Bistro Girl

It's going to be a bit of a weird weekend because I don't have any events on, dog or human. Although my legs have recovered so well that, I'm half-tempted by the East Leake Tri on Sunday, worryingly they are accepting entries on the day, but the price is a bit exorbitant.

I also been having third thoughts about the Leicester & Rutland CTC bike ride on Sunday; the organiser keeps emailing me. I’ve had five from him this week but I'm still reluctant. Having to follow a complex route on a map, in the rain, doesn't really sound much fun. Much prefer to have arrows to follow and cake stops.

So at least we get a lie-in, at least until it's time for the vets. So enough time for some recreation before I have to coerce Doggo into the vet's surgery. L bottles it and leaves me to go it alone. Doggo is as unkeen as I expected, in fact even more so. The fact it's the same female vet who put her fingers up his bottom doesn't seem to help. After a thorough inspection, an eye watering £25 worth, she seems to agree with L that he's a fraud and can find nothing wrong with him which I suppose is good news. The only solution she says is rest. No activity for at least two weeks. Even doing his wees must be on the lead. Nice idea but totally impractical.

Doggo mopes around the house for the rest of Saturday, as I refuse to take him out or play ball with him. L says she knows how he feels, having been told to rest injuries herself. Some kind of compromise is required. We have no events for a fortnight and he can skip Wednesday training for a while but he’s still going to Monday training, those sessions are bloody expensive and paid for in advance. Even if he’d been put in plaster he may have had to have limped round. Football is banned, as is walks on a short lead because he pulls so much.

We meat shop at Farm Shop and then smash up Sons old bed and take it to the tip.

Derby have at long last signed a player. Robert Earnshaw for £3.5M. Quite pleased with that, at least fits my main criteria that he’s British. Pricey, but a lot cheaper than Darren Bent, but then isn't everybody.

In the evening walk we into town. L persuades me to try a bistro called Le Mistral. It's ok, quite pleasant in fact. Like a grown up version of the Ropewalk but without the killer music. We have a bottle of Italian wine. My Bistro Girl looks dead sexy in a skirt slit to her thigh. She's made the wrong choice of shoes though; she wears a pair of daughters that are way too big for her. How is it, that no matter how many pairs of shoes a woman has, they never have a pair that are suitable.

Then we move on to try a new curry house, which is totally empty. So it should be shut within a few weeks. We have another bottle of wine, French Merlot this time. The curry is above average but nothing worth returning for, so we won't be too distraught when the restaurant becomes another vertical drinking house.

The waiter fancies L, although she sceptically thinks he's trying to increase his profits. Maybe but there's no women sexier than L out on the town tonight. I'm very proud to be seen out with her. Naturally she doesn't believe me. So I start to point out the women we pass as we walk through town, none are anywhere near as abundant-in-sex-appeal as she is. For once she doesn't disagree, although I'm actually appalled at how poor the competition is; it's like OMD all over again.

We have a nightcap of a Leffe at Scruffys and then stagger home. It's nearly 1am by now and we face the prospect of being hung, drawn and quartered by Daughter for being so late. Our stagger home may have been to do with alcohol but could have been L's shoes. When she takes them off, they seem to have trashed her feet as her heels are bleeding.

Overall it's a first-rate night out although L was looking a bit worse for wear by the end of it. Still having had such a mouth-wateringly desirable girl with me all night, I could just not resist some very late indulgence. It could even be described as a bit of an upturned wheelbarrow.

Girls In Ball Gowns

L's on a bit of a skive today (aka 'working from home'), so she's not leaping, not that it's ever much of a leap, out of bed to take Doggo for a walk. So I take the opportunity to repay her for services rendered under the influence of alcohol last night. Follow this with a few leg-loosening exercises and find that my legs are in pretty good shape. L will vouch for that fact. In fact they feel better after the 5K than before it. So I have no excuse not to cycle, other than the fact that I can hear rain against the window.

However once I'm up it seems to have stopped, so I get going but before I've even go out of Wollaton the heavens open. I shelter under a tree to put my waterproof on. It's tempting to stay there indefinitely, but in the end I push on to work. By the time I get to Derby the sun is out again. Typical. I drape by wet lycra around the office, hoping no one will mind.

L, who's just back from her stroll with the dog, seems 'impressed' when I mention wet lycra. Thought I'd already been dealt with her. She retorts that I was dealt with last night but it didn't seem to have calmed me down this morning.

Her walk must have strenuous, as she left the dog panting under the table. I just hope she hasn't aggravated his broken paw.

Apparently we've been emailed photos from the wedding of the century that we went to, all 500 of them. That's a lot to trawl through; hopefully L will separate out the ones of the bridesmaids for me.

The start times are up for the Long Eaton Tri next weekend. I'm off at 10.12. Which sounds worryingly like I'm in with the tough nuts and the psychos.

Also up are the splits from the Mansfield Tri. Turns out the chap who was in my start group and beat me, did his swim in 6.56, so either he did less lengths than I did or he lied to get an earlier start time. My swim was 08.14 but that includes the run to transition. So not bad. The same chap beat me on the bike so he definitely lied about his start time. I'm happy with the rest of the stats. My run was excellent and I beat him by two minutes. 20:36 and that includes my awful bike transition. That time again makes me wonder why I wasn't quicker last night but then again you're never sure how well these courses are measured. Probably wasn't a full 5K at the triathlon.

Daughter is also off today, the school has dreamt up an imaginary sixth INSET Day. They go off for a gym session, so that Daughter can get induced into the city gyms. Unlike gyms outside the city, she isn't allowed to use them until she is fourteen. That's forward thinking councils for you.

There's a postal strike today, though I doubt anyone will notice, so they’re wasting their time.

L and Daughter and even Son, go to check out Shrek. I decline. I feel this could be a sequel too far, although L says it was good.

Cycle home and head to the pool for a refreshing swim. L doesn't join me; she's too busy panicking around the party boy. Though there's not a quiver from him.

L promises keema for tonight, Weight Watchers version, not slag. Something to warm me up after my cycle home. Sounds good, although I'm happy for her to warm me up using just her good self.

It's Son's Leavers ball tonight. We have cameras poised at the ready. We drive Son there, kitted out in his posh togs, but we come across his mates en route. So he jumps ship to walk with them. We do manage to get them to pose for a photo. It's quite bizarre seeing them wander down the street, like a group of extras from Reservoir Dogs.



One of his mates is equipped with a kilt; so he'll be popular with the girl's tonight. Most of the girl's arrive by stretch limo or fire engine.

L stays AF because she wants to be on hand to drag Son away from his girlies when it finishes at midnight. She's says she's looking forward to seeing him with a girl in a ball gown on either arm. If she sees that, she certainly hasn't been AF, she's had too many Leffes. In the end Son rings at eleven to say he's walking home. Car duties not required, we crack open some beer. Two Beers. Bishops Finger and a Pelforth Porter. Son polls in around midnight and L can finally relax.

Fraudulent?

L starts kissing me in bed this morning. That's a dangerous game. I tell her she'll either have to get up or open her legs. She opts for the latter. After which she refuses to believe that my legs ache and accuses me of being as fraudulent as the dog's paw. Fraudulent? Me? I put myself through the pain barrier, hoping it would loosen me up. Not worked though, I still ache. Don’t know how I’m going to hobble round the run tonight.

L is late going out with Doggo for obvious reasons and she's surprised to find the park open, they must have forgot to lock it last night. Argos ring while she is out to say that they are about to deliver a new bed for Son. So she has to rush back so I can leave for work, I'm going the slow way to work today. Bus.

L says she promised Doggo that he could see off the Argos man but instead he stood and watched the delivery like a lamb. He even let the man tickle him under the chin. Dogs eh?

While on the bus, I read in the paper that the Nigerians are the world's most satisfied lovers. Apparently 67% of Nigerians are satisfied with their sex life and spend an average of 24 minutes on each shag. The British are typically mid-table on 40% and a miserly 16 minutes. We shagged for longer than that this morning and we were in a rush. We do better than the supposedly amorous French - 25% and only 12 minutes. They come second bottom, just ahead of the Japanese.

The French do better in the league for frequency, managing 120 shags a year. Us Brits average 92 but top of the league are the Greeks on 164 but even that's only three times a week. Glad I'm not average.

Having said that the dog has just ruined my stats because our lie-in on Saturday will have to be curtailed as I've booked him in to the vets to have his fraudulent paw looked at. L promises to accompany us for moral support. That’s a rarity, L at the vets; she usually leaves it to me to administer the pain to Doggo. He'll be honoured, or worried. Then she let slip that there might be adverts for puppies for sale on the vets' notice board. So that's why she's coming. In that case I might leave her in the car.

