Number One In The Body Fat League

L goes off to her pre-work cardio-tennis and in her capacity as my personal coach tells me she's considering booking me to join her next week. Hmmm.

I take the Red Arrow into work to give the legs a rest. Before I leave, I have a couple of attempts at rousing the kids for their papers which L follows up with a phone call. Not sure if any of this worked.

I leave the two dogs together for the first time because one was asleep in the hall, the other in the kitchen. The fussy eater ate a full bowl of food whilst the gannet just picked at his; I think they’re swapping roles.

I leave work just after lunch because I've been invited to participate in the Biobank medical research project. It seemed like a bit of a jolly to me, so I thought I'd give it a go. L has also been invited but doesn't seem as keen. She was sceptical and spoke to her GP about it, who appeared to be dead against it. This made my mind up; anything that gets up the noses of GPs sounds good to me.

I think L's also sceptical about whether I'm going through with it and queries whether I've not just got an appointment with a younger woman. Well, hopefully, they’ll be a nice young nurse holding my wrist, taking my pulse, but knowing my luck, there won't be.

It’s their first day doing the tests and many of the staff don't seem to quite know what they're doing. I have to train one nurse on how to use the computer software, I also make apologies for the programmer who wrote it and forgot to make it mouse compatible. I assure them I'd have made a better job of it, had I written it.

Finally, I've won something and without the aid of a dog. One of the medics informs me that I'm number one in his body fat league table. I have 9.1% body fat, which he says is in the athletic zone and it's the best he's had so far. He says he's had a couple of 40%ers today. It's good to know I'm classed as athletic.

They take a sample of my blood and I make sure they take it from my left arm, I need my right for tennis later. I'm sure it said in the leaflet that it would be around three tablespoons full. Well, five and a half test tubes is a lot more than that. As Tony Hancock would say, 'that’s almost an arm full'. Half way through the fifth test tube, I start to feel a bit faint. At this point I really needed that nice young nurse with cool hands to mop my forehead but all the ones who dealt with me were the Hattie Jacques matron type from the Carry On films. There were plenty of nice young things drifting around but presumably, they were only for show.

Finally, they let me go and outside it's absolutely chucking it down, so our tennis court will be awash. What’s worse is, that my immediate problem is, that I don't have a coat with me.

So to the tennis. I used to play a lot but this was back when I was a teenager and when racquets were generally wooden ones. I reckon I have only played one game in the last 20 years and that was about 15 years ago when a friend and me went down to Ipswich to play a challenge match again a couple of tennis nuts. We won, on sheer guts and determination. Our opponents have not spoken to us since. My opponent today plays about once or twice a year, so he's a regular by comparison.

It doesn't start well, the courts seem to be a lot smaller, the balls a lot faster and the racquets a lot more highly strung these days, as well as not made of wood or is it just me? As we came in I enviously eyed some pretty decent wooden racquets that the tennis centre had got screwed to the walls, I wonder if they'd mind if I borrowed one.

After a bad start, mainly because my trademark shot to the back corners kept sailing off towards the main road, I start to get it together. Although it’s going to take something special to come back from 0-6 0-2 down. Things do improve, they have to because the people in the next court are get sick of me apologising for sending them extra balls.

I shock my opponent by making the second set quite close, losing it 6-3 and then going 2-0 up in the third. It then almost resembles a proper match, as games go with serve and before long my opponent is serving to save the set at 3-5. He goes 40-0 up and I ponder the pressure of serving for the set. Then, amazingly and partly thanks to some dodgy serving on his part I win five points in a row to take the set on his serve. We wind it up then because we've already gone 40 minutes over time, which is a shame because I reckon I could have done him over five sets.

Please Shovel Up After Your Horse

Reverse duathlon training today because I cycle into work and then intend to cycle straight from work to the Erewash 4 mile race before cycling the rest of the way home. Whether this will make my running better or worse than usual remains to be seen.

Mini Doggo appears to be in bad books. He's picked up his (full) water bowl and tried to throw it around the kitchen. This seems to be his party trick but until now, he's only been doing it with the bowl in the garden. I filled it up three times last night and each time he took delight in emptying it and running around the garden with the bowl. Just hope he doesn't start throwing the ceramic food bowl around, now that could get messy.

The weather did seem to temporarily cool off nicely but by the time I cycle to Breaston where the race starts from, it's started heating up again. I get there over an hour before the start but it's pleasant in the sun watching them set up. I’m feeling as knackered as a Mini Doggo, so I might have to jog along at the back, as usual.

L and the dogs turn up, Mini Doggo fresh from his second jab at the vets. So there's potentially three of them standing on the sidelines, yapping and supporting me. Except that my most fervent supporter, Doggo, gets dumped in the boot of the car. Mini Doggo got to watch but seemed a bit nonplussed by it all.

We start assembling in the middle of the road and then suddenly without any forewarning we're off. I can only assume that they didn't want to obstruct the traffic but it leaves me struggling to reset and start my watch. When I look up around ten seconds later I discover I am far too far up the field. The pace is quite slow and although one guy has disappeared into the distance, all the others are vying for second and I'm currently mingling among them. I drop back, knowing that if I don't, I'll regret it.

Half the course is along part of the Erewash Triathlon bike route, mainly the stone-chipped bit. Thankfully, they are now bedded in and it's not a bad surface to run on. At first, I don't see any markers, mainly because I don’t know what I'm looking for. Then I see a little post with 1.5 miles on it. Excellent, marked every half a mile, what a good idea. Shame I missed the first two.

Most of the first part of the course is undulating and mainly uphill. As is usual I take places uphill and lose them again on the downs but I think I gain more than I lose. At the three-mile point, I feel good and decide it’s time to lose the two chaps who've been shadowing me. The final stretch is along a footpath, which is strewn with horseshit, so you have to do a bit of a zigzag along it. Its funny how there's signs everywhere saying please pick up after your dog and special bins strategically placed for this very purpose but where are the signs saying please shovel up after your horse?

So, despite hopping between the piles, I have a good pace on and I'm therefore starting to die. I plan to review my pace at the 3.5 mile marker but this marker either doesn't exist or I miss it. Finally, I see the Navigation pub and therefore the finish. I even ease off a touch because I have shaken off my two shadows. I finish in under 26 minutes which is slightly better than the Rushcliffe four mile race and I suppose on a harder course but still some way off my 2007 best. I nearly get a prize for top three V40 but naturally, they give it someone else, just because they beat me. All good training for next week's Jagermeister 10k.

I cycle home. L does a fantastic pasta and chill chicken. Out of a jar she tells me but even so beautifully prepared.

L proposes an early night because she's at her early tennis session in the morning and needs to get up really early to take Doggo out, because she says that post-run I won’t be up to it. I assume she means not up to taking the dog out. I consider offering to do the deed anyway because I'm sure I could manage it but I don't wish to jeopardise the early night.

Fly Spray

We seem to have had quite a bit of overnight rain but it's dry now, so I cycle in. Catching the spray off the other vehicles is actually rather nice and cooling.

That is until some idiot in a huge Mitsubishi crate on wheels decides to hang inches from my rear wheel for about half a mile, itching to get past. I think he was expecting me to pull over. Think again. I have no sympathy, if he were in a vehicle that wasn't twice the width of most of the cars on the road he wouldn't have a problem. Eventually he gets past and roars off at err, 30mph.

Then less than a mile down the road, I catch up with him because he is now sat in traffic. I smile and wave as I go past him, though naturally I have to bump up the curb because he's taking up the whole road. He smiles at me in return; at least I think it was a smile, fully appreciating the irony of the situation.

Not long later, as I pull into work, I spare a very brief thought for him because as he's not come past me again, I assume he's still stuck somewhere.

I get changed and crack open a new can of deodorant. I've finally managed to get one that smells ok, after my favourite brand disappeared off the market. Am I the only one who thinks most deodorants made for men smell about as nice as fly spray. I suppose it saves on manufacturing costs to have a dual-purpose product.

I have a rather special treat for lunch; L has branched out with the slag food production into scotch eggs but there's no run of the mill sausage meat here, just proper minced pork. Very nice.

Daughter is now on her 415th (approximately) pair of headphones since she got her Ipod, although apparently this time is was Mini Doggo's fault. She's keeping our local record store going.

After work I head off for a swim because my usual swim day is out because L has talked me into this run tomorrow night. When I get there the usual Tuesday night private party is in full swing in lane one. I get into lane two where there are two other swimmers. One of them is a chap with so many baggy pockets in his drongo shorts, that when he gets out of the pool, he takes half of it with him.

L is out at Pilates when I get home, so I entertain the 'boys' (dogs) in the garden and cook chilli.

Mini Doggo is finding the lifestyle that he's been dumped into so very hectic and he gets so very tired but he just won't sleep while there's still stuff going on. So, we've had to start shutting him in the kitchen at around 10pm and having an early night ourselves. This, of course, is good for the soul and other vital matters.

Chasing Her Tail

No sooner am I at work that the message comes through that Doggo has pulled the arms and legs off the reindeer. Oh no. He’s such a bully.

I have a couple of meetings today, which is hopefully a chance to catch up on a few Zzzz. The first one is nice and short, I even stay awake.

L is very 'up' after a session with her physio. These sessions can have an positive effect on you, I remember my sessions with the young trainee who practiced on me, she had the second coldest pair of hands I’ve ever felt, after L's of course, which redefine cold.

L sets her comeback target as a local 10k in October and promises to fly round it. Cool, I'll look forward to chasing her tail.

