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.