Still on more or less the same subject, she's bought a Pilates DVD today but then she unnecessarily warns me that her doing Pilates is a serious business and is certainly not an invitation to me or the dog to jump her. As if. I’m happy to wait until she's finished. Can’t vouch for the dog though, his self-restraint isn't as good as mine.

No pub today, chef still on holiday.

I get home and get ready for race two. Wollaton Park 5K. L warns me it's going to fast. I spend an age at home doing warm-ups to try and get rid of the stiffness in my legs. It doesn't appear to be working.

Once at the start, it starts to rain and everyone hides in the trees. Then I see him, the grey haired chap in the blue running vest. One of his friends is moaning that he stayed with him for two miles but then got left for dead. Yes me too.

This time I line up near the front, although it's a nice wide start so there's less chance of getting bunched in. I stand behind a very fit looking group of sixteen year olds; apparently such a thing does still exist. Then we're off across the muddy field, dodging the molehills and the puddles. I totter across the grass, looking after my dodgy ankles while the youngsters quickly disappear from view. A chap next to me is retuning his Ipod, so I overtake him; we'll have none of that sort of behaviour in front of me. Finally make it off the grass and onto the path, ankles intact.

The pace is fast, as expected. My legs still hurt, as expected. My breathing however is not good today, which is unexpected and inconvenient. As I get a good start I don’t have the luxury of overtaking the also-rans, as I'm straight in amongst the fast old men and the skinny woman. So no chests to comment on today. L says my comments on Tuesday made them sound like a tumble drier. I think she was worried that hers might spin by 9cms. They don't. She has a nice gentle bounce to hers.

Then I pass 'my friend', Old Mr Pale Blue Vest. Retribution at last. All I need to do now it put some space between him and me, so I focus on a rather nice ponytail further up the field. The owner of which has a bright yellow running vest which makes it even easier to focus on her. It takes a while but eventually I catch her. She's running alongside a young whippersnapper of a sixteen year old in Premier League drongo shorts, so I tuck in with them.

The pace is too hot for me to overtake by I manage to stay with them. We run past L and Doggo who have come to see me tortured again. I give a quick wave as I pass.

We get to the 4km point and the young whippersnapper goes for home. I try and go with him but he's too quick for me. I do however pass Ponytail Girl but then it's downhill to the finish. I don't like downhills, particularly not like this one on wet grass and people start to come past me, including Ponytail Girl. Damn. I've just settled one score with Old Mr Pale Blue Vest, well now next week I'll have one to settle with her.

Cross the line in 20 minutes something, which is disappointing because based on my 5km Triathlon times I expected to be able to go quicker. Suppose the tired legs didn't help.

They have the result from Tuesday up on a board. It turns out that I was 89th in the 10k out of 447, so not bad. Official time was 42.06.

It's now raining quite heavily as we head off to the pub for refreshment. I get changed in the beer garden and then we go inside. I consume two pints of Directors and one of Landlord. L is on the wine. She informs me that she's been reading a book called Men's Health, which seems to actually be a sex book, and she is intrigued by the wheelbarrow position. I'm sure I've been there before but L's not convinced. She promises to show me later. Have another glass of wine love.

When we get back home, we feast on the liver and onions that L has been slow cooking. The liver in this case is freshly bought and hasn't been in the freezer for two years, much to Doggo's disappointment, as he gets very little of it.

Then L takes me to bed to show me the wheelbarrow position which isn't at all what I expected.

Three Attempts To Get My Leg Over

L talks me into cycling today. Saying it would be good for my legs. Hmmm. Getting out of bed they're not as bad as I suspected. That said though it takes me three attempts to get my leg over this morning. Leg over onto my bike that is. Surprisingly once on the bike my legs do seem to work.

The traffic is particularly heavy today which I could do without in my current weakened state. I pull up at the lights alongside a woman in a 4WD. She sits caressing the steering wheel of her vehicle which is so inappropriately huge that you just know that her husband bought it for her to compensate for his own inadequacies. Meanwhile in the back, three young children are using the rear seat as a trampoline. I move ahead and in front of her to make sure she's seen me. I'm still sure she hasn't. The lights change and I pull over to one side to get out of the way as she roars away and turns left across the front of me without any indication.

Mad mothers like her, doing the school run, are a major obstacle in my quest for survival on the bike. They don't look or indicate at junctions because they are frazzled by their hyperactive offspring, in addition they are usually speeding because they're running late, and to top it all they all drive vast 4WD's that they're not in control of. Still when they mow down us cyclists, at least the crash bars and roll cages mean the kids inside will be ok. Obese but ok.

I take L's advice and take it very slowly. Nearly ten minutes outside my PB. The worst bit was when I had to dismount to cross the bridge onto Pride Park. Dismounting was embarrassing but staggering over the bridge was exceedingly painful. So close to work and yet so far. I hobble over, eventually manage to remount, only second attempt this time, and struggle on to work.

My next problem is climbing the steps at work; even sitting on the loo is painful. It doesn't bode well for my 5K on Thursday. L reckons I would have been even more stiff had I not cycled.

She had a good walk with Doggo. They had a bit of a scuffle with Cyril but nothing much, which she put down to little dog syndrome. So I assume from that Cyril must be a canine.

L's spotted our old car. That after two engine failures I sold to the garage for £400. She says it looked all shiny and new with not a dog hair in sight. It's always been in excellent condition, dog hairs apart; it was just the engine that was shagged. Good luck to the new owners, don't go too far from home in it.

L's researching into whether fat people get so fat they have to stop work. I didn’t think most fat people worked in the first place. Surely eating that much is a full time job in itself.

Strangely that project turns quickly into her looking up 'scrotum' and 'tunica' on the internet. She was surprised that she didn't get a lot of porn come up like she did last week when she was looking for a diagram of the anal sphincter. On that occasion I offered to get the camera out after I’ve had a few beers but my offer was knocked back.

I thought the Tunica were an American Indian tribe but apparently not. I ask whether I would enjoy it if she showed me where it/they are. She seemed to think I would. Don't know if that has anything to do with the fact that L asks if she can 'book a slot' for tonight particularly as the internet is on go slow at home. She doesn't need the internet to be malfunctioning to get a booking; my diary is always open for that sort of slot. Well, dog, triathlons, runs, swims, etc permitting

I wobble my bike to the swimming pool. My legs are very tired and I do not expect to be up to too many lengths but in the end it's not too bad. My legs seem better when immersed in water. Rather than do loads of lengths I spend 20 minutes concentrating on breathing on both sides with mixed success.

A swimmer with a really crap stroke gets in my lane. He's doing front crawl, well kind of, it's more of a frantic doggie paddle. Understandably he's knackered after each length and has to stop for regular breathers. After a while he gives up and reverts to backstroke, which is even more annoying.

There's a chap in the next lane in his tri shorts with an assortment of floats. We get out of the pool at roughly the same time and he too gets changed into cycling shorts. We nod the usual cyclists greeting. Then sneer at each others bikes. As you do.

I take doggo to training and he develops his limp again, so it's the vets for him.

We have three glasses of wine and an early night. I let L do all the work; it’s the only way with the state of my legs.

Making The Qualification Time

I drive in again today to save my legs for tonight's little running event. Despite the rain, the roads are ok on my route but not in Derby itself. Parts of the city centre are flooded and everyone was late in. My colleague from Sheffield hasn’t made it in again. The Mansfield Tri course that I rode the other week now appears to be partly underwater as Warsop is flooded.

My boss was talking to some people at Derby railway station yesterday who were trying to get up to Leeds on their way back from Glastonbury but there were no trains going north. They’re still there this morning.

L says she had a horrid time on the park, two deer chased them. Then the gate was locked and she had to help an old chap who had fallen as he was trying to climb through the fence. It sad that the council are so crap at opening the gates that even old men have to try and break in. Good job she was there, the park attendants would have probably just stepped over him, when they eventually showed up.

I was intending to take advantage of having the car and nip into town over lunch but because the traffic is worse than usual, if that is possible, due to the flooding, instead I lunch in Sainsbury's again. While there I pick up one of L's frequent requests for something cranky. In this case Redbush tea or Rooibos, the Afrikaans word, to those in the know.

Someone has left a comment on my blog. In Portuguese. Translation is difficult but I think that maybe he liked my OMD review.

Drive home battling my way through the stationary traffic trying to get into Derby, until I get on the A52 where it's a clear run home.