After surviving my afternoon meeting, it's home and then dog training. It's our final double length session and when I get home at a tardy 10.30, L is waiting with her virtual rolling pin, as she is desperate to go out and do something. I join her on a four-mile DDF (double dog free) hike around the block; we have a large block, at breakneck pace. It's exhausting but all is not lost, there's still time for late night aphrodisiacal salmon and a not so early night.

Satan's Hell Hound

Back at the show again, topping up my sunburn. I'm managing a ring and miss one of my runs because I don't hear the announcement that it's about to finish. It's pretty annoying because there were people on that ring from our club who should have seen my name on the running order and given me a call over the walkie-talkies. Oh well.

It also irritating because that course was the most interesting one of the day but I think we'd still have messed it up because it's still too hot for Doggo. We mess up the team run on the first weave (again) and also get faulted for our changeover because Doggo broke his wait, which he's not done for years. All that after surviving being in the team with a Belgian Shepherd. For some unknown reason, he really doesn't like Belgian Shepherds. Not helpful, when it's a team mate.

We follow this with an elimination in our next event and then finally we get a clear but again we're not in contention for any rosettes. I hope it's not so hot next week, when we go grade 6 for the first time.

I escape to head for home as soon as I can, back to L who, I think, is feeling a bit abandoned and having to entertain Mini Doggo, who Daughter has rechristened Satan's Hell Hound because of his sharp teeth and his tendency to use them. It's a bit unfair because she does tend to encourage him.

I bring back with me a bag of treats and toys for Mini Doggo, because everything he's got is really Doggo's, although any new chews or anything I've got for him, Doggo has quickly taken possession of and eaten, wherever possible. Of the new stuff, Mini Doggo is particularly taken with a reindeer toy, which was left over from a Christmas stocking.

Daughter is surprisingly at home, having deserted her Father after he didn't produce the goods when she gave him an ultimatum of actually doing something when his kids are over. So she rescued L and took her to see Kung Fu Panda. I'm somewhat jealous but I don't know what I missed because L can't tell me; apparently, she was so tired, probably due to Mini Doggo, that snoozed through most of it.

(There seems to be a worrying trend with my titles at the moment, they nearly all concern our new arrival)

You Will Find The Bloody Dog In The Bloody Bin When You Get Home

I'm up early for day one proper of the dog show and as I get ready at around 7am a ghostly figure drifts downstairs. It grabs one of the newspaper bags and goes out of the front door. Blimey. I'm sure that was Son, looking like he's been up all night, which, as it turns out he has. It'll be a bit of a shock to them at the newsagents when he turns ninety minutes earlier than usual.

It's very hot at the show, which means Doggo can't be bothered and I can hardly blame him. The first event has right hand weaves, so I've already written that one off, but as it happens, he misses the first pole instead, just to be different. He does the same on our second course. Finally, we get a clear but it's a bit of an amble, so no cigar.

Ironically, it’s the first show with good weather this year but it comes after my Father's operation, so he misses it.

L texts to say she's sitting out in the sun with Mini Doggo and listening to her smut. Messages like 'You will find the bloody dog in the bloody bin when you get home', hint that perhaps they're not getting on. The statistic in today's paper that 50% of women kiss their pet goodnight might need recalculating, along with the one about the 15% of women who admit to paying more attention to their pet than to their partner. Hopefully. Hang on, only 15%? A lot of people we’re clearing lying.

Daughter has apparently gone to her Fathers and Son will follow later, presumably to catch up on some sleep. Damn, we could be at home playing at Magic Toyshops.

When I get home, after checking the dustbin for discarded furry packages, I try to get my priorities in order: - Tour de France, passion, food then beer.

We don't venture out and instead stay in with the dogs, although there's no climbing of the apple tree naked, as in the Magic Toyshop.

Rockin All Over The World

I have a day off work today to setup up my dog club's own agility show, which runs for the whole weekend. I had considered taking Mini Doggo with me for the day out but the weather has turned very warm so I leave him at home. My day consists of putting up tents, constructing courses and several hours filling in holes with soil because the ground is so bad. Thrilling but necessary stuff.

I return home at teatime where every one is getting togged up, even Son, because it's L's Fathers 70th birthday bash. It's at the International Hotel in Derby. As I recall, I've been there once before. I think it was 1986 and tonight, I'm sure they play the same records they did then, in the same order. Time it appears has stood still.

There appears to be only one concession to the 21st Century and that doesn't really count as it comes from the modern equivalent of Jive Bunny, Mr Mark Ronson, and that dreadful woman covering the once decent 'Valerie'.

It's a slightly surreal bash because there's a weird mix of ages, as the room is shared with a hen night and some much older folks celebrating a wedding anniversary. It's also very hot and I, along with several others have to keep nipping upstairs for air or perhaps I've just spent too long today in the sun.

We hand over our birthday present and L's Dad is very pleased with the concert tickets that we’ve got him. The really shocking news is that we're both accompanying him. I'm shamed to admit that we're all going to the bloody Nottingham Arena, to see the 40th anniversary tour of Status Quo. OMG. At least, no matter what, it'll be a great blog.

L says he's always been their number one fan. She says that as kids, they spent many a Saturday night tucked up in bed listening to her Dad and his friends' headbanging to the Quo in the living room. I'm not sure if she's pulling my leg or not...

What's worse is, when the DJ finally gets around to doing a few requests, we get up and do a bit of a 'spread' to 'Rockin All Over The World'. L, because she's driving, even does it without alcohol.

Near Death By 'Forced Air'

It's been totally manic since Mini Doggo joined the household and L's been taking dog number one on early morning walks, hence many pre-6am alarm calls. So there's no time for us cyclists/runners to get properly warmed up. This morning she's up early for her Cardio Tennis session whilst I take Doggo out for a run, then home for a bit of a play with the little one.

We've both out of the house by 7am and consequently the kids oversleep. They don't get to the paper shop for their rounds until 9am. Although they can’t really penalise Daughter because without her doing multiple rounds their delivery service would collapse.

I only just catch the R4, as it was three minutes early, naturally. Again, it was the driver who likes a long fag break in Sandiacre. I reckon he tries to get as far ahead of himself as possible, so he can enjoy a leisurely smoke.

Then I get my second run of the day, as I run the rest of the way to work and all before 8.30am. Very pleasant it was too, plugged into my Ipod. I just need to devise some way of stopping the headphones slipping out of my ears when they get sweaty.

It's in the news that eating watermelon has a similar effect on the body as Viagra. That is according to Texas Fruit and Vegetable Improvement Centre, catchy name eh? They of course do not have a vested interest in putting about such rumours. Don't know how much you'd need to eat because the vast majority of a watermelon is made up of water.

I risk a dark lager from Amber Ales in the pub at lunchtime. It isn't very dark and certainly doesn't taste like a lager but is still very good.

We play squash in the evening but during the third game, with the match at 1-1, my opponent claims it's just too hot on court to continue, so after I wrap up that game, we cut the match short and adjourn to the pub. Hmmm, just worried about being beaten, me thinks. Personally, I didn't think it was too bad. It was hot but not unbearable. Naturally, the leisure centre is unsympathetic.

The courts are only half the story, the changing rooms are worse. They are unbearably hot even in winter. You can easily get a sweat on simply getting changed. The centre says this is due to the 'forced air' system, whatever that is. Seems more like a method of torture to me and must be great for incubating germs.

We decide to go outdoors next week, and play Tennis. Now that's going to be interesting, it's a long time since I picked up a tennis racquet and I think that was a wooden one!

The Disease Is Spreading

The disease is spreading. There are more bikes than cars in our car park this morning. Four bikes are chained against the fence, as another employee cycles in for the first time. It was nearly only three of us though, because one of the guys nearly didn’t make it. He had a puncture four miles from work and had nothing to repair it with, so he ran the rest of the way with his bike. It took two hours for his face to return to its natural colour.

In the evening, I cycle to the pool. Although my triathlons are now over for the year I feel I should still keep up my swimming. When I get in, a chap who is just clambering out wishes me luck. I ask why. He gestures to an old bloke who is slowly breaststroking up and down. He tells me its a sign. When an old chap pushes off in front of you and starts breaststroking it's God's way of telling you you've done enough lengths. He departs. Well I haven't done any lengths yet. I duck under the ropes and move to the next lane.

Later in the changing rooms, I can't help overhearing two lads talking about their night ahead. One of them asks the other if he's going down the all-night Tesco tonight and then goes on about 'special offers', 'two for ones' and 'having his hand in the till'. Then it dawns on me, they're on about a girl. Whom they both seem to know quite well.

Doggo's old obedience trainer, yes, he has had training, who we're still friendly with, pops round to check out Mini Doggo. Sizing him up for a training course, I guess. It’s a pleasant evening but blimey, she can talk but I'm sure that has nothing to do with the fact that we have a naughty glass of wine when she's gone.

Female Drummers Are Dead Sexy

Ok so I post the damn entry form as I cycle past the post box this morning, too late to back out now. The ride in is excellent. It's been a long time; I’ve really missed it.

L's upped the ante in the talking book stakes by going for an Angela Carter. The Magic Toyshop. As L puts it, loads-a-smut.

It's about 15-year-old girl who's pretending she's one of Toulouse Lautrec's models by spending the summer holidays naked and an uncle that she goes to live with, in his toyshop. The uncle makes life-size mannequins, whom he portrays in violent, sexual scenes. It's a romance apparently. I shall borrow it after her.

L's also considering giving up the gym after reading that 'rock drummers are top athletes'. Oooh, go for it girl. Female drummers are also dead sexy, apart from the one from Glasvegas obviously.

