earlier in this piece. He is now in his late 20’s, but let me tell you a story
of when he was between 18 months and two years old. One evening, I noticed him
sitting peacefully at the top of the stairs. I went up and sat beside him. There
we were, on the top stair, side by side, content with ourselves and with each
other. After a couple of minutes, he climbed into my lap. Very gently, I began
to sing to him.
‘Dad?’ said Tom in the softest of tones.
‘Yes,’ I replied, equally softly.
Very gently, he said, ‘Will you be quiet, please?’
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