Hardcore

I've already got all my cycling kit on before I realise that it's raining. I decide that I can't wimp out again, having already done so on Tuesday, so I have to go for it. After all the weather really can't be as bad as it looks. Unfortunately it is, worse even. The traffic too is horrendous. I've been avoiding the A52 all week even in the car and it appears everyone else must be doing the same as both Sandiacre and Spondon are rammed full of cars.

I aquaplane my way into work, where everyone thinks I'm mad or as someone puts it 'hardcore'. Which I prefer.

I have the afternoon off as we're heading to the Lakes for the weekend. L gives me strict instructions not take any detours on my way home, she's remembering when we went up to Durham in October, and I detoured just slightly to take in the Sutton Bonington Duathlon course. That didn't really go to plan but it wasn't really my fault; I did suffer a couple of punctures on that trip. This time and because it's daytime I take the shortest route which is also my favourite through Ilkeston.

When I get home, in blindingly good time, L is already home. She's not armed, so I must have done ok. While I pack the car, she goes out on Daughters paper round. She's still not back by the time Daughter is due out of school, so I go to pick Daughter up. By the time we get back, L has finally finished the round and even comes home with a £1 tip from a satisfied customer. She's been told to treat herself to an ice cream, for being a 'good girl'. I consider reprimanding her, paper girls aren't supposed to take 'sweets' from strangers.

We hit the M6, which is hell even though it is early and it’s a real crawl. Eventually we arrive at our usual cottage, practically gagging for the Old Peculiar but first I cook up some tea, and wait for our friends who are not as late as usual. Then we head off in search of the dark nectar.