Then it's time to make my running debut. Tonight it is part one of the Grand Prix series of running races. This is the one I've not been looking forward to, well apart from the other three, a 10K at Holme Pierrepont. I pick L up from work on the way. L says she's never done Holme Pierrepont without having to dodge the mega-puddles in the mega-potholes. She says one of the potholes is so huge they usually make a marshal stand in it. She's not endearing it to me. It's not going to do my dodgy ankles any good.

First mistake is apparently I have the wrong kit on. L wanted to see me in my lycra and I've just come out in normal shorts. She tells me I won't get sex without the lycra. Bugger and I thought she'd object to me running in it because its so revealing. She adds a get-out-clause; if I run under 45 minutes I qualify for a shag. Well, that was my target time; I'll just have to make sure I go under it.

We get there early, which is a real novelty. Doggo is as excited as usual, probably more so but it's not my job to deal with him tonight. L is the one who'll have to lash him to a tree to stop him joining the race.

We start and I position myself too far back and have to walk for at least the first metre, losing valuable time. Then once we are moving it's so congested that I can't set my own pace. It's frustrating, as I know the quicker runners are slipping away. Eventually I get some space and start to move through the pack.

After three miles which is about the halfway point we come across the one-mile marker. These race organisers think they're so funny. Then after a similar distance the two-mile marker appears. Hmmm perhaps 10K is further than I thought.

No matter, it’s going quite well, my breathing is good, I'm not remotely out of breath; the cycling must be benefiting me there. Also I've passed loads of people and no one had passed me yet. As the race is obviously going to take longer than I thought, it means I have plenty of time to contemplate the meaning of life and other unimportant issues. As I pass a rather well stacked female runner in a Redhill running vest, an article I read recently sprang to mind. The average female chest size, which is incidentally 36C, weighs 300g and jiggles 9cm in a figure of eight movement with every step unless well strapped down in a sports bra. Except in this girl's case, where the sports bra was proving totally ineffective, certainly more than 9cm of movement there.

I run quite a good tactical race, well after the debacle at the start. I tuck into as many groups as possible, sheltering from the wind, which is quiet strong and let others pace me. I stick with each group for a while, then try and push on forwards to the next group, rest in that group for a while and so on.

As I continue moving up through the field, I notice that the further forward I get the skinnier the women get and the older the men get. Skinny women are no fun to follow and old men are no fun to get beaten by, so they all have to be overtaken. Then just to rub it in an old grey haired chap in glasses in a pale blue running shirt overtakes me, the first person and only person to do so. I try and latch on to him but his pace will surely wipe me out and I drop back. His card is marked or it would have been had I seen his number.

I run past Doggo and L, Doggo offers vocal support. Having passed loads of emaciated women, at last I see a woman with a decent shape up front, so naturally I have to have her. Then when I've dispensed with her I see a chap with grey hair in a pale blue running shirt just ahead. Yes. I can have him. Revenge. It takes ages to reel him in. Then when I draw level, bugger, no glasses, it's not him. No rest for the wicked though, there's a chap wearing ridiculous headphones up front. So he's next to be terminated.

We pass the five-mile marker and I start to lift my pace even further. It starts to get hard now, my breathing goes, and my legs start to ache. I'm tempted to just coast to the line but there's another chap in headphones and I've just got to finish ahead of that girl with the ponytail...

Done it. Finished. 42 minutes approximately, don't know for sure as I didn't see where the finish line was. Wow. Quite pleased with that time, particularly as I've made the qualification mark.

I greet Doggo and L; then stagger to get a drink, discovering in the process that my legs are totally totalled. Part of the idea was to see how my legs would cope with the 10k run part of a Duathlon, so now off on a 40km bike. Hmmm don't think so!

We contemplate going for a pint. I could certainly use one but in the end we are sensible.

Get home. L insists I eat before I claim my prize. I have a hot bath, while L does Spam curry. L gets a bit morose after the curry, saying she hasn't earned it and goes off to bed. Suspected me doing the runs when she can't might depress her.

Try and do some stuff on the computer but my aching thighs won't let me sit and Son has used up all our internet bandwidth, even though I trebled the limit in readiness for the school holidays. Our internet is now set to a slow speed until Thursday. I think it won't be the only thing running on a slow speed come Thursday when it's race number two.

Son Gets Suited Up

L is a little slow getting up for her morning jaunt with Doggo and I manage benefit from this delay, then get accused of taking advantage of her. Well she could have fought me off.

It's Daughter's birthday today, which is spoilt by the fact that she's been chucked off the GCSE cookery course because it is over subscribed. It doesn't appear that they have drawn lots fair and square in front of the kids. Instead it seems she has been discriminated against because of what she put as her second choice, which they seem over keen to bump her on to. L and I offer to kick up a stink about it but Daughter doesn't seem keen for us to do so.

It's raining heavily. The A52 is a bit soggy but not too bad. I have a meeting this morning with two chaps. One from Chester who makes it and one from Kent who doesn't. He's marooned on the M1.

A work colleague from Sheffield hasn’t made it in. He comes on the train; a tunnel is flooded and a tree is across the line, his train apparently has to reverse all the way back to Sheffield.

L says Ilkeston Road resembles a lido. She has lidos on the brain now after yesterday.

Go to Sainsbury's at lunch and treat L to some half-price Adez that has gone out of date. She'll be chuffed.

Son is off to a 'ball' on Friday night to celebrate him leaving school. So he's been shopping with L because there is a dress code; ball gowns for girls and suits for the lads. L reckons it's possibly the first time she's shopped with him since he was about six. I tell her to savour the moment, could be the last time it happens. Come to think of it the last time I shopped with my mother was when I last bought suit, she was paying.

Predictably he buys the first suit he tries on and chooses a blue shirt. Which disappoints L because she wanted him to have the trendy candy-striped shirt and yellow tie that she had her eye on. I’m completely with him on his choice of shirt. Mothers can be so unhelpful.

His shopping wasn't over there though; he had to purchase a "Make Love Not War" t-shirt for his sister's birthday from Ark. I don't think he liked the experience of 'boutique' shopping. I told L it's good practice for him because before he knows it he’ll be shopping for sexy knickers and the like for his women, which means he'll have to visit much more scary places like lingerie departments.

L says he probably thinks lingerie it was a French computer game. At 16 I’d have probably thought it was a French football team. We all have to learn these harsh lessons at some point.

In the evening it's dog class. Goes quite well. We do lots of small exercises which means Doggo gets a good workout. So he'll be knackered later. He also shows what a slob he is. A chap fills up the communal dog bowl for his dog, who has a quick slurp before his run. Then Doggo barges in, drinks most of the bowl, then lifts his leg and wees in it. He really is such a yob. I have to wash the bowl out and refill it.

Have really healthy bacon and cheese sandwiches at home, do a few emails and then join L in bed. I coerce her into some late sex. Not sure she was very chuffed about it though.

The Big Decision

A rare treat today, a proper lie in with all the trimmings.

Then we get up and head off up to Hathersage. All my fault. I am going to attempt the triathlon bike course to see whether I am up to entering their event in late July. The closing date is next weekend, so it's now or never for a reccie. The weather is foul as we drive up. The swim part will be in the Hathersage Lido and L, who's brought her swimming kit, I haven't, will get to sample the open-air pool. Although not until 3pm, as its season tickets only until then.

So L takes Doggo for a walk while I sample the delights of hilly Hathersage on my bike. The course is undulating but it's not actually as bad as I feared it might be. That is, apart from one killer climb which, although hardly alpine, climbs steadily for around four and half miles. My legs were aching a tad by the top. Mind you I did most of it without resorting to my bottom gear although I did give in on the last bit. Lots of cyclists around. I even pass one on the big hill, although he pulls over and pretends to be eating a sandwich when he sees me closing in on him.

There are also some pretty fearsome downhills on the course, made worse by the weather (wet) and the traffic (busy). Hopefully these won’t be an issue on race day, if I enter. I complete the course in 45 minutes which seems to compare well with the times from last year. Just not sure how a hilly run would go down with my legs after that.

Back at the car I meet up with L and Doggo. L is slightly appalled because the rain seems to have rendered my lycra shorts practically transparent. It doesn't help that the combination of lycra, exercise and a female presence has had the usual predictable effect. I strip off in the car; regrettably it's a fairly busy street, and slip into some dry clothes.

We do a bit of shopping and I buy a new top for the Grand Prix races that I’ve gotten myself into. It’ll also do well for my cycling. L waits outside the shop with Doggo but dogs seem welcome at all the shops and they get invited inside. Good marketing ploy, as L leaves with a top too.