The article loses credibility though when it goes on to say that 'playing the drums for a rock band requires the stamina of a Premiership footballer' because Premiership footballers don't have any stamina.

They say that drumming raises your heart rate to 190 beats a minute but they've also done the research using Clem Burke as an example. Clem Burke isn't exactly a youngster; walking up the stairs would probably raise his heart rate to 190 beats a minute.

Talking of music, this years Mercury Prize nominations are out and it's not a bad selection, if you pass over:- Adele, Estelle and the like. British Sea Power get nominated for 'Do You Like Rock Music?', as do Elbow ('The Seldom Seen Kid'), as well the over the top Last Shadow Puppets ('The Age Of The Understatement') and Radiohead ('In Rainbows'). Also nominated Laura Marling, Neon Neon, Portico Quartet, Rachel Unthank & The Winterset and Robert Plant & Alison Krauss.

In the evening, Daughter goes off to see Jules Verne's 'Journey to the Centre of the Earth'. Blimey. I can't believe they've remade that. They always dragged out the old black and white version for the school holidays and wasn't there a trashy 70’s TV series as well.

I head out into town with my friend, that is, after he's been barked off the premises by not one but two dogs. Well actually, Mini Doggo is quite friendly to him but original Doggo always barks at him.

Pizza Hut has gone all posh, or tried to but failed miserably. The waitress offers us the choice of a high or a low table and at first we haven't a clue what she's on about but then we see they've added some high wooden tables like in a noodle bar. We go for the low option but they've also shrunk the tables. Your elbows now hang over the edges and there's no room to put your pizza. All this progress has been paid for by higher prices. Hmmm, might be Pizza Express next time.

No Babes To Magnetise

It's the first day of the school holidays and Daughter has taken on a fourth paper round today but here's a warning for her and for anyone else doing paper rounds. A leaflet distributor for Domino's pizza lost part of his finger after getting into an argument with a letterbox in Littleover. The middle finger of his right hand became trapped in the letterbox and when he pulled it out too hard, he left part of his finger behind. It was also a bit of a shock for the woman in the house who found the lump of bloodied flesh, complete with nail, amongst her post.

I'm in the car today but L's on her bike, which as ever she finds a frustrating experience because she spends more time waiting at crossings than actually cycling. As L correctly says, you could spend half an hour easing up to the lights on Middleton Boulevard and they still wouldn't change.

Among eleven new signings Derby have signed a Polish international called Przemyslaw Kazmierczak. I wonder how many shirts they'll sell with his name on? As for the chants, they're going to be amazing.

L, my agent, seems to be on commission for entries to the Erewash 4 Mile Run on 30th July. She says it will be good training for me. She even offers to leave work early to take Mini Doggo for his second batch of jabs that are scheduled for that evening. She suggests I bike to work, then bike straight to the start and then run. Yes coach.

I print off an entry form but don’t read anything into that while L reschedules Mini Doggo's jabs, so that I can enter my race. So it's 'my' race now is it?

In the evening I take Mini Doggo in his cage to his first dogging while L is running in Derby, or rather not running... it's a short story but I won't elaborate.

The trip seems a bit traumatic for Mini Doggo and we have a little 'accident' on the way. This doesn't stop the whole class going ga-ga over him and cuddling him. It's the first time L's let me out with the new babe-magnet. There's no need to worry, there's no babes to magnetise.

Later, I sit in bed filling in the Erewash entry form but don’t read anything into that either.

Never Skimp On The Puddings

Up in Hathersage this morning for the 'hilly' triathlon. I get an unexpected warm up as I wheel my bike to the transition area and realise I've forgotten to put my number on it and have to do a quick jog to the car and back.

Apparently, there are 70 people doing their first triathlon today and most of them seem to be in my swim lane, breaststroking. So it seems that I've underplayed my swim time again. It's a bit bizarre that anyone would pick the Hathersage 'Hilly' as their first event but then again, I suppose, why not? Budding psychos the lot of them.

Due to the amount of floaters, I have to do a lot of overtaking but thankfully the lanes are nice and wide. So, it isn't much of a problem and I don't struggle with my breathing as much as last week. I do have a problem with the marshal who is supposed to be counting my lengths. It seems an age until he tells me I only have two to go and even then, he shouts it, as if as an afterthought, rather than show me the board as he's supposed to. The solution I suppose is to learn to count my own lengths. I suppose his counting must have been ok because my swim time was a minute and a half quicker than last year.

The bike is really good and I tussle with a fellow competitor as we head down the steep downhill into Grindleford. Here there is a right turn and the race rules state that you must stop and put your foot down. The marshals shout at my rival to stop but he doesn't and they announce that they'll penalise him. When I check the results later, he's actually been disqualified. This is perhaps a tad harsh; a stiff time penalty might have done the job.

His not stopping gets him a gap ahead of me but I catch and pass him once we start the big hill climb that takes us up parallel to Froggatt Edge. I also power pass loads of others and I'm feeling really pleased with myself.

At the top of the hill, with most of the climbing over, I look forward to the fast descent back into Hathersage. Then the wind hits me, its blowing a gale at the top. Descending is not the picnic I expected with the wind trying to blow me back up the hill.

Eventually as I lose height, the wind drops a little but disaster strikes as my rival comes back past me, as does another chap. I'm doing 42mph as we approach the 30mph limit, in a strong crosswind and I don't really want to go any faster.

Back in the centre of Hathersage, I'm a little confused as to where to go and the traffic is horrendous. I see two marshals, one either side of the road, both with their hands by their sides, so I go straight on. One of them shouts after me, I should have gone left. I have to turn around and go back but due to the traffic, it's a while before I can do so.

Into transition and they direct me to the correct bike rack this year, they tried to mislead me last year. My bike time is three minutes slower than last year but according to my bike computer, my average speed was up, so I would have been quicker, had I not got lost.

I grimace at my supporters, L and a vocal Doggo, as I head off for a nice trot along the river. My support crew regrettably doesn't include my father this year, as he's at home recovering from his operation. Soon the 'nice' trot is over and I'm clambering up those blessed hills, they're still evil but thankfully not as slippery as last year. One girl who I pass is close to tears and convinced that we've all gone the wrong way. No, sorry love, it's supposed to be this grim.

I finish 96th of 220. Not bad but two minutes slower than last year, although getting lost on the bike clearly didn't help. My run was also slower, not sure why.

L vows to never skimp on the puddings again because she didn't make me one last night. I will need to do a spreadsheet and cross-reference all my results with which puddings she made, to work out which one works best.

I fetch Mini Doggo from the car. He's travelled up with us in his soft cage, which he hated at first but I think he's getting used to it. We chill on the grass and have a coffee. Chill isn't quite the right word because Doggo is only interested in the game of football a group of kids are having close by. He keeps trying to tow me across the grass towards them.

Then unfortunately, there's no time for the customary hot bath and warm down at home, because Mini Doggo has a heavy tour of socialising to get through. First, we meet Daughter in the middle of Derby then we visit L's parents, the kids' father, my parents and my brother. As he gets to the last bit of socialising Mini Doggo just flakes out, totally exhausted but not before he's had chance to fall into the pond at my parents place. He isn't at all fazed by the experience. It doesn't look as though he's going to be as water-phobic as dog number one.

Finally back home, L does the gym while I watch the cycling and crack open one of the bottles of Batemans 'Dark Lord' that have been lurking in our cupboard for ages. I didn't really like it before but it's now a whole year out of date and is starting to actually taste pretty decent. I have a second one just to check. Yep, pretty good now. I'm really getting into this past the sell by date beer, gone off beer is seriously underrated.

Rather than cook we hit the takeaways, curry for us, pizza for the kids. We even manage to slot in a late watershed busting warm down.

For God's Sake Feed It The Girl

After the euphoria of Crufts qualification, it's back to a small local event today, where we record placings of fourth, fifth, fifth and finally five faults in the last event because a tired Doggo wasn't listening to me. It's not a bad set of results and more points in our promotion attempt in their league.

Our 4th place wasn't really what it seemed. It was in something called 'Time Gamblers', which in the rules says that the handler has to estimate what time they'll do the course in. Which is really silly but what is even sillier is when they scrap this rule and instead the judge sets a random 'target' time. To make it sillier still, he doesn't tell you what this time is. So you end up with some random winner who just happened to do the course in some time plucked out of the air by the judge. At least if he told us what his target time was then at least you could try and aim for it, thereby adding a little skill to it. Farce.

It's not too bad a day weather wise. Plenty of sun punctuated by sudden sharp and heavy showers, which is a major step up from most of the weather we've had for shows this year. E.g. thunderstorms, lightning, gales and snow. The main problem was these showers seemed to come every time I tried to walk Doggo around the lake they have there.

We also had a good look at the 'Splash n Dash' event but decided we were wet enough and Doggo's not terribly good with water.

I do a bit of shopping whilst I'm there. I come back with a soft travel cage for the little squirt and assorted treats.

In the evening L has lined up a real treat for me, as a pre-Hathersage Triathlon AF night and we go see 'Little Shop of Horrors' at the Playhouse. At least I should be thankful it's not Kate Nash. She's 'topping' the bill at the unattractively named Splendour Music Festival on Wollaton Park. Suppose there's no way on earth you could do Kate Nash and be AF.

The sounds coming from the park during the afternoon are not too bad as 'Ocean Colour Scene' and the 'Charlatans' perform. It would be interesting to see how many of their fans hung around for Kate.

So, we head off to the Playhouse, a bit worried about leaving the dogs in earshot of Kate, which is probably more traumatic for them than Bonfire Night.

