Distressed Females

At long last a proper lie in, well almost. 10am and we're just rounding off the first of our usual two sessions when the phone rings. I'm cursing Daughter who I'm sure it is, as she's at her father's this weekend. It's L turn on top and asking her to stop, so that we could answer the phone wasn't really an option. After a rather rushed finale, L finally grabs the phone and it stops. We think we've missed it, never mind they'll call back but no. Surprisingly, Son has answered it. He almost barges into the bedroom to tell us who's calling, which could have been disastrous.

In the end I'm wrong to curse Daughter, as it's my father who informs me he's on the way over with the hedge cutters. Bugger. So no second half this morning. It also means I've got limited time to return the favour for L. She's not good under pressure. Luckily my father's time keeping is legendary, legendarily bad that is. 'He's on his way' could mean any time in the next three or four hours.

The hedge cutters eventually arrive and I cut the front hedge, although I can't cut the rear one as I've been palmed off with a shorter cable than usual and it won't reach. Cutting the hedge is bloody hard work, exhausting and it kills my arms. I console myself, knowing that whatever next weeks Triathlon throws up at me it's going to be a lot easier than this.

I had contemplated an afternoon swim but the hedge cutting has rendered by arms near to useless so instead I do a training run with Doggo. I opt to make it enjoyable for him and wait for him when he gets 'distracted', so it's not a fast run.

Half way round, we bump into a park employee, which is odd because you never usually see them around the park and I assumed that after opening up they get the rest of the day off until its closing time. He told Doggo and me that we couldn't run down our usual route because there was a 'distressed female was on the loose'. I should have offered my services, as I have plenty of experience in that field, but I assumed he was referring to one of the deer. Then as we took an alternative route diagonally across the field, through waist high grass, I wondered if that was what he meant after all.

I don't know about distressed females but there seemed to be plenty of rampant ones on the park and males too, or was it just my lycra stimulating my imagination. A girl sat astride her chap with her skirt spread out over them. Hmmm suspicious. A girl sat between her chap's legs, her inside his baggy shorts, even more suspicious. Two girls undeniably getting their chests groped and dozens of other couples looking like they're contemplating either trying to find a quiet corner or heading home. I head home myself, wondering if I could stir up some passion with my own girl.

Once home, I crash on the bed, L joins me. I thought at the time that running through the long grass wouldn't do me any good and the number of bites, stings, and blotches that I have accumulated on my legs confirm it. I fear that L might reach for the tweezers again.

I proclaim to L that I fancy a pint. She says she fancies a Sunday lunch. We really are a bad influence on each other. Another thing I fancied was the delayed second half. There's no objection from L. Ah. The power of the lycra.

We go down the Rodney to check out their Sunday lunches. L puts on jeans; I think she's playing safe. Broccoli & Stilton soup, ok. Excellent roast beef, £6.50. Also they had on Broadside 4.7% which was excellent.

After getting back from the pub, I spend an hour or so on the computer. I come back into the lounge to find L back in her shorts, stretched out on her back on the settee. She really shouldn't tempt me like that but the poor girl's too knackered for extra time; I think I've worn her out.

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