Strung Up By The Nipples

We managed to haul ourselves out of bed to go for a swim. Although it wasn't that early because we indulged in a good hour or so of sex first. The two-hour laned session started at 8am and we got there around 9.40 but you do have to get your priorities right. Don’t you.

It was a pretty good session (the swimming) although this pool has ultra long lengths that seem to go on forever.

L talked me into using her float, which is one of those that you put between your thighs to deactivate your legs. It's allegedly good for your arms and is also supposed to help you practice your breathing. Not sure it worked on me; I will certainly need more practice. Both my stroke and breathing immediately went to pieces. As a consequence I wasn't concentrating on where I was swimming and almost collided with this poor chap who was in my lane. He was so traumatised that he not only got out of my lane but left the pool entirely.

Get home and we run with Doggo. Pond and park again.

Then I head off to the match. It's a good game and Derby play well, well after another dull first half they do. Both sides play some good football and as Derby up their tempo in the last 20 minutes (as usual) it looks like they are the only side that can win it. Just when we think they've run out of time, David Jones fires in a wonderful free kick in the fourth minute of injury time. With luck like this; I'm afraid; we're going up.

In the evening Daughter goes off for a night of lycra and legwarmers at the theatre production of Fame. So L and I head off for a night with Idi Amin and James McAvoy aka The Last King of Scotland.

We grab a beer, Hadrian Brewery Legion 4.3%, in the bar before hand.

It's a good film, although a little improbable. Yet again the plot catches me out, I'm not good with plots as you may have gathered, as I keep expecting Gillian Anderson to reappear as his love interest but she doesn't.

The ending is rather good. There is something rather beautiful about seeing Mr McAvoy strung up by his nipples, serves him right for the soppy ending in Starter For Ten. I turn to L to point that out but she has her eyes closed, hands over her face and her head buried in the seat. How women can take the cringe worthy mushy bits but not the gore I'll never know. All in all a nice romantic night out.

We stop off in a packed Ropewalk for a couple of Leffes before we head home.