Almost immediately after the play starts, L casts a worried sideways glance at me as we are introduced to down town Skid Row by a trio of singing girlies called Shiffon, Crystal and Ronette. AF? I already feel that this would have been better with alcohol.

Then we meet a shop assistant called Seymour who is working at Mushnik's Florist, which is on the brink of financial ruin. His fellow assistant is the dizzy Audrey, who he inexplicably has the hots for. Regrettably, for him, she is going out with, and also being used as a punch bag by, a psychotic dentist, whom also delights in employing sadistic operating techniques on his patients while dosed up on nitrous oxide.

Seymour though is the hero of the play as he single-handedly saves the shop with a strange looking exotic plant that he acquires and names after Audrey. Oddly, she sees this as a compliment but the Plant starts to attract customers to the shop.

Then 'suddenly' Seymour discovers that it thrives on human blood and the plant grows with lightning speed whilst Seymour ends up with plasters all over his fingers. Once it has a taste for the red stuff the plant starts to talk and demands sustenance that is more substantial. So Seymour feeds it the dentist, which is a shame because I was enjoying his deliciously over-the-top performance.

I want to stand up and say 'for God's sake feed it the girl' but eventually he does anyway. Along with Mr Mushnik and finally himself as the plant turns out to be an insatiable extraterrestrial hell bent on world domination. Obviously.

Naturally the plot is ridiculous, well actually there is little plot. It's a bit like watching a low budget movie, trashy entertainment but the cast are good and the singing ok. Although I feel the use of microphones ruins it a bit. It disconnects the voices from the people and muffles many of the songs, making the words sometimes difficult to catch. In a small venue like the Playhouse, this much technology wasn't really necessary.

Of course, it's the plant that steals the show with its booming demands to 'feed me now'. We head home to the 'feed me' demands of Mini Doggo who is threatening to perform a similar leap in size.

The Great Escape

Today was going to be a chance to finally get back on my bike and get some miles in before Sunday but no, I'm in the car again because I've volunteered to collect my father from hospital over lunchtime. What with a new puppy and my father in hospital, it's not been a good week to have a triathlon coming up.

At least I started on a new book this morning, aurally of course, a John Grisham which is much better than chick lit and unlike the start of the last John Grisham I 'read', I’m actually following it.

At lunchtime, as planned, I drive the getaway car over to meet my father as he attempts to escape from hospital but on this occasion, he is thwarted by red tape. I seem to remember it took me all day to break out when I was in Queens Medical a few years ago. I tell him to start digging a tunnel and I vow to return later.

Worse thing was whilst I was waiting; I ended up getting moved into the main car park. Its ok they say, you get 15 minutes for free. 18 minutes later, I'm not happy and my pocket is £1.60 lighter.

I'd just about given up hope of him getting out in the afternoon either when suddenly at ten to five, I get a phone call. The great escape is back on. This time they do finally let him out.

After dropping him off at his place, I head off to the pool. I'm hoping to convince myself that I can still swim after my farcical efforts at last weeks Triathlon before this Sunday's encounter with the water.

After my swim, I head home to take over the dog-sitting duties from L, who goes off to the gym.

At the Tour de France, Mark Cavendish does it again; victory number four comes on stage thirteen in Nimes.



It's amazing what I pull out of Mini Doggo's basket. He seems to be very adept at making his own bed with place mats, tea towels and perhaps the odd pair of jeans or t-shirt. Very resourceful.

I leave Mini Doggo with his clothing collection and head off to meet L. Doggo probably needs his usual Friday pub night session more than we do, what with having to share his life with a family pet. We can’t take Mini Doggo with us until he’s fully jabbed, so that’s not an option. The pub is very pleasant apart from the usual scrap between Doggo and the pub dog.

At Last A Bit Of Training

In the car yet again today because I'm on puppy visiting duty this lunchtime. So my training has been absolutely stuffed this week but that's dogs for you, disrupting your routine; I didn't get my swim last night either because of taking Mini Doggo to the vets. So he already owes me a few good agility results.

I deal with the dogs in the morning as well because L has a 7am Cardio Tennis session. Unfortunately, it's raining so Doggo won't go out into the garden and Mini Doggo won't go anywhere that his hero won't.

Things are not much better when I go back to see the boys at lunchtime. Doggo is a bit grumpy towards the little one and still wouldn’t play ball, even though it had stopped raining. I kick his ball anyway but there's no interest from Doggo, Mini Doggo ran after it instead and kind of rolls over the top of it before falling on to his back. It's a good job that he seems to be quite a hardy little chap.

Some would say that it's bad news but it's really good news that a third cyclist has tested positive for the banned blood booster erythropoietin (EPO) in the Tour de France. It may look bad for the Tour but I'd be more worried if they weren't catching people because the problem cannot be eradicated overnight. It is also a vindication of the organiser's decision to use French drug testers rather than the Cycling authority's ones, who have been ineffective for years.

What's more worrying is that unlike the first two to fail, who were older riders, this time is was the Italian Riccardo Ricco who failed. He is only 24 and not just any rider; he's a top rider. He has already won two mountain stages of this year's race, was runner-up in the Giro d'Italia earlier this year and was sitting ninth in the overall standings. As a consequence, his entire Saunier Duval team decided to withdrawn from the race. All credit to them.

On the plus side, today's stage to Narbonne produced another win for Mark Cavendish, who made history by becoming the first Briton to win three stages of the same Tour de France. Cavendish is now looking well knackered though and also bruised from a fall the other day. He is likely to quit soon, probably after Friday's stage to concentrate on his preparations for the Olympics.



I think L's having a bad day, she's drinking coffee with caffeine and appears to be considering bludgeoning her boss to death with a pile of medical files.

I manage to fit in a run with Doggo on the park, so at last a bit of training. I had considered tucking Mini Doggo under my arm and taking him but he weighs a ton. Too much puppy food. L suggests I stick him in a rucksack and leave his head poking out the top. He'd love that but dog number one would be dead jealous.

Then I collect L from work and we go off to visit my Father, who is hopeful of getting out tomorrow.

Back home L cooks a fancy adhoc Mediterranean Fish Stew. So no slag food tonight.

Even Dogs Get School Holidays

After a manic few days, I finally get some quality time with L, albeit at 5.30am.

L then has a bit of a disaster when she nips to Sainsbury's, locks her bike up outside and then realises that she's mislaid the key for her lock. So she had to leave her bike there, go home for the key and then rescue it later. Oh dear, she won't be happy. Wednesday is her late night at work; her boss is already running late and now this. Might be midnight before she gets home.

There's a chap in the news, a 25-year-old whose idea of a good night out is around 60 cigarettes, at least nine bottles of beer, several shorts and an occasional dabble in drugs. His alcohol units often topped 100 for the week. So they scanned his brain to see what effect this lifestyle was having on him and they found that it had resulted in a brain age of 68. His girlfriend was shocked to find out she was going out with someone who had the brain of a pensioner and apparently the libido to go with it (no disrespect to any up for it OAP's). So she promptly put him on a diet of healthy living.

After several weeks, he was retested and his brain age came in at 18 years, a massive drop and a testament to all his hard work but does his girlfriend really want to share their flat with an 18-year-old. Get him back on the beer immediately.

In the car again today as Mini Doggo is at the vets for his first injection this evening. As we leave to do the deed, Doggo tries to join us. I advise him that he really doesn't want to... he really hates the vets.

Despite getting treated by Doggo's least favourite vet, the one who put her fingers up his bottom, Mini Doggo takes it all in his stride, as he seems to do most things.

I cook curry before heading off to dog training, our last Wednesday session before the summer break. Even dogs get school holidays.

More About The Little Ankle Biter

I have to be up at 5am this morning to travel down to Maidstone with a colleague for work, so considering that I set the alarm for 5pm by mistake it's amazing that I made it.

Mini Doggo is already up and lively. He goes straight outside to do his business. We're very impressed; he seems to be amazingly toilet trained; no puddles at all yet.

He is also absolutely thrilled to see Doggo but the feeling doesn't appear to be reciprocated. Doggo is still not sure what to think of the new arrival and I still don't think he's realised yet that he's here to stay but surely Doggo will grow to like the hero worship.

Is nothing sacred? The famous Dunlop Bridge at Donington Park is to be demolished as part of improvements to bring the circuit up to F1 standards. The planned realignment of Coppice Corner would leave the iconic bridge in the middle of the track, so despite the fact it's been a feature of the track since it reopened in 1977, it supposedly has to go. Scandalous.



We hurtle back up the motorway and I get home just in time to visit my Dad who is recovering well after his operation.

Then its back home to L and her 'boys'. The little ankle biter still seems lively but L says she's even caught Son bonding with him, albeit briefly. Ha. I bet when we’re out, he sneaks down and to play with him. He’s a softie after all.

We finally wear Mini Doggo down, he keels over, I dump unceremoniously in his box and we slope off to bed.

Enter 'Mini Doggo' Otherwise Known As Gannet

It's a bit of a shock for Doggo this morning when we open the kitchen door and he discovers that the pup, Mini Doggo, is still here. Surely, this is some bad dream and he's going to wake up in a minute. Doggo lays down a few ground rules; he won't let Mini Doggo enter the bedroom. Beyond that, I think Doggo vows to take as little notice of him as possible and simply hope he goes home soon.

My Father is in for a hip operation today and I give him and my Mother a lift to the hospital. My Father seems to be almost looking forward to his operation or more likely the social side of it. We were late naturally.