After L has reccied the pool for me, we manage to find time for a pint. Downpour from the Macclesfield Storm brewery. It's 'interesting' to see all the people in the pub totally immersed in Eastenders and hanging on every word and plot line, as if it's important. Oh, how the other half lives.

Back home I cook up a chilli and we have two glasses of wine. Very naughty on a Sunday. Then it's time to make a big decision. The wine has nothing to do with the fact that I log on and enter Hathersage.

39 units not a good alcohol week.

A Frustrating Day, Only Two Firsts And A Second

I head off to a UKA agility event today. It's our first event of theirs for 18 months and we are marooned at the Beginners level. I have asked the organisers if they could promote us to a higher level on the basis of our results elsewhere but they won't so we have to go and win out. 18 months ago, we got two firsts and a second in four events but due to the poor attendance they halved the points on offer, so we didn't rack up enough to go up. Hopefully this time we'll do it but it adds extra pressure.

The venue is very soggy and we do not have a good start. Doggo demolished the spread jump in the Power & Speed event. One of our trainers sees it and says I didn't give him enough room. How much room does he need?

Overall the standard is not high and we record the only clear round in Jumping and win a whisky tumbler for our troubles. In Agility it is much closer. Two clear rounds! We are the fastest of the two but only just. So another win and a wine glass this time.

I fancy another wine glass to complete the pair. So hopefully Doggo will oblige in the Steeplechase. It's an easier course this time and there are lots of clears, well about eight. We are still quickest, until some woman flukes her mad collie round. He's totally out of control but on a simple course like that she gets him round clear. We know we are beat, so no matching wine glasses, just a rosette for second place.

Not bad I suppose and I calculate it's enough to promote us in three of the four classes but probably not quite enough in the Steeplechase.

Results apart it's a frustrating day. It is the slowest dog show on record and that's saying something. How can such a small show take so long? I desperately need alcohol.

I finally escape and head home to L. She says she's totally destitute so it might have to be a cheap night if we’re off out. Not a problem, I can sub her. She'll just have to pay me back 'in kind'. So I take her to bed to catch up on what we missed this morning. We incorporate a short half time break when Son comes home and L gets up to welcome him and then back to bed for the finale.

Then we dump Doggo and head into town. We drop into the Fellows where the Claytons Bitter is now brewed in a association with the Nottingham Brewery. Basically I think they’ve re-badged Nottingham’s EPA. Disappointed with that we move on to the Vat and Fiddle where they have the rare sight of Taylors Ram Tam. One of my favourites and very nice tonight. I have three pints. L is on the dangerous Leffe again. We end up at Savera for a curry and a cobra beer.

Pulling To One Side

It was raining when I got up this morning. So I was undecided about biking. I really shouldn't be such a wimp but I start getting into my 'normal' clothes. My cycling shorts were on the washing line, wet. L is apologetic about that, not that it's her fault, says I'll just have to go in my lycra tri shorts instead. She says that at least I'm guaranteed sex in them. That swung it. I go for it.

Stayed dry and did an very impressive time, the rain always seems to make me pedal quicker. Another PB 50.50, 55 seconds inside my old best. The slag curry powers me along. And all without a warm up. L says I won't need her soon. As if. Man can't survive on slag curry alone. I kind of had a warm-up last night, so perhaps that’s the way to do it.

On Wednesday I thought my gears were going to give up the ghost such was the noise that they were making. Today they are as smooth as anything. It's amazing what treating the bike to a spot of oil can do.

L can't believe that I blogged that beans on toast with fish fingers was not an athlete's meal. She reckons its pure carbs and protein. Nothing beats a bit of slag, she says, or a lot in my case. However she says that all the huge guts at the gig last night has changed her mind about becoming a born-again unhealthy eater. So no more slag apparently.

We arrange to fit in a quickie at John Carroll Leisure Centre before it closes at 7pm. A quickie swim that is, L will just have to postpone ripping my lycra off until later. By now it’s chucking it down so I decide to go home and get changed into some dry clothes first.

As it happens, once I am on my way home, the rain stops and the sun comes out. The turn for the better in the weather probably costs me a quick time and I am two minutes outside my best. Once home I get changed, regretfully out of the wet lyrca, pick up Doggo and drive to the pool.

Once there I find only one person in my favourite lane and that’s L. No problem I can out intimidate her. I hope. L thinks the reason I’m stronger with one arm is perhaps due to the dog’s lack of lead skills. I’m not convinced. Perhaps I’m just turning into the dog. He pulls to one side too.

Get home and L knocks up a hash to fortify us for the trip to the pub.

Something is missing. Basically Friday evening lyrca removing. Easily solved, although pub time is slipping away, so I decide to make it quick and end up shagging her against the wall.

We walk to the Victoria. I have a Funfair ale first and then two pints of Full Mash Porter, very nice. L’s dangerously on Leffe.

Booking A Slot

Take the car to work today. I'm on the pub run, as we intend to make an attempt across the battlefields of Derby's fearsome road works. Neither L nor I appear to be lively enough for any 'warming up' this morning but L offers to slot me in this evening. Sounds good.

At work, L reports in that she's had an excellent gym workout and she must look very sweaty because everyone is asking her if she enjoyed her swim. Sweaty sounds good; the thought of which turns my mind to my slot tonight. Can't wait. L makes me promise that our slot comes before food. Absolutely. The sooner the better. Well after OMD, which will be around 11pm, so only ummm only twelve hours to wait. I offer to chuck some meat and veg into a sauce for a post-slotting pick me up slag of a curry.

Disaster as we attempt the pub. I successfully thread my way through the traffic using the back streets in an impressive eight minutes. We get to the Flowerpot to find that the kitchen staff are on holiday, so no food. After much deliberation we adjourn to the Dolphin where the Steak and Mushroom pie in Abbott Ale is rather good although small in stature compared with the Flowerpot. I am half way through it when I realise that I shouldn't be consuming the banned Abbott Ale. At least I'm not drinking it; I have Skinners Ale at 4.5%

Get home and some bastard has sent me a race number in the post. Must be this 'Grand Prix' thing I've entered next week.

I cook up our slag of a curry and feed the kids from it, saving the rest for later for us. Then I take Doggo on the park for a quick ball session.

Then Daughter, in her new romper boots, and I head off to Cast to meet L for a swift one. Daughter is joining us at the OMD reunion gig tonight. L turns up dressed as a girl, in skirt and blouse. Phwoarr. She'll certainly get slotted in that outfit, in ummm about four hours, and the skirt is good, it'll save a lot of time come the allotted hour.

I have one and a half pints of Ind Coope Burton Ale. This is a rare sighting indeed of what was once a really good ale, which I believe is currently brewed by Marston's, and tonight it is still very good. L has two Leffe's, which as she always says, will have her on her back. With any luck, in ummm about three hours.

As we arrive for the OMD gig, I am struggling to remember when I last saw them. It was around 1984 and I'm sure it was on the 'Junk Culture' tour but the internet seems to disagree with me on this point. If it was on the 'Crush' tour then that's slightly embarrassing.

I look round at the audience, almost all look older than me, many a lot older but I guess that quite a few are probably younger than me, it's just that they don't look it. I wonder how many of the women here tonight were also here in 1984 and how many of them my teenage self lusted after that night. They are certainly nothing worth lusting over now and they've all ended up with some seriously overweight blokes. Ha. Serves them right they should have taken notice of me. Certainly wouldn't swap my slot tonight for any of theirs.

The support band are from Australia and are called Lovers Electric. They are rather charming, a kind of a Dresden Dolls crossed with Arcade Fire but without the instruments or the people for that matter, there are only two of them, a guitar and an occasionally used Casio keyboard. They are quite good in a minimalised minimalist sort of way and they go down well with the crowd. Although, lets be honest, the crowd probably don't get out much, so anything is going to sound fresh and interesting. The band, to their credit go straight to the foyer post-performance to sign copies of their album, which appears to be selling well.



The audience may have aged and expanded horrifyingly but the venue hasn't. The sound system is still akin to listening to your own hi-fi system. E.g. it gives a good reproduction of the sound but is never likely to bowl you over but then the venue doesn't have the acoustics to hold a really good gig. With almost the entire top balcony empty they could have fit the audience into Rock City and blown us all away, except that most of the audience wouldn't have been able to stand up for the duration. As it is when they rise to their feet tonight it is often for brief periods before they slump back to their seats for a rest. It's a good job really, as the balcony may not be strong enough to support all the flab jiggling around.

