This will have to be a short blog this week because all minds are focused firmly on the Sky Meeting at Blunsdon on Monday night.

So why is "frustrated" the word of the week. Well, it has come up in all manner of locations: frustrated iPod, frustrated weather, frustrated banners, frustrated telephone, frustrated track staff, frustrated riders and frustrated rides. Yes, that's right, "frustrated rides"! I'll come onto that one later.

Thursday actually started badly on two accounts before I'd even left the house. First my beloved iPod suddenly died on me - no sign of life at all. Pinning up endless air fence panels is made just about infinitely more enjoyable if I can listen to some music. Some mornings it is a good dose of Deep Purple, others it can be a Sibelius symphony. This morning it was going to be a first listen to the new opus from Whitesnake - but no, I was to be frustrated - the iPod would not come to life. But I still had time to load it onto the memory card on my phone, so not all was lost.

The second frustration was with the downpour of rain that drenched me and all of North Wiltshire as I left the house. With roads awash and the clouds gathering, all was not well with the world. By the time I got to Blunsdon at least the rain had stopped but it had been a mighty downpour, too hard and too fast to do any good to the track.

Our hardy little team has been augmented with the arrival of Karl Osborne who, in a moment of absolute madness, volunteered his services and ended up spending most of Wednesday pressure washing banners and now has turned up for a second helping of the madness that is Blunsdon.

Our fist task is to find a way to mark those banners that must be seen at the start of a meeting and those that can be used mid meeting.

I've devised a cunning plan that ensures that duplicate banners are kept at opposite sides of the track and that new banners start their life in the most visible places, the exit to turn 2 and the entrance to turn 3, those being areas directly opposite the main grandstand and also areas where little shale is thrown up, obscuring the sponsors' logos.

The first task is to separate the new banners, the almost new banners, the old banners, the damaged banners and the ones we can't really use anymore. The final category include banners for companies that no longer exist or banners showing the old branding colours for Sky Sports (which must not be displayed this season).

Sounds easy but when each banner is 5 metres long (two are 10 metres long), wet from their recent cleaning, dirty on the back and are edged with velcro that sticks to everything it touches, life becomes decidedly difficult. I change the music on the telephone from Whitesnake to Shostakovitch to calm me down.

At last we have the banners in their piles and start to mark them. Ordinarily a permanent marker pen would suffice, but not today. Frustration. The coating on the backs of each panel repels the ink, which wipes off straight away.

I go off to a local store and come back with a thin paint brush and start labeling up the banners 1.1, 1.2, 1.3 .... 1.22 and 3.1, 3.2, 3.3 .... 3.17. The initial number indicates whether the banner should appear on the first and second turns (1) or the third and fourth (3). The second number indicates their position on the fence, working back from the exit of turn 2 or working forward from the entrance to turn 3. Trust me, it will work.

My revelry is broken by calls of lunch and a new arrival at the track.

Back in number 96 we welcome certainly the youngest ever member to have breathed in the toxic fumes that inhabit our little nest. Welcome to Gerald's latest grandchild, little Dakota, so named because his family had spent some time in that state and liked the name. While he sleeps his doting mother and grandfather gaze on.

Meanwhile our very own Gordon Ramsay, Punch (more Gordon Bennett than Ramsay) is concocting a delightful gut buster consisting of sausages and burgers.

Outside the rain clouds seem to have passed for good and the sun and wind are now drying out the track just a little faster than we would like.

Back to work. I arrange the banners in the right order while Roy and Shirls sweep out the sand that has made its way into the pits. This is a frustrating job for them because as fast as they brush, the wind whips in more sand.

Gerald is welding some modifications to one of the two graders that we use. Seeing his grandchild has picked up his spirits no end - he's almost chipper.

Another tanker of water goes out onto the track as I start to put up the banners and so put the new scheme into action. The high wind makes this difficult but we manage it. From the centre green I inspect the results of my planning. Banners identified as being new on the sheet I have been given are all up and in the right order. There are no duplicates, unless we have four banners, in which case they have been spread out evenly.

There's still a lot more work that I need to get done - not the least the cleaning of the damaged air panels that are apparently going to be picked up at 5pm to go back for repair.

And then the phone rings. Gerald is summoned. Someone is not happy with the banners. I explode and a lot of people are sent scurrying from the pits with phrases such as "but he doesn't usually swear" on their lips. The air turns blue, all sense of self control is abandoned, Anglo Saxon invective fills the air all round.

Gerald, sensing that I am not seeing the world through rosy coloured spectacles (it's more like a red mist) explains the problem. Apparently there is a confusion about what the term "new banner" actually means. Some believe it to be ones given to us since March 2008; others are of the opinion that the word "new" simply refers to a banner that is not as old as some of the old banners.

I calm down by getting some more petrol for the pumps but do spend some time considering whether this might be the last Blunsdon Blog ever!

Back at the track I meet up with Paul Oughton, our commercial manager and we agree to a plan of campaign that should satisfy everyone, especially since our sponsors will want to see their investment in Swindon Speedway rewarded with a few seconds of coverage on Sky on Monday night.