L's been to have her running checked at the NHS gym, which apparently is fine. Although she has been recommended to get a gel insert for her running shoe and she's been supplied with a stronger rubber band for her leg stretches to replace the old that's attached to one of the feet of our bed. Ha, that'll stop her escaping from me.

L goes home at lunchtime to check on her boys, who I have left in separate rooms. She says it's just like old times, when she used to come home for Doggo. It'll also get her fit, as she's nipping home on her bike. How to get your girl cycling - buy her a puppy.

Mini Doggo appears to be a bit of a gannet, well actually, a lot of a gannet. He'll eat his own puppy food and then start on Doggo's, who's always had a take it or leave it attitude to food. So we can't leave any food down or it will disappear, along with anything else that isn't nailed down, such as shoes, socks, tea towels, newspapers, balls of wool... oh yes balls of wool. Daughter is into knitting at the moment and it's great to see that she enjoys letting Mini Doggo get all tangled up in her wool...

We should finally get the much-hyped tajine tonight because I've managed to get all L's cranky ingredients from Sainsbury's. Although that long black thing, err aubergine was it, took some finding.

I head home via the dentist, £15 for approximately two minutes, a bargain. Suppose I wouldn't be saying that if he'd tried to pull my teeth out.

L's sister and her family pop round to meet our new arrival. Her kids are desperate for a puppy and I guess we're not helping. Problem is, I believe their father is allergic to dogs, so it's a case of him or a dog. Not sure if I'd win if that was the ultimatum in our household.

I have to take Doggo away from them though because it's dog-training night. Training goes on forever tonight because numbers have declined now it's the summer months. That is summer in name, not according to the weather. We are now down to one session rather than two and the session goes on until everyone drops down exhausted. Which I think most of us do this week. The tajine though is well worth waiting for.

A New Arrival

We head off to the Erewash Triathlon this morning, a leisurely start because my start time isn't until 10am. Doggo and I go in the car, L cycles, which is a bit of a bolt from the blue. Mind you, the quiet early morning roads will suit her. I just hope she doesn't get mixed up in the race because the early starters will be out on the course from 8am.

In the registration queue, I get in a debate with a couple of chaps about punctures. Neither of them seem to suffer them and therefore don't carry a spare tube. I recount my tale of woe from Caythorpe. One of them says he'll look out for me and more specifically my tyre changing skills whilst he's on the bike course. When we get to the front of the queue we discover we have consecutive numbers and are therefore on the same swim start. So it will be easier for him to keep his eye on me than he thought.

My number one supporter, L, arrives and we fetch my number two supporter, Doggo, out of the car. My phone rings, number three supporter, my Father, has arrived.

At the swim start, I get talking to someone else about punctures. They've had even worse luck than I have. Last year she ran over a nail as she was wheeling her bike out of transition, ripping the tyre. So even having a spare tube was of no use. At least she's back for another attempt.

Blimey, I'm being social to someone at the start, how odd. Am I unfocused? Come to think of it, I'm not nervous, at all. In fact, I'm even looking forward to it. I must be ill.

The enjoyment aspect lasts until the end of my second length because on my third I catch up a slower swimmer and have to go around them, which involves a touch of 'sprint' swimming. During which I lose my breathing, start gasping for air and my breathing every third stroke disappears completely. I flounder and near drown for the next ten lengths or so before I finally get it back together for the last two. During my floundering phase, probably whilst I was trying to attract the attention of the lifeguard, someone blasts past me. I mentally try to work out their number so that I can get my revenge later, once I get out this wet stuff. If they are the next swimmer after me it'll be my number plus six, if the one after, my number plus twelve.

I finally escape from the water and run down to transition, which they have moved further away this year, to the back of the pool, but it just feels great to out of the dreaded water. I run past a couple of people who are walking. Walking? I ask you.

I think my transition is good and the bike is actually even better. I immediately blast past a couple of folks who are barely moving on their mountain bikes but then I have problems reeling in a chap on a straight handled bike that he's equipped with tri-bars, so he must be some kind of half-psycho and his number is in the same batch as me, so he must have out swam me. Thankfully, four miles in when the road starts to go uphill, he appears to falter and I catch him. Gotcha and bye bye.

We have to contend with a batch of loose chippings on one of the roads, that the council kindly laid last week, as they tend to when they know there's an event on. I see a couple of workmen sat in a van and I'm sure I can see them laughing.

Despite their efforts at sabotage, I get a good pace on and no one passes me at all which is good. It makes such a difference this year to be able to change down on my chain ring whereas last year I could only change up. So, last year, I had to start in low gear in preparation for the one hill. This year I could start in a high gear, get a good pace on then change down for the hill.

I arrive back in transition feeling I've put in a quicker bike than last year. Another good change over and on to the run, which they call two laps but that's misleading because the second lap, although similar to the first, is shorter. Again, I pass loads and no overtakes me. I even enjoy it. Bizarre eh?

I reach the finish and collapse. My time is a minute and a half faster than last year. I'm currently 5th but most of the top competitors are still to finish, so we sit and have a coffee while I wait for my name to slide down the results. In the end, I'm 35th, which is a lot lower than last year, but in a much bigger field.

We head home to collect Daughter, who has insisted on joining us, when we head up to visit the pup. We get to his farm and meet him along with his Mum and Dad. We watch as his Dad jumps a fence. Could there be an agility dog somewhere in his genes? The pup himself seems a real lively little tyke, not at all timid and I'm struggling to think of any reason not to have him, other than the fact that he's a real lively little tyke and not at all timid. Unfortunately I need that sort of 'spirit' if I'm to progress with the agility.

L's being really unhelpful, having suddenly become almost mute. Although I can see she's bursting to say something helpful, such as 'ahhh isn't he so cute', that sort of constructive comment. She had said that she was determined not to melt and blubber how beautiful he was etc etc, this had to be a cold-hearted decision... that I had to make. I could ask Doggo what he thought but I'm sure he'd say that 'no, under no circumstances are we going to have a pet', so he stays in the car.

Therefore, we brought the little man home. Daughter sat him on her knee wrapped in a towel, tickled his worried little face and he vomited on her. At first, she wasn't sure why we'd given her a towel, now she knows why.

With a new arrival in the household, we stay in to celebrate with a bottle of wine. Whether this is to celebrate qualifying for Crufts, a good triathlon position or a new pup I'm not sure. Let's say all three. Cheers. It's been a mad few days.

Crufts Here We Come

Dog show at Rugby today. It's a pretty big show and we only have two individual runs and one team run. My individual runs look like they're going to be very late on, so it could be a long day.

At least this lets me concentrate on the team event, which is qualifier for a place at Crufts 2009. There is talk of moving Doggo and I up to the A-team from our current berth in the B-team. Everybody, it seems, wants a piece of good old reliable Doggo and the expected clear round he will turn in. No pressure then.

In the end, we stay in the B-team, who are down to be the first of our two teams to run. The team event is a relay, which involves a baton change, from handler to handler not from dog to dog, which really would make it interesting. The team courses are usually relatively straightforward and it amazes me that so few teams can get four dogs round clear because clear, but slow rounds, have never been a problem for Doggo and I. A team qualifier usually only produces two or three teams that go clear.

We are down to run third in our team. I watch our first dog go clear, handled by one of my trainers. I don't see what our second dog does, handled by another of my trainers because I'm too busy setting Doggo up on the start line. We hand over the baton and off we go, I'm a bit worried about the weaves because if there's anything we might cock-up it's likely to be them but we don't. It's a good round, clear and actually quite fast. I hand over to dog four and I presume that from the deathly silence and collective held breath from the assembled crowd that number two dog was also clear.

Doggo and I watch the fourth dog go round, breath bated and then yes, they're clear too. Cue wild celebrations on the sidelines. We are the second team to have gone clear but we are a massive 14 seconds behind the leaders but it's still a terrific effort. Regrettably, only the winners get to go to Crufts.

When we find out who's leading, someone points out that they've already qualified from a previous heat. Therefore, this would mean that we get to go through instead. Cool. Only problem is there's about another 30 teams to run, including our A-team. So just a couple of hours anxious ring watching then. Most of the team can't bear to watch but I love the tension, this is what sport is all about.

It also gives me time to reflect on the fact that the Kennel Club is running a health awareness campaign to get more people to recognise the health and fitness benefits of taking part in agility. They want anyone who can tell them about any dramatic improvements they have noticed to their health as a result of agility to get in touch.

I fear they are barking up the wrong lamppost because generally agility people are not a very fit bunch, although the ones that do the best are. The fuel of choice for most agility competitors is supplied by the burger vans. In fact, as I watch the team ring, I see one competitor consume enough food to sustain a brown bear through its winter hibernation period.

It's an odd sensation watching the A-team, half hoping they cock it up but they duly oblige, 3 out of the 4 have faults. Glad they didn't move me up. I watch team after team get faults, finding it harder and harder not to cheer each time a pole goes down or a contact point is missed. Then finally, the waiting is over.

The talk before the event was about who was going to go up to the next qualifiers which involve long trips up to North Yorkshire and Teesside. Now neither trip will be necessary because we've done it, apparently, Doggo and I will be at Crufts next March. I hope that's right because I've told everyone now.

The rest of the day is a bit of an anticlimax and we don't get an individual run until 3.15, by which time Doggo has had enough. We go clear in jumping but we're well slow. The agility course, which we run at 5.00, is our sort of course but I really can't see Doggo managing the weaves where they've been placed if his concentration isn't totally spot on and right now, it certainly isn't. We do mess up the weaves, which is a shame because there aren't many clears and perhaps we could have got something.