The band come fresh from a short series of dates where they gave a complete performance of the "Architecture and Morality" album. This second part of the tour had been billed as a 'Best Of' and the worry was that they we would get more of their latter 'disposable' pop and less of the early era classics. I needn't have worried as at dead on 9pm the lights went down and the ethereal instrumental title track of 'Architecture and Morality' silenced the crowd. At its conclusion three of the band took the stage and the drummer, Malcolm Holmes began the heavy drumbeat of 'Sealand'. Finally Andy McCluskey took to the stage to great acclamation to sing the few mournful words that appear towards the end of the track. The band then proceeded to play the entire album with great assurance. The whole show is accompanied by a stunning range of visuals from a video screen at the back of the stage. The early material is accompanied by images of the cold war:- nuclear missiles, images of Cuba and the Soviet Union etc, highlighting the political edge that the band had to their early output.



Half the audience are loving it, the other half, who presumably jumped aboard around the time of 'Locomotion', are looking confused. McCluskey reassures them, promising them the hits will come later. He's says they're having too much fun playing the A&M stuff. So am I. Don't stop. They don't. 'Georgia' is predictably excellent, so too is 'She's Leaving'. McCluskey showing us that his voice is still in great form. Humphreys too does a good job when he takes vocals on 'Souvenir' before handing back to McCluskey to sing the two songs devoted to Joan of Arc.



They finish the mini A&M set with 'The Beginning and the End'.

McCluskey then announces that they will now go on to play twelve hit singles in a row. I hesitate to be critical but this is where things start to go downhill a touch. 'Messages' was of course excellent and I've always had a soft spot for the 'Junk Culture' stuff but do we really need to hear forgotten singles like 'Pandora Box' again. This hails from the post 1989 split era when OMD were solely a vehicle for McCluskey with the other band members having long departed. Equally 1991's 'Sailing on the Seven Seas' although a huge hit at the time, isn't really an OMD record.



They close in style with 'Enola Gay' but return very quickly for an encore. They launch into a track I'd thankfully forgotten about, the 1996 hit single 'Walking on the Milky Way' (another post-split song). In my opinion better it remained forgotten. It's certainly wouldn't have been my choice as an encore. They follow this with an outstanding 'Electricity' and then close with the haunting 'Romance of The Telescope' from 1983's 'Dazzle Ships' album, although it originally appeared as a B-side to Maid Of Orleans. It is a fitting closure. How good would that have sounded bouncing off the walls of a smaller venue?

It is the only track to be played from 'Dazzle Ships' tonight. No 'Genetic Engineering' and no 'Telegraph'. I could be wrong but doesn't it gall the other members of the band to play three McCluskey solo hits while omitting classics like these and others such as 'Red Frame/White Light'. Well, at least they didn't play the 'Universal'.



The first OMD album I bought was 'Architecture & Morality' and the last was 'Junk Culture'. So I only bought the two, although I delved backwards in to their earlier stuff. I soon got disillusioned with their lighter pop sound, preferring the spikier early stuff. This is the problem with OMD. They graduated from being an art-house electronic band to a pop band and did so very quickly. In the process they 'ditched' most of their early material, tonight they try and combine the two genres. It didn't quite work but it was a good attempt and still a very good gig. Now if they played a smaller venue and played stuff culled purely from their first four albums now that would be something really worth seeing, although the flabby folks may disagree with me.

We get home and L starts taking her clothes off almost as soon as we get in. Is she slipping into something more comfortable or just keen to get slotted? There's certainly no point her changing clothes just for me to take them off her again. Time to call in my reservation and take advantage of my slot. As L wipes me out in style, I contemplate how it was fortunate that I took my own girl with me, and pre-booked her for later. All the flabby people will have to make do with each other.

Slag Curry, then bed. An excellent evening.

I Hate Mountain Bikes

L makes up for last night, when one of us dozed off and I manage to slip in a cycling warm-up.

It's a nice morning and I have a fairly uneventful ride in on the bike.

L goes to the gym again. Just her, eight other girlies and the man in the trilby. I can see why he frequents the place. L reckons he checks out all the girl's bottoms while they are on the treadmill. Of course he does. The women would be the first to complain if he didn't.

L's physio has prescribed her five minutes running by email. This is the modern world. Which she describes as 'only a trot' but she survives it unscathed, which is promising. I'm sure her warm up this morning helped.

I bike home and again take in part of the Erewash Triathlon route that is now less than three weeks away. That went well but then when I was on the last leg home through Bramcote. I unintentionally end up racing a chap on a mountain bike. He keeps up with me with ease. How embarrassing. I hate mountain bikes.

I get home and finish cutting the hedge that I started the other week. Doggo tries to disrupt me as much as possible by dropping his ball at my feet. That job done I cook some pasta for tea.

L has bought Daughter some shoes from Oxfam. Daughter seems to be getting into the second hand clothes lark. Which is good, because it's cheap and most of her clothes end up not getting worn. The only problem with these shoes, are that they seem to be like those romper boots that parents put their under fives in. Fashion eh, must be my age.

I take Doggo to dog class, where he and I are both brilliant. We are the only ones who seem to get the tricky courses right first time. It's just a shame it all goes pear shaped at the weekends.

Get home and L and I take a glass of wine to bed. Where we doze off again and this time it definitely wasn't me who crashed first.

Going With The Flow

I take a rest from cycling after my exertions at the weekend. I intend to go for a swim without the usual aching post-cycling legs. I also want to go shopping for cycling clothes at lunchtime.

There are some photos on the Mansfield Tri website. The ones of me look quite fearsome. Looking at the photos, I don't even fancy tangling with myself. L says I don't look as though I was enjoying the view. That's because there wasn’t one, I looked long and hard but could find one.

Seem my triathlons could get a boost from an appropriate source, 'Help the Aged'. L has noticed that their shop has slightly dinted bottles of TAUT, my recovery drink of choice, for only 10p. Presumably second hand.

L is lusting over a huge box of Belgian chocolate covered biscuits that some silly fool has left in their coffee room. I quickly email her to point out that she's too strong to be tempted but I'm too late, the indiscretion has already been committed.

My shopping for cycling clothes yields nothing, so it's back to ordering off the internet. At least I did try and support the local shop.

After work, I head for the pool where I have to share a lane with a male psycho who overtakes me every fourth lengths. Then he starts doing speed training, he speeds up and does it every two.

I look longingly at tranquillity in the next lane, where one of the girls in there redefines breaststroke. It's all breast and no stroke, she barely uses her arms but instead swims by thrusting her chest out. Very impressive. The stroke that is.

I think I've figured out why I swim lopsided. I get a much better pull with my right arm that my left. In fact I never know what to do with my left, if anything it just gets in the way. I reckon I need to try to breathe on both sides and then I might get a good pull on both sides. I think.

L is also heading for the pool but she gets there after I've left. She's not sure whether she's swimming or gyming, says she'll 'go with the flow' as they say. 'Go with the flow', I like the sound of that, will try that one on her later, when I come home after a few pints.

The 'flow' in this case is Daughter. When I get home she's just preparing to leave to meet L at the pool. She looks raring to go. Not. As they say.

I take Doggo out on the park for a ball session. Afterwards he’s so creased that he can barely manage to look fierce to bark my friend off when he comes round. We head off to Pizza Hut for our occasional night out on the cholesterol. Have two bottles of Stella in the restaurant and then two pints of Flowers Original later in the pub, while we get ripped off by the pub quiz machine. He's not drinking much. Unbeknown to me he's just had a sling taken off his arm which he's been wearing for four weeks. He damaged ligaments in his wrist and cracked a rib when out drunk. He kept that quite. I could have given him loads of stick.

I get home to L with even intention of persuading her to 'go with the flow' which she appears willing to do. However it doesn’t happen. Her story is that I fell asleep. I'm sure that couldn't have been the case.

Meetings

Drive into work. The first thing I realise when I get there is that I've completely forgotten about the meeting that I have this morning because it is so long since it was arranged. End up being totally under prepared and without most of the required paperwork but I manage to ad-lib most of it. What it is all about becomes clear about half way through however by then my mind has already wondered.

I recall some recent research that I read in one of the newspapers. Something like 60% percent of attendees at meetings, far from paying attention, are thinking about sex. The survey confirms typical gender stereotypes, with 76% of men letting their minds turn to sex, compared with only 35% of women. Those figures seem a bit low to me, presumably the remaining 24% of men were either asleep or dead. Well there are seven of us in this meeting and as I already know what I'm thinking about, it means that three or possibly four of the others are also thinking about whether or not they are attracted to someone else in the room. I wonder who they are.

