The first day was fabulous. I spent much of it in my favourite coffee shop having a succession of meetings. A director of a law firm, a director of a production consultancy, a director of a product design business and a director of fundraising for a charity. More directors than a night at the Oscars.

I have gushed frequently on the support given to me by Marks & Clerk since I was diagnosed in 2007. And I’m going to gush again. They are magnificent firm who dealt with the exactly as you would hope you would be dealt with when catastrophe happens. Support, space and surety of employment. I cannot thank them enough for they have done. I will continue to publicly thank them when I tell my story and I will continue to send them business which my one-man band cannot cope with.

It was the hardest decision I ever made leaving Marks & Clerk. My leaving speech (I was never going to just say a few words) revolved around my relationship with Bob Naismith, the man who recruited me and supported me. When the story is written, he will loom large for giving me the freedom to spread my wings.

I left because my time had become unmanageable within the necessary procedures of a business of the size of M&C.

I launched with a low-key e-mail to my family and friends, and to my Wobbly network. There was much chatter and messages of support. The new website had over 400 page views and my LinkedIn profile was viewed by old friends and new. Such is the power of these websites, I could tell who looked and what they looked at. From this information I contacted a company who had read my profile LinkedIn and visited the website, and I have a meeting set up today!

So what does the future hold? Who knows. But it will be fun finding out.

How good does that make me feel?

Sunday was brilliant and difficult at the same time. The difficulty was seeing Jen struggle. She was carrying a hip injury and was in pain after the first mile. From there it got worse and worse and worse.

She showed a determination to finish, and finish well, that was totally inspiring. I could hear the pain in her voice and see it in the way she was moving. She asked me to leave her after 9 miles but, having been there myself more than once, I stayed.

I wasn’t completely noble, I abandoned her at 21 miles. She had had enough and demanded I go. So I did.

I ran the last five, stopping only to drink some beer from a friendly Londoner who could see I was struggling. The sweet sugary taste catapulted me through the last two miles, the fastest two miles I ran.

I bounced up Birdcage Walk and as I rounded the bend, passed Buckingham Palace and under the “385 Yards To Go” bridge, I was jumping and punching the air.

I was on top of the world.

BBC Scotland’s Bryan Burnett was doing the on-course commentary and when he spotted me he gave the spectators a very flattering biography of me and our magnificent team.

I crossed the line, had a moment’s reflection, and then looked for people to hug. The medal lady was the first to get it followed by a geezer called Mark who was minding his own business in the Finishers photo queue. After his initial surprise he got quite into it.

The medal is a bit Jim’ll Fix It, but is beautiful.

It was chucking it down but I didn’t care. I hobbled up The Strand, oblivious to the pain and the rain, to the Strand Palace Hotel and the Parkinson’s UK reception.

Bob finished in 3 hrs 42 min, inside his 3 hrs 45 min goal (I achieved my stated objective of finishing by 3.45pm, crossing the line at 3.37pm, in 5 hrs 25 mins). Julie and Jo-Ann ran well and looked magnificent in their Wobbly Tartan Kilts.

Jen came in a few minutes after me. Shattered and sore but, being the star she is, she spoke to the press, smiled for the cameras and raised awareness of Parkinson’s yet again. Due to her injury her longest training run was less than 14 miles. She did well.

The day had started very smoothly. The start time was 9.45 and this year I left it until after the runners had vacated the city centre to start my journey to Greenwich Park. I met Jen at Bank at 9.15 and we only saw a couple of other runners on our journey to the start line.

We arrived at the red start at 9.55. By the time we had dropped our bags and had a pee, the back of the field was just coming up to the start line. We joined “Zone 9 – Elaborate Fancy Dress Costumes”. It was odd standing amongst condiments, rhinos and Oompah Loompahs. The air was rich with the smell of glue, paint and paper mâché. It is what I imagined the Blue Peter studio smells like any given Thursday.

We crossed the start line at 10.12 am and got into a steady 11 minutes per mile. I drank less and gelled less than usual and felt better for it. My groin held up well and everything felt fine.

TryAthlete and Bowen physio, Fiona Campbell, had taped my legs up with “special” tape which massages the muscles as you run. It was terrific – no cramp at all. Really impressed.

The journey home from London was long but there was a few marathon runners on the flight.

