I run in today and for the first time I do it plugged into my ipod. The route is traffic free, so there's no risk of not hearing a juggernaut moments before it flattens me, I hope. I kicked things off with The Hours 'Ali In The Jungle' which is a song about overcoming adversity which I thought was appropriate. Particularly considering the size of the blister on my toe.
Another reason for choosing them is that they also have a song about misanthropes, of which there appear to be many on my run route. I greet most of them, with barely a flicker in return. The old lady seems to want me to stop for a chat, I decline, doesn't she know this is being timed. 'Aren't they all a bunch of misanthropes' she says to me or something like that. Although perhaps she was accusing me.
The ipod must have worked because it's a new PB of 28.46.
When I get changed for work, I notice that it's not a pretty sight inside my sock. My blister is well squishy but you didn't wish to know that. There's also an awful lot of blood in there; I write myself a mental note, 'for God's sake cut your toenails'.
Nottingham has failed in its bid to become a city for cycling. It was not named as one of the twelve towns and cities across England to share £100m of Government funding aimed at encouraging cycling. Nottingham's bid, quite simply, didn't come up to scratch. If they were basically promising more of what we have now, then it's no wonder it failed. Nottingham is an awful city to try to get around by bike, positively dangerous. Any money would surely have just been spent on more white paint sub-dividing more pavements, not helpful.
Cottage pie and Church End Stout in the pub at lunchtime, very nice.
L is having a manic day at work and is going to be late home. So, I offer to cook for the kids and then meet L for a nice de-stressing beer. That is, if L dare put beer down on her dietary analysis sheet that she's doing for Daughter's health and social care project. Comments like 'Blow the dietary monitoring, I'm on pints' doesn't bode well. Tut tut. What would the health and social care monitor say to that? Talking of whom, she's not a happy bunny after being rather late back from what proved to be a mammoth paper round. I tell her a nice pork chop will cheer her up; she doesn't seem convinced.
L was sceptical that I could cope with something complex like pork chops. Piece of cake, I knew it was something to do with that grill thing. I could have got Son to show me, he’s rather good with the grill... and the smoke alarm, but in the end I coped on my own. In fact, I even managed a few spuds, veg and... wait for this... gravy. Mind you knocking up an Indian is still far easier.
I wander down to meet L, carrying a pair of her jeans because she's only taken shorts to work. I nearly didn't though. Shorts is good... if roles were reversed she’d probably have left me in my shorts.
On the way, I take Doggo for a wander on Radford Rec which, although I regularly walk past it, I have never visited before. It's rather nice and would have been even better had they not built a nursery right in the middle of it.
We are looking forward to a few Supremes but it's off, so Legend has to suffice instead. Doggo, I'm sure, is looking forward to seeing off the pub dog again, which he does with relish. He'll end up with another banning order at this rate.
Back home I think I mistake a cuddle from L as a cue for something else. Oops.