They can’t all be, can they?Lesley’s trip to English Schools seemed to be fraught from the moment they set off. Panicky phone call to say she’d forgotten her shorts and the weather was threatening to be really hot. I know, I thought, Claire Molton is going up. I’ll ring her in the morning and she can take them up. How early in the morning can you legitimately ring someone you don’t know all that well? I thought 7.30 would be OK. It was, but she was already halfway to Birmingham. Ah well, it was a good idea. In the end Lesley managed to buy a pair of rather fetching shorts and that bit of the day was saved.

Perhaps the highlight for her – and for Yate athletes generally – was Tyler Molton’s performance in the junior boys’ hammer. To finish fifth with a throw of well over 40 metres, when he’s only been throwing at all for about eight weeks was a terrific achievement and left his mum and Lesley fighting to maintain their composure. Definitely an athlete to watch.

Rob Phillips got into the final of the 400m hurdles but injured himself in the relay and had to withdraw, Luke Lorenzi reached the semi-final. (Jean-Luc was fascinated by the timekeepers, who had nineteen people – as well as the electronics, but maybe they needed them with races going off down the back straight almost at the same time as sprints on the main straight). The senior girls relay got a bronze. Josh Evans ran in lane eight with a fictitious boy from Middlesex not running on his inside. Hannah Hobbs missed out on her final by just one place.

There were a couple of other medals, but not Yate athletes, so who cares? Well, Lesley does – very much.

The hotel was clearly not used to dealing with three counties worth of athletes, scattered Avon athletes all over the four floors and somehow expected two under-15 boys to share a double bed! They served the same food for both evening meals and generally gave the impression that they couldn’t wait get rid of all these kids and get some real people in.

I know you’re all dying to hear how I got on in Ledbury. Well – that too wasn’t a classic, though the place itself lived up to expectations, as it always does. The workshop I attended was run by an American lady with one of those irritating American voices that’s somewhere between a small child and a coffee grinder. Two hours of her and I was regretting buying a ticket to hear her read her poems.

Off on holiday next Friday, so I’ll repeat what I MEANT  to write last week. PLAY nicely while we’re away.