All wearing medals.
All walking like they had been freshly starched.
All knowing they had overcome personal battles and achieved something AMAZING.

Marathon number 7 – Copenhagen 20 May 2012.

Since then I have run 15 half marathons and 5 marathons. I have also run 10 miles or more on training runs on 30 occasions. 50 runs of 10 miles or more.

49 of those 50 runs my wee blonde pal, Karen, has been with me.
The one time she wasn’t was Tromso which was dark, cold and lonely.

Tomorrow, I am running without her again. And this time it’s a marathon. 26 miles without her boundless enthusiasm, perpetual grin and endless chat.

Would I have run 5 marathons without her? No. Probably not even one.

Would I have been as fit and healthy? Definitely not.

Would I be fighting my Parkinson’s with such gusto!?Undoubtedly not.

So, when I pick up marathon medal six tomorrow afternoon, the happiness will be tinged with a wee bit of sadness. That my wee pal isn’t there to share the victory.

Except during that long trudge up the last night of Kilimanjaro.

When everyone was feeling rough, despondent and shattered, there she was grinning from ear to ear.

Now, call me ungrateful if you wish, but I did wonder is there anything which would make her less than ecstatic. I like happy people as much as the next person, probably more so, but I have been wondering does she ever look miserable?.

This week I found out.

The London Marathon with me.

We met up after Kilimanjaro for a chat and I mentioned I was running London. Jen’s eyes lit up. But it was too late. That day was the final drop dead deader than a dodo deadline for accepting offers of places and Jen hadn’t even spoke to anyone about a place, let alone have one to accept.

Ten minutes after coffee, the phone rang. It was the lovely Clare at Parkinson’s UK. Did I know anyone who wanted a place in the London marathon?

Jen jumped at it with a big grin on her face.

Eight weeks later, I am certainly not smiling. The training hasn’t gone well. The only tapering I have done is outwards. My knees are not talking to each other. I threw up on my last long run.

Karen isn’t running this one so it’s just me and Jen. We met for coffee this week and I told her of my woes. I jokingly said she might have to give me a piggy back.

That wiped the smile off her face.

She has had her troubles with training too. Her iliotibial band is shot in her right leg which has curtailed her training but she is going to have a crack at it. Bob is also running and is hoping to finish in under 3 hours 45. I am hoping to finish by 3.45.

Plenty of ibuprofen tablets and cream, a can of freeze spray and a healthy dose of determination will see us finish in front of the guy in the deep sea divers costume.

Brian is ready.

The trial story can be viewed here.

Alan Fairburn was on the radio here (after about 61 min)

Alan was interviewed in The Sun here.

Bryn was on the radio here (after about 43 min)

Paul Wilson was on BBC breakfast here.

The weather was perfect running (he says having stood at the side in a large coat clutching a cup of hot chocolate for dear life) and the only mishap was the organiser’s tent decided to go airborne in an effort to cross the finishing line and get a Wobbly beer cup complete with medal and creme egg (you didn’t honestly expect we would be giving out goody bags did you?)

Forty five runners took part and first home was Thomas McDonald in 17 min and 51 seconds, followed by Donald Kennedy in second with Alistair Kell third. Wobbly regular Matt Howick was pleased with his fourth place in 19 min and 43 seconds and asked whether he was the first veteran across the line. Unfortunately he was the third veteran across the line.

The ladies race was won by Angela Carson in 23 min and 12 seconds followed by Wobbly regular Sarah Bridge one second later. Marina Battaglia was third with another one Wobbly regular and creator of the new Mr Wobbly suit, Anita Neilson in fourth.

The first junior home was Harry Walsh in fifth place overall with a magnificent time of 21 min and 30 seconds.

Photographs of the event can be seen here at the Neilson Photography website. Individual pictures can be purchased five pounds by e-mailing Bryn@WobblyWilliams.com (all proceeds to Parkinson’s research) and the beer cups are also available at £5 each plus £1 P&P.

Thanks to Bob Forrester and his wife Gill for organising the event and leaving no stone unturned. It was fantastic occasion. Thanks also to Achilles Heel for donating prizes for the first three men and the first three women. Finally, special thanks to our stewards; Gayle, Sharon, Stevie and Bob Senior for keeping everybody on the right track, our two first aiders and to Andrew Neilson for the magnificent photographs.

