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.