The Paddy Buckley Round
A few weeks ago I completed The Paddy Buckley Round in North Wales. The following report contains recollections of unconventional parenting, dysfunctional schooling and more besides...occasionally The Paddy gets a mention.
For those unfamiliar with The Paddy Buckley Round, also known as The Welsh Classical Round - it’s a circuit of Snowdonia covering 61 miles, 47 tops, with over 28000 feet of ascent. The Paddy has the reputation of being tougher to complete than the Lake District equivalent - The Bob Graham Round.
The route was devised by the eponymous Paddy Buckley. Unlike the extremely popular Bob Graham Round there is no Membership Club and therefore no rules as such. Runners can attempt The Paddy supported or unsupported whilst starting at any point on the circular route - running clockwise or anti-clockwise. Although no official time limit is set, an arbitrary 24 hours is applied. On completion of the round you email Paddy with your start location, time and splits. Once verified by Paddy, he’ll add you to his list...simples! To date only 133 people have completed the round inside 24 hours since 1982.
When I was a kid my parents had a static caravan in North Wales. The term ‘holidays from hell’ springs to mind. It would often rain, at times incessantly - resulting in us stuck indoors, in confined quarters for extended periods of time. During one of these rain drenched holidays I’m convinced the claustrophobic isolation had prompted my dad into questionable techniques where the art of swimming tuition is concerned. Without hesitation, he threw me in at the deep end...literally. Through blurry chlorinated eyes I could see my dad standing poolside in his red speedos from my underwater viewpoint at the bottom of the pool. Eventually after what seemed like forever, I was thankfully ‘saved’. Understandably given the circumstances... I thought the holiday was shit.
The following year I thought my luck had changed - due to unforeseen circumstances I was hopeful I’d be unable to attend the family holiday in Wales. An unexpected altercation with arguably the worst teacher in the educational system had potentially thrown me a lifeline - a get out clause from impending Welsh misery. The teacher in question had taken umbrage after I’d arrived late for class following a compulsory visit to ‘Nitty Nora - The Bug Explorer’. The school nit nurse had been complementary towards my ‘bowl-cut’ hairstyle as it reminded ‘Nora’ of her favourite tennis player Jimmy Connors. We chatted about tennis and I was consequently late for class. My teacher refuted my lateness excuses and accused me of talking nonsense and skiving. I felt discredited and told him his frizzy hair resembled a Brillo pad...my classmates laughed, I was given detention. During detention my further punishment of one million lines seemed excessive but I’d envisaged the lines would prevent me from attending the imminent holiday in Wales...every cloud.
Just for clarity - no nits were found and Jimmy Connors reached the semi-finals of Wimbledon that year, subsequently winning it the following year by defeating John McEnroe - “you cannot be serious”...honestly he did.
I told my parents about my punishment, they also thought it excessive. My mum rang her brother for some advice, as he’s always been considered as being the brains in the family due to his college education. He nipped round to our house with his new calculator - using only numbers he could make it display the word ‘boobless’ across the screen by simply turning the calculator upside down - we were impressed. I was then timed whilst writing out, “I must not be disobedient in class”. My uncle got busy with his calculator and worked out it would take me 2 years to complete the lines if writing for approximately 8 hours a day. Anymore than 8 hours would’ve breached working time directive regulations...my uncle was the union representative at his place of work, he knew his stuff. The next day my teacher had a change of heart after my parents had intervened and presented him with my uncles evaluation. He agreed the punishment was ridiculously overzealous and rescinded. Unfortunately I didn’t entirely escape punishment, for once again we holidayed in Wales and unsurprisingly... it was shit.
Not to be undeterred by my initial introduction to swimming I was eventually taught by a lady called Wendy - a bona fide swimming instructor. I can still recall her name because we nicknamed her ‘Wendy weeble wobble’ in reference to her roly-poly frame being synonymous with the popular Weebles toy. Wendy’s swimming methodology was traditional and the long established use of armbands was practiced, much to our delight. After lessons we’d sing “Weebles wobble, but they don’t fall down, Wendy teaches us to swim, so we don’t drown”. My mum overheard our derogatory singsong and chastised me in front of my mates. She informed me I was being raised within a home that valued and practiced good manners. A home where disrespectful behaviour wouldn’t be tolerated. The same home where lobbing your child in at the deep end was obviously deemed character building and not unconventional parenting. To be fair to my parents, it was the 70’s and probably par for the course at the time.