Perhaps the stats will be wrong in this case as there is only one woman in the meeting and unfortunately one of the male attendees is a confirmed homosexual, so I don’t really want to know what he’s thinking about.

In the evening it's off to dog class again, which once more goes well.

Get home and L cooks up another slag of a meal. Beans, egg, and fish fingers on toast with brown sauce. With concoctions like that perhaps she really is up the duff but no. She informs me that the alert is over, she is not pregnant after all. The 'slag snack; is superb but probably not good tri-athlete food. Doggo entertains us by spin-drying my socks in his teeth, he's such a treasure; I promise to throttle him later.

The Pact Of The Red Hats

Today we drive up to Warsop for the Mansfield Triathlon. Again it's only me competing because L is still suffering with her injury. The weather is once more pretty good. The nice weather seems to be following me around at the moment. Must be a bad omen.

L wishes me luck, partly through gritted teeth as she's a bit miffed she isn't doing the event herself. It doesn't help that the event t-shirt is green. Her colour but not mine.

I have my pre-race dump, nothing to do with nerves, just lightening the load, then off to the pool. The pool does not have any facilities for spectators and is not big enough in any case. So L, Doggo and my Dad have to wait outside. I'm assigned a red swim hat, which is odd as no one appears to be counting lengths unless the two girls in the corner filing their nails are the lane counters.

The female starter says we're all obviously experts so we don't need a lecture from some girl but we all plead that we'd love to be lectured if it's all the same to her. She warns us that there is to be no elbowing or swimming over the top of people because there are still novices in the pool and it might put them off triathlon. I thought I was a novice myself? Her tone implies that this allowed or even encouraged if you're not a novice. In fact she goes further and I'm not sure she's joking when she says that if we wish to indulge in under hand tactics like that, we should have picked a later start time. She says if we have to overtake we are to swim down the middle of the lane. She must be seeing something I'm not; surely there isn't room.

One thing she neglects to mention, presumably deliberately, is that we have to start from the deep end. This will cause me problems in a minute or so. It didn’t even twig when a young girl, who had finished, struggled to clamber out. All of us men were enjoying watching her squirming body as she crawled so far out and then slid back in. We were all itching to give her a leg up but weren’t sure whether this would be classed as cheating or chivalry. Starter girl doesn’t help either but then again the swimmer was more attractive than she was. I could see her thinking ‘let her suffer’.

I get on like a house on fire with the chap next to me, who is the chap from Clumber who I have hit listed. He’s in the 35-39 age bracket but looks ten years older than me, I hope. He’s a maths teacher and he’s worried about counting his lengths too. Today it’s a 20-metre pool which means 20 lengths not the usual 16. He’s says he’s brill with calculus but not so hot on counting. Gives you faith in the education system doesn’t it. I resolve to remove him off my hit list, assuming I beat him of course.

Turns out all the three chaps I start with did the Woodhall Spa Triathlon a few weeks ago, which is only a 12 length swim. So I’m there next year, less counting involving. Chap other side of me says he accidentally only did 10 of his 12 lengths there. Will need to keep an eye on him. 183. Got your number mate.

As none of us can count we all vow that when one of us ‘red hats’ gets out we all do.

Then the hard-nosed starter girl says '35 seconds to start, you better get in now'. Hang on a sec, that's a bit short notice. I give a quick wave to L and my Dad who apparently have been waving at me for ages but I’ve been too focused to notice. Then I test the water, which is cold and ease myself in. I promptly disappear from view. It was at this point that I realised that we were starting from the deep end. So there I am treading water because there was no ledge to stand on, trying not to drown, while trying to put my goggles on as starter girl laughs and shouts 'Go'. Not bloody funny. I’m not ready yet. Off I swim one handed, still trying to put my goggles on. They soon fill with water and I have to stop after two lengths to empty them. I adjust my goggles and finally get into the swing of it, although my technique is nothing like as good as it has been in practice.

The swim goes really quick, probably because I've miscounted. I even overtake two people, without swimming over them but I probably do use a touch of elbow. As I exit the pool, L yells out that she reckons it was a 7.50 swim. So I must have miscounted. My fellow ‘red hats’ stream out after me, presumably sticking to our pact. So at least we’ll all be disqualified en block.

My transition is that slow that Mr Ten Lengths Of Woodhall Spa catches me up. He does a quick transition because he doesn’t have the ‘advantage’ of bike shoes to put on or shades. I can’t get my bike out, as it's lodged on my strategically placed sports bag and I have to elbow Mr Ten Lengths out the way. He doesn't seem to mind. Starter girl said nothing about elbows in transition. The shades are a bad idea, the lenses are too dark, and I can’t see a thing. I get out just ahead of Mr Ten Lengths but after a couple of miles he passes me. He doesn’t get away from me though and as soon as the road goes uphill I catch him. I pull level to avoid claims of drafting but I struggle to pass him. It was not quite the smooth overtaking move that I had planned. I was hoping to mumble an insincere 'Good Luck' as I blasted past and dropped him.

Eventually I do crawl past but then the problems start; I didn't want a leap-frogging race so I have to stay ahead. I concentrate on trying to catch someone in front, although there is no one there. I keep peering up the road hoping to spot someone to chase down; anyone will do, there's no one. I daren't look behind to see where Mr Ten Lengths is.

Someone appears from nowhere and passes me but I don’t catch his number, so he'll escape the notoriety of going onto my hit list. The roads are pretty hilly and the ten miles seem to be taking an age. I'm not sure how far I've gone because with my dark shades and the small numbers on my bike computer, I can't read the distance readout.

I could really do with being behind a lycra clad female at this point. A pair of toned thighs and a pert rear who help me along nicely. I'm hallucinating now, must be consuming too many energy gels.

In fact I've barely seen any women in this event at all. Somebody seems to have craftily scheduled all the women's start times away from mine. There was a girl in a bikini at the pool. I was intrigued to know whether she changed her kit for the bike and the run because she'd have had an audience if she had. If she hadn't she'd have wobbled about a bit in that bikini. Guess I’ll never know.

Finally finish the bike and to my relief I stay ahead of Mr Ten Lengths. He pulls in about twenty seconds or so behind me but again he’s quicker than me in transition due to his naive lack of equipment. He’ll learn. He’s away on the run before I've even got my running shoes on. L tells me 40 minutes have passed from the start, so basically if I can improve slightly on my usual 21 minute 5K time, I could break the hour mark. Come on legs, we can do this in 19. Unfortunately I can’t keep up with Mr Ten Lengths, my legs are too wobbly, and he gets a gap. I let him go but vow to keep him in sight. I’ll reassess the situation at the half way turn.

Then a stroke of luck as he flounders again when the course goes up hill and I catch him after only a mile or so. We have a brief chat and he curses the hills. I would have attempted to continue the small talk, had I been able to breathe. At the turn I have about 30 metres on him and he cheerily says ‘see you at the finish’. I take this as a signal that’s he’s been keeping something back and will sprint past me yards from the line. I try and up the pace.

I pass the line to be greeted by Doggo, L, and my Dad. I turn around to shake the hand of Mr Ten Lengths but I have to wait a good minute until he shows up. So looks like I did have him beat after all.

It's good to see L. I have quick snog which perks me up. A bit too much according to L who says my shorts are far too revealing.

My time is 59.39, which is not bad. It appears I’m only just outside the top 25 on the results list but this turns out to be a tad optimistic as I finish 150th. More bad news I was only second out of my start. I know I beat Mr Maths as well as Mr Ten Lengths but 184 beats me by 22 seconds. His card is marked.

In the evening we walk to Victoria for peppered beef followed by Cheeseboard. All very nice. 2 x Orkney stout and 1 x Howard Town local ale to drink. Home and I talk L into a quickie but she not terribly keen, says she thinks she’s pregnant. She has these momentary scares; nothing has come of one yet.

25 units for the week. Not bad. Must have miscounted that as well.

Checking Those Measurements

Another dog show today, this time at Tatton Park. So yesterday we drove an hour or more south, today we drive a similar distance northwards. It’s raining again in Nottingham but it’s a fine and oddly warm day up at Tatton. I forgot sun cream again.

Our first run, Grade 5 Agility, kind of crept up on me. I was walking another course while my Dad was looking after Doggo. Doggo was being a pain, winding up all the other dogs. When I got back I was told by the folks on the ring to run immediately. I didn’t really have time to refresh the course in my mind and also I probably wasn’t quite concentrating as much as I should have been. However, Doggo was well wound up and went off like a rocket. Had I been ready for that, we may have put in that rare thing, a fast round and maybe even a winning time but as it was I just wasn’t ready for his sudden enthusiasm. He cut inside one jump and then disappeared into the tunnel. Elimination. Well at least I now know the technique to psyche him up.