So what happens next? I am going to do two things. The first is contrary to what I said in my last blog. I am going to continue doing patent work. Not full time but enough to keep my feet in reality. My father in law took me aside after my last blog and cautioned me against becoming Parkinson’s 24/7. His view was I needed something out with Wobbly. He caught me short. I was aghast (I wasn’t really, it’s just such a great word and I’ve never used it before). I was sort of aghast. But the more I thought about it, the more I saw he was right. I am a Parkinson’s bore already. Let’s not make it worse (and believe me, my patent stories would have you rolling in the aisles).

My patent work will be in my own firm which will be launched once my employment at Marks & Clerk has finished. It will be a bit wobbly, not too much, but enough to distinguish us from the rest.

On the Parkinson’s front, things are moving. There is a very exciting opportunity to bring the best bits of what we do together with the experience, strength and scale of others to make Wobbly bolder, louder and pinker. To raise the awareness needed to generate the money needed to fund the projects needed to cure this rather ghastly disease (ghastly must be in the same family a aghast).

I can not be more specific than this at the moment. But it won’t be long.

And now I am 41. The years are just winging by. Karen and I walked up Beinn Narnain, a Munro which sits beside The Cobbler, overlooking Arrocher. It was a great walk, some exposed ledges, gusty winds and low visibility made it testing enough. We walked up the east side and planned to go down the west but once we reached the summit cairn we couldn’t find the west side path. So we made up our own. Just as we were about to plunge into the merk, an apparition of another walker in the competent category appeared and saved us from certain death. Or at least saved us from a lifetime wandering about the Arrochar Alps, which is really quite exciting.

Thence it was home to sit on the throne the girls had made for me, complete with cardboard crown covered in tin foil, as I opened my presents.

Late afternoon was spent eating and drinking with Vicky at Two Fat Ladies at The Buttery. Bloody marvellous. I had an £80 voucher to spend (a 40th birthday present) but still had to chuck in £50 to cover the bill! It was sensational.

After dinner we went to see the Circus of Horrors at the Kings Theatre. Amazing. The contortionist reminded me of the manoeuvres some of my sponsors for Kilimanjaro performed when it came to pay up. Incredible.

Things are hard at the minute. But I WILL prevail.

I for one have never done one event to raise money for any Parkinson’s charity, I don’t tend to mix with others who have the same disease with me, although the two that I do are – funnily enough a female police sergeant and a former RAF Tornado and Red Arrow pilot. We seem to come out of the the same mould in what you might call ‘black humour’ – yes I know they are not the words or phrase to use in todays Britain but……….never mind life is really too short to worry about if something is a black spot or a hot spot etc.

Now for the person who I have in mind, who overcame adversity and continued to each day of his life until his death in 2004. His name will be slightly changed, well his surname by one letter (for those old enough he was not a ‘cockney rebel……..!!) I refer to an old Metropolitan Police colleague called Charlie (F)arley.

I have warned people who have read my previous blogs that sooner rather than later I would come back to the subject of the police and so far I have resisted but no more !!!

When I joined my first team or ‘Relief’ as they were called in the Met there was a sense of panic and fear before my first shift at Camberwell. You see back in those days the Met was not the nicest of organisations to join as a newby. After completing 18 weeks at Hendon and then a further 10 weeks of ‘Street Duties’ on your new ‘Division’ you were then posted to your team. Most teams had officers who had between ten and twenty-odd years in the job and the odd probationer, who had under two years service and to all the others on the team “not got a full time job” until they passed the final exam after two years !!

As a probationer you were never spoken to, acknowleged or accredited for anything but were expected to volunteer for every bad job, inside posting and had to come in half an hour early to make tea or coffee for your team and make sure every one of them had the right amount of sugar and milk in each ! So my first shift came around, an early turn (06:00 hrs to 14:00 hrs) ; not that a probationer ever got away for 14:00 hrs as you were always dealing with the shoplifter that no one else wanted at ten minutes before you were all due off…….how I miss those days !!!

Anyway, onto Charlie. I walked into the parade room at Camberwell and said “morning” to everyone but absolutley no responce back, just silence as it was 05:45 hrs and no one was that awake. To give him his due my Inspector came on parade to give me a bit of moral support that day. A 6′ 4″ Yorkshireman who took more prisoners that any Pc on his team was not a man to mess with but only had ten years in the job, so to the ‘old sweats’ was not worthy of them but out of respect to the rank they made an effort to speak to him. My Inspector then paraded us, checking our uniform, appointments (truncheon & handcuffs) and told us to sit back down.