I get home to find that L and Daughter have sneaked out to Mamma Mia without me; they just don't want me to assassinate it in my blog. Perhaps it's for the best; I wouldn't want to wake up in a cold sweat after singing Abba in my sleep.

In the Tour de France, amidst foul weather, Mark Cavendish becomes only the second British rider to win two stages in the same year, as he sprints to victory in stage eight to Toulouse.



We have an AF night in; well I do, as I have my triathlon tomorrow. L casually mentions that she has printed off a list of puppies from the Derby Evening Telegraph. We go through the list and I, in a very rash moment, let L ring up about some 10-week-old tri-colour collie pups. Unfortunately, they still have one left. We're going up to see him tomorrow afternoon.

Better Late Than Never

I run in this morning, assisted by Feeder and it goes really well, so perhaps my knee is recovering.

Carla Bruni's new album is dissected by the press and lines from her songs are quoted, because, they assume, they are all directed at her husband, the French President. Such as 'I give you my body, my soul and my chrysanthemum' which is an interesting way of putting things. Somehow, I can't see Gordon Brown's missus coming out with that sort of talk.

Another one in the news is James Cracknell because he is about to undertake a new challenge. This is to be the South Pole Race where teams compete against each other to be the first to complete the journey to the South Pole. He says he's picked this challenge because he wants to do something which doesn't involve sitting down. Ah, I see, the poor chap. I assume he must be suffering from the same injury as L. So she's in illustrious company.

In the evening, I walk into Derby and to the Derby Beer Festival. It's not bad but there's not a great selection of the dark stuff. I have three halves before L arrives on the bus, so I already feel a bit legless. She's not a big fan of beer festivals and as I feel I've almost covered it anyway we head to the Flowerpot instead, unfortunately there's nothing much on the dark side there either.

The only reason to stay at the Festival would perhaps have been to see all girl Yorkshire rock band the Almaboobies. Whom Derby Camra, oddly out of character, have booked for the Darwin Suite.



Later we head back to the Beer Festival for a nightcap because I thought the Fullers London Porter was worth a second taste but it's not as good second time around. We head off for the bus, which is naturally early, so we miss it.

We retreat to the Royal Standard to wait the half an hour until the next one and there it is, the beer I've needed all night, Jennings' Snecklifter. Better late than never.

Always Empty Your Squash Bag Of Half Eaten Bananas

L is doing Cardio Tennis this morning at 7am, which is an impressive time for a council establishment to be open. So, I'm on dog duty this morning, which means he gets a run around the pond, although oddly the park is open but we stick to what we know. Several people greet Doggo by name, he's such a socialite, and grudgingly greet me too.

The dog didn't look in a very good state when I left for work but it wasn’t my fault. He insisted in having a game of football in the garden after we got back from the run, so he has no one to blame but himself.

I drive in because we're at the pub today. Unfortunately, the chef is unwell and only a limited menu is on offer. So a platter ensues, sandwiches and potato spirals. I raise a glass of 'Legend' to the late John Evans.

L's back at another fitness class at lunchtime but with a different sized ball. Bodyball, I think involves balancing on a large ball whilst exercising with dumbbells. All pretty surreal.

A photo of Mark Cavendish makes the back page of the Times but the article is several pages in, naturally. Something irrelevant about Frank Lampard fills the rest of the page.

First game of squash for a month tonight and my opponent offers some wise words, 'Always empty your squash bag of half eaten bananas if you aren't going to play for a month'. Good advice. Thankfully, his kit was cowering in another compartment of his bag, so it didn't get marinated.

I do surprisingly well and lead 1-0, then again 2-1 but finally lose 4-2. Not bad though and my knee survives it.

Back home for some out of date Pelforth's. Sadly, L again is unable to source the exotic veggies for her Moroccan dish, so the tajine is postponed again. She's such a tease, still no hairnet either, but we make the most of a bad situation.

Hold The Hairnet

On the bike again and I finally seem to be loosening up. There's also less traffic around, so the A52 must be open today.

L's been keeping me up to date of the soaps, namely her talking book 'South Riding'. The lay preacher who got some teenager up the duff has just got it on with his wife for the first time in 15 years, just because he promised her a maid and sang some hymns with her. He ripped her hairnet off and threw it in the fire. That's some seduction technique; I'm taking notes.

L promises Moroccan vegetable tajine and couscous tonight, which sounds wonderful. She's not clear whether this is before or after the hymn singing.

What's gone wrong with society? I refer, of course, to the state of cheese and onion rolls in this country. You can't get a decent one for lunch anywhere. The cheese is grated not chunked, mild and not mature and that goes for the onion too, too mild and too soft. No wonder society is in a mess.

It rains most of the afternoon, although it eases just before I start cycling home but then chucks it down when I get half way. It's still better than being in the car as the M1 motorway is shut, causing major tailbacks on all the surrounding roads. I swim through the rain to the pool, do my lengths and swim home.

I've decided to rest Doggo from class tonight, he's done a lot recently but then they cancel the class anyway due to the road chaos caused by the M1 closure. Instead, I take him on the park, while L power walks. She had planned a tennis game with Daughter but the council cancelled it for Health and Safety reasons, basically because it was raining. I manage to kick the ball without collapsing in pain, so my knee must be improving.

In Le Tour, Mark Cavendish claims his first stage victory and the first by a Briton for five years. Another Briton, David Millar is currently third overall, 12 seconds off the lead.



L can't get the veg for the tajine and she forgets the hairnet too, damn.

Fish And Chips

Watching some chap getting his cleats adjusted whilst still travelling along at around 30kpm on last night's Tour de France highlights reminds me that I have some new ones of my own. I spend ten minutes this morning putting them on. They make all the difference, I can now release my feet without wrenching an ankle.

Biking is just so the right option this morning, some clever soul has overturned a car at the Wyvern Way junction and the A52 is horrendous and so are the side roads. I have to do a lot of weaving in and out of stationary traffic but it's better than being stuck in it in a metal box, although obviously I was missing my book. Asda Island is totally static, I've never seen it like that before. It's such a sense of power as I overtake them all. So a good trip, if I don’t mention my knees.

L's power-hobbled to work again, she says her legs are still awful. Which means they must be really bad if she's admitting to it. I think L's injury must be contagious because I’m having trouble sitting this morning; the ache in my knee appears to have moved up to my thigh. According to L it's not the sport that does it, more the sleeping curled around a collie. Hmmm, we best not get another one then or we'll end up sleeping on the floor, where the dogs are supposed to be.

I bike home; cut the lawn, which exercises Doggo at the same time, and then I cook some pasta. Quite a busy night and by 8pm, after L gets back from Pilates we're heading off to Rock City.

The first thing to note was that I was expecting a quiet intimate gig. I mean how popular can the ageing American's The Goo Goo Dolls be? Very, it seems. All the best vantage points are gone, the crowd preferring to go for these spots rather than try to get up close, as tends to happen with the younger crowd. They're all avoiding the moshpit I guess, like L. We stand at the back of the floor, where I fear L can't see very much.

We catch the end of London's Slaves to Gravity, who formed in 2006 from the ashes of The GaGas. They offer a reasonably decent grunge rock sound from what I can gather from the brief view of them we got.

I can't confess to being much of a Goo Goo Dolls fan, this is very much L's choice of gig. In fact, it's the most unprepared for a gig that I've been in a long time. They have produced eight albums since their inception in 1986 and I've only listened to one of them, 1998's 'Dizzy Up The Girl'. Which is a pretty good album in a pleasant, totally inoffensive sort of way. Thankfully they play at least six tracks from it tonight.

Actually it all starts rather well because I know three of the first four tracks. 'Slide' and 'Black Balloon', which is accompanied by a couple of... yes black balloons being released into the crowd, are both from 'Dizzy Up The Girl' while a track called 'Feel The Silence', from their most recent album 2006's 'Let Love In', I listened to on their website this morning.

Lead singer John Rzeznik reminds me a little of Brian Adams with his floppy haircut and worn in face whereas his slightly disconcerting sidekick, bass player Robby Takac reminds me of... and I don't wish to be unkind but... he looks a little like a cross between Meatloaf and Twisted Sister's little brother.

Takac takes vocals on four tracks, in two batches of two, including the excellent 'January Friend', yep that's also from 'Dizzy Up The Girl', and a nice little ditty called 'Slave Girl'. His deep gruff almost lost my voice style would have been good had it been a little louder and clearer or perhaps he was actually losing his voice.



We have no problem hearing Rzeznik as he belts out song after song that everyone seems to know, except me of course, unless it's off 'Dizzy Up The Girl'.

The third member of the Goo's is Mike Malinin on drums but they haven't raised his drum kit off the ground and we can barely see him at the back of the stage. Perhaps that's how he likes it. I'm sure L can't see him at all.

The line up is completed by a second guitarist and a fifth musician who alternates between keyboards, guitar and later the saxophone.

Rzeznik banters well with the crowd and quips about Los Angeles being a dangerous gun-toting city. You get the feeling that he doesn't know how notorious Nottingham is. He seems to be genuinely pleased to be over here playing to appreciative UK audiences, as most US bands tend to be. I get the impression American audiences just pull up an armchair and read the paper while they watch their bands.



They wind things up with 'Let Love In', to which the chap in front of me in the 'Let Love In Tour 2006' t-shirt goes mental to, 'Better Days' and finally a big cheer goes up for 'Iris', which ends up being mostly sung by the audience.

They get shouted back for an encore and Rzeznik returns to the start to ask 'did you guys say fish and chips?'. These Americans struggle with our accents you know.