It’s still raining in Nottingham, Daughters carrots are flooded.

Next up a Qualifier for Olympia. 264 entries. First 3 qualify. A big ask. Correction, a very big ask. L texts to say, miracles do happen. Hmmm, usually for other people. We run and we go into 5th, which is not bad considering about 100 dogs have already ran. We eventually slip to 17th. Better than a smack in the eye. Just.

L and Daughter have been out getting their bra sizes measured. L tells me that she slipped down to a 38C. I’m not convinced about that. I think it would be wise to double check those measurements myself later. She tells me to keep my mind on my dog. I think of a witty reply to that but decide against texting it.

Perhaps she's right. I obviously haven’t got my mind on Doggo because we have a pole down in Grade 5 jumping and then mess up the weaves up (again) in 5-7 Jumping.

However, the good news is that our one placing today gives us 2 more points, making 41 so far and only 34 more required for Grade 6.

Back home, L has done another curry/pasta crossover dish as race prep for my event tomorrow. It’s odd but very good. We have a glass of wine with it. Then we take a second glass and I also take a sports drink to bed for some more race prep and to recheck and double check those measurements.

Doggo Lands 6th Place

I have a day off work today because me and Doggo are going down to Peterborough for the RVA dog show. We have no early runs, so I even get a slight lie in. We leave Nottingham in rain but once we arrive it is sunny. Everyone has to pack away their waterproofs and put their shorts on. No one back home seems to believe me when I say how nice it is. Bugger, I’ve forgotten the sun cream.

We have a very good run in our first event and land a commendable 6th place in Grade 5 Agility. More importantly this gets us 15 points in our quest to progress to Grade 6, which requires 75 points.

We have a disappointing run in the Genesis Jumping qualifier where Doggo misses a jump but we go clear in our final event, Grades 5-7 jumping but we’re too slow to get among the rosettes.

In the evening we leave Doggo to rest because he has another event tomorrow and head off to Broadway for beer and food. Goan curry and two pints of Hemlock 4.0%, which I don’t usually like but it seems ok tonight. Then we move to the Forest Tavern for a pint of Broadstone 5.2%. L has three Leffes, after each one she complains she’ll be on her back. Is that a problem? I prove it isn't when we get home.

Eco Friendly

Early morning sex, which is a rare treat with L's early morning walks, and I still manage to catch the bus. Although the traffic is quite heavy and I’m a little late for work.

L's been checking out the men at the gym again. She’s been eyeing up some chap in a posh trench coat and a trilby. Apparently he does his workout in his trilby and sings along to all the songs. L says she hopes she looks that good when she's 70. Of course she’s only guessing his age, he could be a rough-looking 40 year but she should be able to spot one of those as she lives with me.

Apparently the town council in Louisiana have passed a law classifying low-slung trousers as obscene and thereby banning the wearing of them. A fine of 500 dollars or six months in jail awaits anyone caught revealing their underwear. And a good thing too. It doesn't say what happens if the wearer is not sporting any underwear which seems to be the current trend around here.

The new football fixtures are out. Premier League fixtures for us of course and quite an easy start. So basically if we cock that up and are not in the Champions League positions after the first four games, then we’re stuffed. Outside the Premier League, the Clash of the Titans is third game up. Forest v Leeds. Will look forward to that one.

Unfortunately the days when I could go down to somewhere like Bournemouth on the spur of the moment, stay the weekend, have a pint in sight of the ground, pay a few quid to get in on the gate, stand behind the goal, and watch two teams kick lumps out of each other etc etc are gone.

Now if I wish to go to Chelsea I’d have to book six months in advance, pay £80 and suffer vertigo from my seat two miles above the pitch, pay £5 to be poisoned by crap beer, I couldn’t possibly afford to stay over, all to watch fancy foreigners preening themselves and topping up their pensions demolishing my team. How sad, I’m jealous of Leeds.

No pub today, we have temporarily given up on the traffic, might try again next week.

Son brings home his yearbook from school, to commemorate him leaving. I’m slightly surprised to see it because I half expected it to go AWOL but I'm wrong. Very good it is too. Easily the most inventive thing to come out of the school in the five years he's been there, in fact it's probably the only inventive thing to come out of the school those five years.

Squash. My opponent says that he ran 3k on Monday and is also tired out from work, so he reckons I'll beat him easily. Hmmm I ran 7K last night and did 23K on the bike. So who’s the most knackered? Seems it was him, as everything goes my way and his mood deteriorates game by game, as I win all of the first five. After which I suggest we call it a night. He was appalled at such a suggestion and suddenly woke up to win the last two. Oddly I enjoyed these two games more than the previous five and I really should have won the first of them. However 5-2, got to be pleased with that, demoralised opponent or not.

L texts to say she’s done salmon curry but would I like an eco friendly bath first. This relates to some environmentally friendly stuff she’s been reading somewhere. I tell her it sounds great and enquires whether that comes with an eco friendly orgasm because L usually offers up sexual favours for a squash win. L doesn't pass comment on my enquiry but says it was the quickest response to a text message I’d ever made. I have a pale ale from the Cottage Brewery in the pub and then rush to celebrate my win in eco friendly style, and with wine.

Joining A Commune?

I wake up at 5am with a cough on my chest and a blocked nose. Not promising for the event on Sunday. Once I am up however things seem to gradually improve. L suggests I have one of her multi-vitamin pills. Hmmm not convinced, sounds like hard drugs to me. Anyhow after a smoothie, some cereal, and yes an EPO pill I feel ready to hit the road.

I decide to take it very gently. This lasts about half a mile as out of one of the houses on Trowell Road appears one of the cyclists I occasionally do battle with. I had no idea he lived there. He hits the road in front of me, as if his life depended on it, and quickly goes away from me. However as soon as the road goes up hill at Balloon Wood, I catch him. I must be doing something right with my climbing technique. Then down Coventry Lane and he's gone, so I ease up. There's no sign of him, so he really must have the hammer down. Then in Sandiacre he appears out of Town Street. Blimey that's a long way around.

Then into Risley and he starts freewheeling and twiddling with his Ipod, yes he wears an Ipod on the bike! So I HAVE to go past him. Then the challenge is to stay ahead. I do a really good climb up the hill but there's no sign of him. He must have turned off. Swine.

Once at work I feel a lot better, cough gone-ish, the nandrolone must have done the trick. In fact I'm actually started to feel fitter, perhaps all this 'bricking it' is finally paying off.

So I'm sat there feeling smug with myself but what do I get from L? Praise? No, a severe reprimand. She says I'm not looking after myself and my body has every right to collapse because I cycled, swam, and took doggo out, all on a glass of water and a banana. Slight exaggeration, I had more than that. The case for the defence - I had a sport bar, a sports drink, and juice. Ok, so perhaps it's still not perfect but at least I refuelled later on Burmese curry.

She seems concerned I could have bonked on the way to work. No chance of that, I was all bonked out from last night.

After having laid into me L sets about Boots. She says she's boycotting them because the shop assistants are always pushing her to buy more than she wants to. E.g. telling her it'll work out cheaper if she buys a drink with her lunch etc. She was furious and told them it wouldn't be cheap when it's sat on her hips. She's promised not darken to their doorstep again. I love it when she gets all angry. It sends all shivers down my spine.

Personally I’ve not been in Boots for years, simply because they’re so damn expensive.

So she's going to give up going to the shops and instead retreat to a hippie commune and grow her own veg; have a cow to milk; raise chickens for eggs and have lots of dogs. I was with her all the way there, until she mentioned dogs. Mind you they'd probably be lots of barefooted girlies with long hair in flowery dresses. Lots of peace, love and harmony, as well as the free-range chickens for Doggo to chase. Sounds like purgatory; I just hope I'm invited.

I cycle home the Ilkeston route, through the rain. Good fun.

I skip dog class because Doggo has an event on Friday and then again on Saturday and I don't wish to overdo it with him.

L walks Daughter and Doggo up to guides and then continues onto the park. I opt to do a training run that will hopefully catch them up, and then we can all retire to the pub. I just hope that if she sees an old man like me staggering along, all bonked out, she'll give him a piggyback. L enquires whether than would be to the pub, or home after a Broadside? If Broadsides is on, she can leave me in the pub.

I set off and it's still raining. I run through our estate to the Middleton Boulevard entrance then go around the lake. Still feeling fit, I even overtake people. Although I have to do it twice because the cheating b******* take a short cut. I catch up with L and Doggo just before the hall. Doggo joins me for a loop of the field before we meet L by the gate and head off to the pub. Regrettably no Broadside. Cameron's Castle Eden 4.5% and Directors are both ok. We romantically sit outside under shelter watching the rain fall.

