Wimp

I feel a right wimp for not cycling. The weather forecast has predicted high winds and snow flurries. It says a warm 0.5 degrees on our thermometer but I well remember cycling in a snowstorm last year, so I take the bus, bumping into the papergirls and Doggo on the way. The wind isn't very strong and there are lots of cyclists about. I'm already regretting my decision.

It says in the paper that foreign women who come to live in this country find it odd they don't get noticed in the street over here. They say that when they walk down a street in England nobody speaks to them, there's no 'good morning', there's no nod of acknowledgement. They complain, that it doesn't matter what they wear because no one is going to look at them. Eyes down, other people will just walk past them without a glance, they'll be no eye contact, and certainly no attempt at seduction.

This is, of course, because men in this country are terrified, not only of what their own women might do to them but also because these days some women would have them up in court just for looking at them.

Well, I always try and look. I shall try and be more open. Break the mould so to speak.

At work a colleague has cycled, for the first time in a month, what a day to pick but it makes me feel even more of a wimp. Mind you he does have a shorter trip than me and a mountain bike to cut through the snowdrifts. Apparently it's snowing in Sheffield, and in Hull.

L says the diet starts today. Lettuce for tea, I'm not sure if she means just lettuce or whether they'll be something else, like a tomato on the side. Either way it's probably a good job I'm at the pub for lunch today. Cottage pie and Hanby 'Yule Love It'. It took me a while to get that one. I also didn't 'love it'; it wasn't very nice.

L emails me a joke about someone who was offered food or sex. I've heard it before but I'm told that if I don't play my cards right and laugh at it I'll only be offered 'cake or cake' tonight. Oooooh. I’m laughing. I shall look forward to having my cake and eating it, as they say.

I get home, say hi to Doggo and Daughter, give Doggo a quick kick, and head off in the car to the pool. Mr Stop/start psycho guy is in one lane and psycho girl and her bloke in the other. Hobson's choice as the say.

I opt to share with Mr Stop/start, which is as traumatic as I expected. Until he suggests we have half a lane each, after which it's ok, although I'm surprised the attendants didn't throw us out for breaking the rules. When I get out L is waiting for me in the coffee room.

We head home, where L does cottage pie for tea. I don't know, you wait weeks for a cottage pie and then two come along at once.

Afterwards L looks very swanky in her slinky new pyjama shorts, with predicable results.