They treat us to their new single, 'Real', which has just been released ahead of a new album. A lot of the audience knew this one too. They finish with 'Broadway', that's Broadway, Buffalo, not Broadway, Los Angeles by the way.

I wouldn't say I'm a convert but it was still an excellent gig.

Photo sources :- Rebecca Clark, Chris Schwegler www.heavenlyintoxication.com

Who Says No One Buys CD's Any More?

I'm in the car today, which mean I can catch up on a few more chapters of my new book. Thank God, that she's finally dumped that awful boyfriend of hers.

Here's a good way to top up your training. The Tate Britain gallery has employed fifty runners to take turns to run through the 90m gallery at 30-second intervals, while trying to avoid the visitors. It’s part of a new exhibit from Martin Creed, who won the Turner Prize for a pair of flashing lights.



On my way home I nip to Argos to pick up a new CD rack, so that we can cope with another 300 or so CD's. Our currently filing system is rapidly falling apart due to lack of storage space. The new capacity should just about see us through until Christmas. Who says no one buys CD's any more? Or are we keeping the industry afloat on our own?

In the evening I pick L up on our way home from dog class, she's gone to Sainsbury's, partly because we need food but also I think because it means she doesn't have to sit down on her injured thigh. I remind her to get the Joint Care for Doggo. He needs his drugs; just like she needs hers. I could do with some Joint Care myself.

When I collect her, Daughter is there too. This is getting too freaky, is she stalking me?

Home for pate and cheese, the Tour De France, and to inflict some painful leg stretches on L, for which she seems thankful. Although we forget the ice cubes again.

Neither Of Us Do Sensible

A phone call from L's sister wakes us up at some unearthly hour, well about 9.15 I think. She's heading round in about an hour and a half to take Daughter and her own kids to 'Kung Fu Panda'. So it's a briefer than usual lie-in and Doggo and I are on the park before midday, which is generally unheard of.

The walk on the park probably does my injured knee good but taking his ball with us doesn't, the kicking of which promptly sets my recovery well back.

When I get home, L is kitted out in a short skirt, which is a pleasant surprise. What's her game, the lie-in was obviously too short for her.

Rest though is what's prescribed for my dodgy knee and I rest up by catching up on yesterday's opening stage of the Tour De France. After that, I decide, what with the Triathlon next week, a swim would be a good idea. L ponders on whether to come with me and do a gym session. She desperately wants to but it's probably not the sensible thing to do. Of course, neither of us do sensible, so she comes with me.

Naturally, with it being a Sunday, the changing rooms are hell and I don't get a shower again. The pool though isn't too bad, doubtless because they're all in the shower, and I get a decent swim.

We're both knackered, so instead of doing a Sunday film we go for a walk instead. Doggo rises like Lazarus when he sees us putting our shoes on. We'd almost forgotten we had a dog, having not seen him since returning from the park, this morning.

The Reliable One

Its Saturday morning, 8am to be precise, and we are enjoying the idyllic surrounding of Pontefract Racecourse. The sound of the continuous rainfall on the car roof is punctuated by the chorus of dozens of dogs barking. Dressed in full waterproofs, I head out on to the wet grass. Doggo looks horrified that I might ask him to join me, for now he's safe and I don't. He gets his head back down in the boot of the car, presumably trying to dream himself somewhere else. I join the other hardy souls and assess the first courses of the day.

The rain eases enough for us to put in a 'skin of the teeth' performance on our first course and record 8th place. Not bad considering we made a few mistakes.

Next up is the team event. I am told that good old reliable Doggo has been upgraded from the B team to the A team, good news I suppose. Just as we're stood on the start line, it starts to rain again, heavily, great. We are third to run in our team of four but by then the scorer has already filled half his sheet with penalty points so we certainly aren't going to be among the prizes. Never mind, the reliable one puts in a clear round anyway and, as the fourth dog cocks up it too, we are the only ones to do so. Done our bit at least.

Next up, a jumping course for grades 4 and 5, to which we will no longer be invited to partake in come August when we officially go grade 6. The rain has again ceased or rather it had until I take off all my wet weather gear and stand on the start line, when the heavens open again, heavier than ever. To his immense credit, Doggo is coping well with the foul weather and on a tricky course we record our third clear round of the day so far. Then as we stand congratulating each other, the judge runs over to us. Perhaps he's going to praise us for the best round he's seen all day? I'm afraid not. He tells us our time was just over 10 seconds. Blimey Doggo you were fast, what's L been feeding you? Unfortunately, the reason for our storming time is that the rain has gotten into the timing and the clock had stopped half way around. We will have to re-run, although this will be for time only. This means that, as we've already been clear once, if we have any poles down second time they won't count them. We head off to dry off and will return later when hopefully the rain will have eased.

Half an hour later, we return. It’s not raining and despite the fact we don’t have to be clear, we still are. Professional to the last. The time, this time, is a more believable 28 seconds. The unbelievable bit is that it's only two tenths off first place but it's good enough for second. The dog's done good again.

The afternoon is an anticlimax. Doggo looks knackered, his night out catching up on him, and in any case our next run is spoilt by thunder, which puts him off. Our final run is spoilt by the weaves, of which I can see no other option than to do them on my right, which Doggo hates. Before we start, I discuss it at length with him but he still aborts the 12 poles at number 10, as is often his way. I'll forgive him today. One trophy is good enough.

We head home back down the motorway, just Doggo, me... and Sophie. Don't tell L but we have a woman in the car. It’s not actually Sophie but a woman pretending to be Sophie Kinsella and reading my new chick lit talking book to me. It’s not exactly fiction for oldies like me but it's much easier to concentrate on than John Le Carre.

We take our victory spoils home to L, who has something bubbling on the stove ready for us and we even manage a clandestine operation under cover of Doctor Who before we head into town.

L's been promising herself a cocktail, so we head to Cast for an eye wateringly expensive Vodka Martini, the real McCoy. I stick to trusty Leffe. Then we head up to towards the Ropewalk but first we call in the newly reopened Hand And Heart. A delightful pub that is built into sandstone caves but closed three years after falling into a very run down state.



They've done a great job of renovating it and have five real ales on sale. The only downside to this is that they've gone out of their way to find the most common and dullest ones they can: - Directors, London Pride, Theakston's XB, Bombardier or was it Bass? but you get the idea. Not beers you'd cross the road for which is a shame because you'd definitely cross the road for the pub.

They do have Castle Rock Harvest Pale on as a guest, which is where I start but there's only so much of that brew that you can have. So I end up on Chimay's and Leffe's but we stay the night, forgoing the Ropewalk, to offer our support to their venture but the beers will have to improve or else it won't become a regular haunt of ours.

Doggo 2 - The Sequel?

I can't be in as bad a state as I think I am because, flushed with the elation of surviving Colwick; I decide to do a recovery run into work this morning. I would have preferred to bike but I need to stay in Derby tonight. Not surprisingly I find the run very hard work and turn it into a run/walk e.g. run ten minutes, walk five minutes etc. L would have hated me; she can't bear people who do that.

Once I'm at work and getting changed I discover the full extent of the damage the Grand Prix has inflicted on my body. Namely, a massive blister on my right foot but hang on... it pales into insignificance with the one I discover on my left foot. Wow. That's so impressive. I'm eager to share this discovery with someone but feel my work colleagues may not quite share my appreciation of it. Lucky for L that I don't have a camera phone.

L doesn’t sound any better and confesses to walking like a duck this morning. This would be funny, if she wasn't doing another race tonight. She's off work today and waddles off to yoga to see if she can loosen up.

Against our better judgement, we've been considering getting another dog. It was also against our better judgement that we ended up with Doggo but that seems to have worked out ok. The biggest problem will be what do I call him in this blog? Doggo 2? I don't think that quite works.

We had been offered a nine-month-old collie that seems to be being passed around a family because no one knew what to do with the poor creature. We had been trying to arrange to see it and borrow it, just to see if Doggo (the original one) got on with it because I fear he won't. However unbeknown to the people in the family we were talking to; another family member has now dumped it in a rescue home, which has effectively ended our interest. To jail break him out will cost us at least £70, plus home checks and no chance of borrowing him. What a mess but I'm sure he'll now get a good home.

All of this dog talk is making L very broody and she says I'll have to get a puppy to appease her. Although I seem to recall her not being terribly keen on Doggo when he was a razor-toothed brute of a pup. Time heals all wounds as they say.

In the evening it's probably the last rites for L's injured leg at the 10k run that she's let one of her friends talk her into. Her friend, of course, hasn't just done the Grand Prix series of four races in nine days. I opt out of this one and will cheer her on from the sidelines. We had planned to leave Doggo at home, resting up for his dog show tomorrow but L's sister and her family are in town and have decided to come to the race; mainly I think to see the dog. So L brings him over in the car, I hope she remembers not to bring my kit.

I walk straight to the race venue from work, telling L that if she sees someone crawling along the roadside, to feel free to pick me up. In the end though, I get there first, although L soon drives up and... blimey, is that Daughter with her? Oh no does this means the TV's broke and on the eve of the Tour de France too.

The race itself goes ok. L copes with the huge fan club that has turned up to cheer her along. She doesn't exactly storm round but then you wouldn't expect a badly injured person who's just done four races in nine days to storm round.

Doggo has a fantastic night, as well as supporting L, he has to amuse everyone else. By the time we get home, he looks exhausted. I tell him to kip, because we're up at 6am tomorrow for the dog show, as I close the door behind us as we dump him and head off to the Johnson Arms for a couple of pints. I'm not sure we'll be bringing home any silverware this week.

