Dead Heat

Today the news is that coffee cuts the risk of dementia and protects the memory. Which comes hot on the heels of a disclosure that it reduces the risk of cancer, unlike processed meats but not decaff, so avoid that as it apparently increases the risk of heart disease. Which isn't as exciting as last year when they decided that coffee boosts female libido. Life's so complicated. I simply use coffee on L to try and keep her awake at nights, but it doesn't often work.

Lunch at the pub today for the first time in a month but unfortunately the chef was holidaying again, so no food available. We ended up at the Dolphin which was better than expected.

L's being trying to nag Son into going to more of the A level support sessions they have at his college. These sessions are particularly useful for those who are in danger of not passing e.g. Son. So operation study support has been launched. L has threatened to take the garden shears and cut every wire on Son's computer if he doesn't start going to as many as possible or even worse tell his father about his, not so good, exam results. Things are really livening up in our house and at least it's got him into my blog.

He has actually asked me to help him with his computing project which a good sign. I've looked the project up on the internet to see what it's all about and it sounds quite exciting. It also sounds very involved, weeks of work I would say, I don’t know how he finds the time to play any computer games.

L has what she describes as a 'most awful dilemma' tonight. She says her fitness schedule says 'cycle' but her life schedule says 'dog'. That's an awful combination that, she knows from experience, doesn't combine well. She has to keep to her fitness schedule. I shall kick the dog in the garden before squash and probably afterwards too.

Squash is at Portland again tonight, after years of preferring Clifton, Portland now seems to be in fashion with my opponent. Among other things, he says the 'crowd' is usually better there, a football analogy I think. Shame about the ventilation or lack of it on the courts. It's been a little warmer this week but it's hardly been summer, yet I hate to think what the temperature was on court.

After a 'thrilling' first two games, which we shared, 15-13 and 14-16, after slipping four points down in game three and barely being able to breathe in the heat, I eased off and basically forfeited the game, 15-6 I think it was. There doesn't appear to be any fans on the courts there unlike at Clifton where they do have them but obviously they don't work. There must be some 'health and safety' issue here because clearly the council wouldn't expect their staff to work in such conditions, so it can't be ok to 'roast' their customers in this way.

So to game four. Towelled down and drenched in cold water, I come out fighting, only to find that once I'd opened up a similar sized gap my opponent was out of gas and took a similar breather to me, allowing me the game 15-5. So 2-2 and the decider, we were locked at 9-9 when the next players came on court. So a good game and I think our first ever totally dead heat, in more ways that one. The question is should we really have to 'throw away' two games that we've paid for?

Howard Town Bleaklow in the pub, then home to L's inventive, hot and excellent king prawn dal. Which is doubly spiced with extra chilli, I think to upset the kids because both of them are pissing her off at the moment. Then we finish the night with a couple of Isle Of Skye beers left over from Scotland.

Under My Bed

I'm on the bike today despite the fact I have squash tonight, I'm sure I'll regret this later. The plan is to give myself a couple of day off before we do the Doncaster Nine Mile Race on Sunday. This is just a training run you understand. The biggy is Clumber next week.

It's a glorious morning although a bit cold. L has the cheek to text me to point out just how glorious it is, because she assumes I won't have noticed. She'll be accusing me of not looking at the view next.

I have a bit of trouble on the bike. An old chap, he must have been about eighty, cuts me up on his shopper bike coming out of a side street in Wollaton. Then he's off down the road pedalling like the clappers, pushing a very big gear. It takes all my effort to stay with him. How embarrassing. It's not as if he even looks like a cyclist, no gear, no helmet, just a tweed jacket and a flat cap. I've no idea how he keeps the cap on his head, he must have it glued on.

Luckily the hill up to Balloon Wood slows him down and I go past him. The problem now is that I have to stay in front. Luckily he goes straight on at the lights when I turn left, which allows me to relax, free wheel and drink my Camp.

In the news today is a year old Government review, which reveals that of the 2.7 million people claiming incapacity benefit, only 700,000 need it (no surprise to most of us) and a dog doing silly tricks. Any connection?



After cycling home I have quick snack as I kick the blessed dog's ball again. We have no bread, so I have naan bread topped with cheese instead. Rather nice actually. Then I run a taxi service for Daughter and a couple of friends who are going to see Derek, sorry I mean Deryck, Whibley. That's Sum 41. Wonder why he misspelt his Christian name, you'd have thought he'd have wanted to disguise his surname. He's also know as Avril Lavigne's husband and judging by the ticket price he's saving up to buy her something nice. Perhaps a joint name change by deed poll?



L is stuck at work and is planning her alcohol units already. So hopefully it's early to bed with a whisky again. She says she's having a Leffe chaser first. So I offer to taxi the girl's home as well, I just hope she stays sober enough to thank me, in any case I might want to nip in and get a t-shirt.

L puts the mockers on that, not that I'm serious, by saying she'd never shag anyone in a Sum 41 t-shirt. I think this could put the purchase of other tour t-shirts in doubt. I don't know, some chaps hide their mucky magazine collection under the bed; I'd be hiding my Wombats t-shirt there.

Somehow, between dropping off and picking them up, I fit in my game of squash. As expected, I now have conclusive proof that cycling and squash don't mix. My legs are very heavy, not that it probably makes any difference. I don't do any worse than last week. I lose 4-0 but should have won the fourth game that in the end went to 19-17. We're in the middle of a close 5th when we get chucked off.

After a post match pint and a half from the latest in the Whippet range, the phone rings. It's Daughter, it's only ten o'clock, and they've finished already. I think she is carrying a few bruises after going down the front for the first time and moshing to Mr Whibley.

Back home, taxiing complete, I chill with an Isle of Skye Stout and L's Salmon curry. Then we both take a large whisky to bed and I valiantly save L from the Dark Kitkat, 67% cocoa not bad but not great, that she's bought. She says its the buying and not the eating that's therapeutic. Hmmm. We'll see what happens to the other one...