He then said tthe words I can still remember to this day – “Now people, I know you detest them but we have got a new probationer. His name is Chris Fuller, a good lad by all accounts so be nice to him” A voice from the back of he room – Charlie – then replied “Why” !! My Inspector then said “Well, erm, er, I don’t bloody know, just be a little bit nice then”………..silence. The postings were read out by our sergeant – Barry Heart “365 (me) and 293 (Charlie) Mike Charley (MC phonetically) two beat. This meant that me and the person who said why should he be nice to me had to go out on the beat, walking for eight hours around Camberwell Green and surrounding roads trying to be busy.

His first words were “I’m too old to walk the fu%*ing beat with a sprog, anyway you got ya hat, lets go, bus lanes I think. If we cant get some tickets we’re wind some fuc$er up and nick em”. As we left the nick I thought “how am  I going to tell this senior PC that contravening a bus lane didn’t start to 07:00 hrs”. Not wanting or having the bottle to tell him I decided to pretend to give out a ticket to anyone we stopped. As it turned out there were not any offending drivers that day so problem avoided.

Anyway to get to the point of this blog as we walked around Camberwell that day Charlie, to my astonishment was really nice and extremely chatty. He did tell me though about two hours into the shift that “I’ve got to pop back to Camberwell to change my bag” Not knowing how to respond Charlie said “I’ve had bowel cancer and had me bum sewn up so I have to sh^t and pi*s into a bag” He then proceeded to lift up his tunic and shirt and show me his colostomy bag, by now full !!

I came back into the nick at the end of my first day having immense respect for a guy who could easily have been medically retired on a full pension – and back in those days just before retiring he would have been made up to a temporary sergeant – so as a get a full sergeants pension, but chose to work full time as a front line police officer.

Over the next ten years or so Charlie never ceased to amaze me with his style of policing and humour and outlook on life. In that time I never knew him to take a day off sick and if he did happen to feel unwell he was put in the Control Room at Carter Street give out the calls and upset the public when they phoned in to report a matter. “Hello Peckham fire station” and “You’ve got the wrong number, this is still Peckham fire station” usually put off that member of the public from phoning for a third time !!!!

He clearly struggled each day he was at work, shattered at the end of each shift and in obvious discomfort from the effects of having a colostomy bag. Charlie, I think was the sole reason why most of our team never had days off sick as we felt guilty of being at home whilst Charlie was no doubt at work for his six late turn on the trot or seventh straight night duty etc.

Charlie, never joined any support group, never mixed with people with or over bowel cancer and never did any charity work for Cancer UK  etc but what he did do was serve the public and made a difference each day he came to work and was an inspiration to a large group of police officers who worked at Leigh Green, Camberwell, Carter Street ad Southwark police stations. His Force Funeral was a testament to how well he was regarded, with friends, colleagues and members of the public who he assisted as victims of crime attending his service and most not being able  to get into the service itself due to the number of attendees.

In my next blog I will write ‘part two’ of the story and go into some of the funny stories that involved Charlie.

Until the next time, stay upright
Regards
Chris

This is no reflection on Marks & Clerk, who are fantastic firm. I resigned for pastures new.

But what pastures? There are options. I have learnt many new skills over the last five years and you could make a living out of most of them. Perhaps not the running but certainly what I have learnt with regard to marketing, public speaking, writing, branding and fundraising could all be put to good use. And they will be.

I would be foolish determined back on my primary skill, being a patent attorney, as it is a very specialist and well-paid career. And if I can make it Wobbly then it will be very attractive to potential clients. But a Wobbly intellectual property firm is not going to cure Parkinson’s disease. And that’s what it’s all about. My kids are not going to thank me for building anything other than something which can cure Parkinson’s disease. I have to give it my best shot.

But how do I do that? I have worked with the Cure Parkinson’s Trust and Parkinson’s UK over the last five years, and, indeed, fundraising for Parkinson’s UK at the moment. They are very different organisations with a common goal. The goal which is the same as mine. I could work more closely with them to avoid reinventing the wheel and be led by them. Or I could lead.

This next week will be telling.