The beer is Sharps from Cornwall and not bad at all. Then we head for the curry we had promised ourselves at the end of the Grand Prix series. The curry is excellent but it clearly doesn't like me.

At 4am, I awake, not feeling terribly well, to be more precise, feeling incredibly stuffed full of curry. In fact feeling like John Hurt in Alien. You know when that huge bulge appears in his torso because something is trying to break out of his stomach. Well a baby alien doesn't quite burst out of my stomach like a gruesome jack-in-the-box but I do have to nip to the bathroom and re-live the curry again.

Which is bloody annoying because it was such a good curry and it couldn't have been the beer because we didn't have time for much alcohol. The lesson is, don't eat far too much and then go to bed on it.

The Final Instalment

Finally, a day not in the car but it has to be the bus because I'm resting up before tonight's final instalment of the Grand Prix series. Reluctantly I've had to scrap pub day this week, because of the run. Wouldn't want to vomit up cottage pie. In one way, it's good news, as it was my turn to drive, that would have been four days in the car.

Just to prove that it's not just the football authorities that have no grasp on reality, cricket is having one its moments of madness.

Firstly, the ICC are still not banning Zimbabwe from coming over for the World Twenty20 next year, so England may lose the right to host the tournament if they try to prevent Zimbabwe from entering the country. This situation should have been sorted out years ago, before the farce that was the 2003 World Cup, when they let Zimbabwe not only take part but also host matches. Here we are five years later and still no further.

Secondly, they now propose to reward Pakistan for refusing to finish the 2006 Oval Test against England by changing the result of the game to a draw. Under the laws of any sport, if you refuse to play, you lose the game. So from now on, if you're losing, just refuse to play on and you'll get a draw. Madness.

L's at the physio ahead of tonight's race. Luckily she doesn't get banned from running, not that she would have taken any notice. However, she says she has to have a massage with an ice cube afterwards. So, I shall pop and get some Ben and Jerry’s for later.

I get home and help L with her stretches, which involves holding her legs in a strange position. It looks really painful but its great fun, for me.

I'm not exactly fighting fit myself, I've been feeling a bit washed out all week. I even went back on the porridge this morning to bulk up my energy levels; perhaps a cottage pie might have done me good after all. I think it's my dodgy knee that's making me feel a bit off colour. L wonders whether I'll be up to tonight, of course I will be, but lets get the run out the way first.

So to Colwick Park. The first problem is they've moved the start. So having parked up by the old start and given Doggo a good viewing point, we then have to leg it to the new start. The new start isn't really an improvement, they cram us on to a narrow path and everyone is packed in like sardines. I end up standing in a bush, trying to avoid the nettles. When we start, I have to dodge between some tree branches and a gatepost. Not ideal at all.

The course again involves a lot of grit path with mini boulders but also road sections, although with a few speed bumps thrown in.

I force myself to take it easy and this time I tell myself I mean it. I do the first mile in 6.30 but then lapse into a solid 6.45 pace. It suits my current semi-injured state better and I actually enjoy this race. I haven't much enjoyed the first three. Towards the end, I manage to home in on a few targets and pass them. It makes a nice change to being passed, as I have been in the previous events. My time is a minute down on last year but I'm happy with that.

Overall, for all four races my aggregate is nine seconds slower than last year but I still come 36th, so not bad.

We head off to pick up our commemorative t-shirts and then we 'um and are' about whether to go for a beer or not. I'm all for going for several dozen beers and just having a slice of toast for tea but we have needy teenagers at home. Well, one that would get herself something to eat and one that will wait for something to be presented to him.

In the end we go for a couple of pints and then go home where I whiz up a quick curry and finish off with a Leffe.

Bird Feeders

Third day in a row in the car, not good. I give Daughter a lift to school which she isn't totally happy about because it gets her there far too early. Some people are never satisfied.

L tells me all about her new talking book 'South Park' or it may be 'South Riding', something about the new Headmistress helping the man of her dreams calve a cow. It all sounds terribly Emmerdale to me.

The Joseph Rowntree Foundation has calculated how much money people need to buy the necessary goods to 'participate fully in society'. Among these essential items are film tickets, a bottle of wine and a bird feeder. I was in agreement there until we got to the third one. Must nip out and get one...

In the evening, we head off to Daughter's parents evening expecting a 'lively' time. We've already been told not listen to anything the English teacher tells us because Daughter and her teacher are always in dispute about something. So, it was a shame that we had to disregard all the praise the teacher heaped on Daughter. The dispute was over the fact that Daughter is currently at grade B GCSE and the teacher is trying to get her to put in the extra effort to make it an A. The teacher, as teachers often aren't, just hasn't been very good at relaying this through to Daughter.

Andy Murray, as expected, gets murdered by Raphael Nadal but the boy still done good. If the draw had been kinder to him, he'd have been in the semis.

I find it hard to believe that people are slating him for losing to a man who is currently the best in the world and who I thoroughly expect to defeat Roger Federer on Sunday.

People seem to prefer the nice but dull and boring Tim Henman. In any case, Murray is already the better player. Henman could only ever seem to raise him game on the grass at Wimbledon whereas Murray is already doing well elsewhere and is more of a hard court player. This is why he already has 5 ATP titles whereas Henman when he was Murray's age had yet to win his first. Henman accumulated 11 ATP titles in his career; I would expect Murray to go past that total within the next few years. Incidentally, Henman also reached his first Wimbledon quarter-final at 21, the same age as Murray and also lost.

Sprint Finish?

Daughter catches me completely off guard this morning by wishing me a good morning at 7.15am and seemingly, she even means it. She must have gotten out of the wrong side of her bed, or rather the right side.

It's the final chance for L to claim her prize of the poshest of posh meals out in a restaurant of her choice in the 'Red T-shirt Challenge' but it doesn't seem likely that she will get Son to rise to the challenge (and out of his bed) to become a red t-shirted helper at the College inductions.

We do have one child in the house of elevated status though because Daughter has now become a school Prefect. Although we don't yet know what her new role with entail. In my day, Prefect's were like Gestapo and were employed to poke you in the ribs, if you stepped out of line in the dinner queue and to make sure everyone stayed out in the rain when the weather turned inclement during break time. They didn't seem to perform any other duties and abuse of power was widespread. I'm just bitter though because I wasn't made one because I wasn't fearsome enough. Perhaps this is why Daughter got the 'gig', you wouldn't want her telling you off.

A heart-warming tale from Scandinavia for anyone who's had trouble getting home after a heavy night out. This could happen to any of us. After a few too many, a 78-year-old Swede found he did not have enough money for the ferry home. His solution was to steal a dinghy and row the 5km across the Oresund Strait from Denmark back to his home in Sweden. Not surprisingly, he didn't make it and the coastguard found him asleep in his drifting boat.

This evening, race 3. The scene of, after careful perusal of my stats, what appears to be my fastest ever run. I'm not hopeful of a repeat. I’m feeling only three quarters fit, it's my knee that’s still holding me back. If I hop round, I’ll be deadly.

I am feeling a little inspired by an article I read today in Runners World magazine about a chap who took up running after a heart operation for Wolff Parkinson White Syndrome, which causes your heart to beat far too fast. He said 'I don't know what I'm capable of and the fun is finding out'. Reckless talk if ever there was. I shall see what I can do and apparently, there were only three 'girlies' ahead of me at the last race, which is almost cause of celebration. I'll have to see if I can chip another one off.

It’s a hot evening, too hot for Doggo, so he is left at home, which he isn't happy about. My darling L looks perkier than last week and has subsequently reduced her intake of performance enhancing substances. Which she may live to regret.

At the start, I try to take it gentle but it's not easy with all these people trying to beat me. The route itself isn't pleasant, two laps of a grit path that isn't easy to run on. I try and run along the grassy edges but then you have to deal with a few potholes. Not ideal but better.

For some reason it seems harder in the dry this year, where's the rain when you want it. To help me, if 'help' is the right word, I've programmed my watch with a target time but I don't think I've done it right. When I press the 'lap button' to record my splits at the mile markers, it keeps beeping back at me to tell me how I'm doing. Which it says is badly. I know that, I can see I'm down on where I want to be but I'm sure it's exaggerating.

The marshals too are no help, saying things like 'well done' and 'you're doing well'. What do they know? The technology on my wrist says otherwise.

Some bright spark gives the girl in front of me one of the 'you're doing well' shouts but then follows it with the caveat 'but you're only second'. Evil person. How the girl restrained herself, I'm not sure.

The info though is interesting, and means I might be on to only have two girls in front of me, although I doubt the accuracy of the statement. My fears are kind of confirmed when I catch up another girl, but I'm sure there's others ahead of her. I only catch her up because she's stopped to tie her shoelace. Her stop and my lead on her are both brief as she quickly sprints past me again, clearly just to ram home the point.

Someone calls out my name, which is unsettling because I didn't expect any supporters but kind of welcome. When they do it again later, I manage a weak wave in acknowledgement, kind of realising who it was.

Inside the last half a mile, an ancient chap pulls level with me, seemingly spoiling for a duel. He looks in a worse state than I do but despite that, I can see he is winding up for a sprint finish. Don't bother mate, I feel like telling him, I'm not. Victory is yours. He duly wipes the floor with me.

I'm 47th in 26.00, 49 seconds slower than last year and it was truly horrible. As I lie on the grass 'chilling', I must look a right state because the St Johns Ambulance folks run over to check I'm ok. I unconvincingly wave them away.

L's been talking down her time and I almost believed her but she comes in minutes ahead of where she 'predicted'. We head home and again infringe the Tuesday AF rule with two glasses of wine.