By the time that this has all been resolved my pulse rate has come down from that of a Formula One racing driver to that of a mildly frustrated member of the track staff. I seek out the more traumatised members of the track staff and officialdom and apologise, offering counseling to those still wide eyed with terror.

My mood is greatly heightened when our referee, and his trainee, see me and explain that they will be awarding us 9 out of 10. I plead for that extra point, especially when the referee states that everything is absolutely fine. "So why can't we have a 10," I say from my kneeling position, cleaning his shoes with the arm of my overalls. "We don't give out 10's," he responds, admiring the shine from his newly polished shoe. He has a point - in a previous existence I found it uncomfortable handing out perfect marks for essays on the basis that you never know when and if something even better is going to come along.

The track hasn't required much ripping, other that at the start - there is no doubt that it will create plenty of dirt and drive.

Trevor Claridge, who in addition to being an integral part of the hospitality team at Swindon also doubles up as an expert summariser on speedway meetings for Swindon Radio come across and chats with Clerk of the Course Mick Hunt and me as the meeting gets underway. He relates his account of the recent away win at Belle Vue. "There was no sign of a tractor or a re-grade for ages even though the Belle Vue team clearly needed some help with a track that was more suited to Swindon." We all agree that Gerald and Punch would be might frustrated if they were denied the chance to spruce up the track after each batch of four races.

Those in the crowd at Swindon will often have noticed a group gathering at the pit gate in the heat before the re-grading takes place. Tonight Gerald, Leigh Adams and Rosco meet. They discuss how the racing is going, look at upcoming races and starting positions, the overall match situation and then agree on a method of grading or watering. Leigh's comments are essential here, reflecting back his years of experience and his knowledge of what the team want. It is our job to give them what they want, and so far we've managed it.

I don't normally pick out riders for comment here - that happens elsewhere with far more assurance - but Niels Kristian Iversen brings all of the track staff to their feet with his first race win. An excellent start means he can get his head down and really race, and race he does. He belts clear of the field and then conjures up some real entertainment. Entering turn 3 he sweeps back his left foot and leg trails around the outside of the corner at full throttle. He is completely confident in his equipment, his ability and the track and is clearly enjoying himself. He matched this exuberance on each of the other laps, apparently doing the same into turns 1 and 2 and certainly earns the plaudits of all the centre green staff as he makes his way back to the pits. It is a brilliant exposition of the art of speedway, and I emphasise the word "art".

But that word is just around the corner waiting to catch even the most confident. In his next race a chain snaps and he ends up having the long walk across the centre green. On my way down to make sure that there is no damage to the turn 1 fence I meet him. I congratulate him on his first race and commiserate on his second. Later in the meeting he tells Gerald that he absolutely loved the track - we wish him well in the upcoming GP. He may not win it but if he continues to ride like he has tonight he will thrill fans up and own the country.

A Robins win and we are top of the table. Not bad for a team written off at the start of the season.

We race around to collect all the kit and then set about putting the track to bed. We are hoping for some rain on Saturday and then a working party on Sunday to prepare for the Sky meeting. As I belt round packing down the surface, the stadium now empty, my telephone suddenly dies - the music stops, the light goes out. Frustrated again.

And the final piece of frustration. Well, it's not exactly frustration but "frustrated". Last year I found some instructions to riders pinned in the changing rooms. Published by the control board, it exhorted the riders to "refrain from gratuitous spitting". I wondered then what some of our less fluent imports would make of it (there are a few of our own who would be challenged by phrases like this).

And so I come to the latest unusual piece of phraseology from the powers that be.

In "THE 2008 SPEEDWAY REGULATIONS" published by the "SPEEDWAY CONTROL BUREAU" we have this wonderful usage of the word "frustrated".

"18.8 A Rider is subject to both a "minimum" of 3 rides and "maximum" of 7 rides in a Meeting. For the purpose of achieving the "minimum ride rule, "frustrated" rides shall not count, whereas in calculating the "maximum" number of rides taken "frustrated" rides shall count.

18.8.1 Where the "maximum number of rides is specified, in the case of a Rider (1-5 by CMA), the maximum number of rides includes 4 x programmed rides plus one as a TS, one as a RR and one as the Highest Scorer (or Nominated Rider).

18.8.2 A "frustrated" ride is one, whether programmed or not (i.e., nominated as a Rider Replacement, Reserve Replacement, TR or TS), which results in an exclusion for a Starting Offence or for any reason whatever is unable to take part in a re-run AND is replaced by another Rider. If no replacement is made it is a "compulsory" ride.

18.8.3 In the event the "frustrated" ride is as a result of being nominated as a RR or TR/ TS, then it shall nevertheless count as that Riders RR or TR/TS ride.
18.8.4 In order that a Rider takes the "minimum" number of rides ..."

So the next time that a rider plunges through the tapes or breaks down on his way to the line you will know that he is "frustrated" both in riding and in mental terms.

Don't you just love speedway! And now it's all about Sky.