Go home for L's sausage and bean dish with lashings of cheese. We both only just make it through the Seven Ages Of Rock. Creased.

Health and Safety

L offers up the opportunity to revive the long neglected routine of the pre-cycling work out, which has served me so well in the past. This time, on the grounds of my health and safety, and also the fact I quite enjoy it, I don't turn her down.

Just as I'm about to leave it starts to rain and quite heavily. I decide to brave it anyway and put on my waterproof jacket. Seconds later it has stopped and I have to take it off again. Ride goes well, I’m sure my warm-up helped. The rain seems to have made the weather very humid. Half an hour after arriving at work and I haven’t managed to stop sweating yet.

I've stolen L's bag and have got my swimming kit but I've forgotten to pack a lock. This means I'll have to carry over the big heavy lock that I keep at work. That'll totally mess up my attempt at a PB.

Doggo is benefiting from the fact that when we defrosted some liver from our freezer we realised that it went out of date in July 2005. Even we didn't dare eat it and we usually eat anything no matter how out of date it is. We usually just add more spices to hide the rancid taste. However once cooked the liver looked fine, Doggo certainly seemed to think so.

The start times for the Mansfield Triathlon have been released. First start is 8.00, last is 11.36, I’m off at 9.30. So fairly mid-table. L asks if I could drag my time out to finish around 12:00, so that we can have lunch. No problem, I’ll just go round twice.

I look at who else is on start time. They're all in the 40-48 age group. Old gits. Then I recognise one of the names. It’s the chap who I had a 'duel' with in the Clumber Duathlon. I didn't really notice him but as soon as he finished he came up to me, shook my hand, and congratulated me on a good race. I hadn't noticed we'd even been racing. I'd been too preoccupied with the audacity of some of the people on Mountain Bikes and of course the women who'd had the gall to overtake me on the bike. Well I'll certainly notice him this time. He can consider his card well and truly marked. I just hope he's not been training for this day to exact his revenge.

Looking back at the stats, I trounced him by nearly a minute and half in the first run but then our bike and second run were almost identical. His transitions were much better than mine. Hmmm. There's an unknown factor here. Basically if he's a good swimmer, I could be in trouble. L says she hopes he loses count of his lengths. Bless her; perhaps my competitiveness is rubbing off on her a touch.

In the evening L at pilates and I cycle straight to the pool. I share a lane with a girl, a chap, and the right arm of the guy in the next lane. For some reason his lane isn't wide enough for him and he has to keep flailing his arm into my lane. He hits me in the face twice and on the back of the head once. The chap in my lane is a pain and keeps stopping but the girl is worse because she doesn't. So I have to keep going without taking a break because I'm not stopping unless she does. Worryingly she alternates strokes and we keep almost exact pace with each other, which means her breaststroke is pretty impressive. Then she starts to catch me up. She's just showing off, presumably because she can. So I get out.

Get home. Quick drink and a sports bar before I take Doggo on the park for his promised ball season. I've been complaining to the council again about the park because despite the renovations, which are good (although they appear to have been abandoned half-done, I assume because the money ran out), all the weeds, nettles, and foot high grass still makes the place look like a tip. Well tonight someone's done some weeding and we have nicely trimmed grass, although it’s a shame they couldn't pick the cuttings up.

Just as Doggo and I get down to the lake, a park attendant in a land rover truck hurtles down the narrow track between the lake and the ha-ha, doing his bit to destroy the environment. We throw ourselves out of the way, to safety. He doesn't acknowledge us; he was too busy singing along to whatever was on his Ipod. Ah, Health and Safety don't you just love it.

At home, L cooks up a Burmese curry which is served with pasta. Odd combination but very nice.

Later in bed L puts down her book and says she's going to snuggle up to me but I think she falls asleep before she manages it. Bless. I finish reading and turn out the light, ready to go to sleep but then she cuddles up to me. Oh dear, she's playing with fire. It's post-watershed but I can't resist easing her onto her back to test the water. I'm not in trouble yet, so I take the plunge and continue. I decide its best that I make it a swift one, as I'm sure I'll get the blame for this in the morning.

Mission accomplished, L can get some sleep now, but it seems I've awoken the animal within and she seems quite up for it now. It'll be my fault when she can't get up in the morning.

Dandelion and Burdock?

Good drive in, very quiet. L is very quiet on email. I assume that this is because she is catching up on the post-wedding gossip because the Brides Mother is back at work today for the first time since last weeks extravaganza. When the first email arrives, it is confirmed that plenty of coffee and biscuits have been consumed but not much work done.

I hope L is giving her grief because L was put out that the Brides Mother described L as being "trollied" at the wedding reception. No mention of me, which means I must have got away with it. Seems my strategy of soaking it up with the bacon butties worked. L was hardly trollied compared with the brides father, now he was well and truly trollied, and well before we arrived.

I'm pleased to hear that the bride's sister has ditched her minder, the rugby player. A good job too, although for completely the wrong reasons, it seems she wants settle down and have babies. Ugh. What a waste and she seemed such a nice girl.

I think the Leeds fan has just realised that his team have after all been relegated. He's just seen next years Division Three league table and Leeds are in it. Good job, that due to his retirement, he won’t be looking at it then. Just wait for the shock he'll get when the fixtures come out on Thursday.

I'm in Sainsbury's at lunchtime and I see some reduced price large mushrooms. This reminds me that yesterday at the pub L was tempted with mushrooms stuffed with cheese that were on the menu. I pick up some stilton and plan a decadent and seductive meal tonight.

In the evening I drop L and Daughter off at L's parents and head off to dog class. Class goes well. Doggo is paw perfect and so am I. We even get praise off the trainer that is until our final run when I forget the course, have to start again and Doggo demolishes a hurdle. Always finish on a high as they say.

A woman turned up for training this week who hasn't been for ages. It shows what a bad judge of women I must be. I've always found her a bit aloof, anti-social but timid with it, if that's a possible combination. I had her down as a man hater. I reckoned someone needed to take her in hand. Well it appears someone has because she's pregnant. Just goes to show how wrong you can be.

Head off to pick up L and Daughter. When I get there, L's got a wine glass in her hand. Dandelion and Burdock she reckons. Yeah right. It's a funny colour if it is. Bad girl. It's supposed to be an AF Monday. She says she's only had one but it looks like its been a large one.

Get home and I stuff the mushrooms with the stilton, some chicken, peppers, lots of garlic and a dash of wine. Very enjoyable. Very decadent. Unfortunately the seduction bit doesn't quite work. L is impressed with how I've stuffed the mushrooms but she's too knackered for the same treatment. Too much Dandelion and Burdock, me thinks. Never mind, there's always tomorrow.

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.

32 Units For The Week

Babe In A Skirt Spotted at Dog Show

I'm at another dog show today but it's not a particular early start, so I have time to disrupt L's sleep first. She doesn't seem particularly with it at first but she soon gets in the swing of things which saves me from a bollocking.

Then I take the injured one to his agility event. As he managed to make it to the pub without limping last night, I have no qualms about sending him over the A-frame. L says I'm a hard man. Well I do try to be. She says that I would have shouted at her if she ran with an injury. Well yes, I would but she’d still have done it. Although I suppose she's right when she points out that she wouldn't be going in and out of weaves or on a seesaw. Well not before the third glass of wine.

First course. Weaves perfect. Then I try an ambitious move on the A-Frame but it all goes pear shaped and Doggo gets faulted for missing his contact. It wasn't really that ambitious, it's something that works every week in training but today it doesn't. Some people come up to us and say they thought we got it but we didn't. Time was good though, we would have been 5th fastest had we been clear. I'm blaming Doggo for this one.

Second course. We do a storming quick round, which is something we don't do very often but then Doggo comes out of the tunnel too quick, something he does even less often and I have to back pedal to pull him back. I stumble and almost fall over. Doggo takes his eye off the weaves and misses them. Why did it have to happen at the weaves? My fault though. 1-1.

Before we do our final run, I spot a babe in a summer skirt wandering in the front gate. She's not difficult to spot; she stands out a mile. A good looking girl in a skirt is something you don't see very often at a dog show; if at all. It's a very rare but welcome sight. What's more she's come to support us. I ask Doggo 'Who's that' and he jogs off to check out a chap on a bike instead. He's hopeless. It's no wonder he can't do his weave poles if his eyesight is that bad. Personally I have no problem recognising L.

Final course, it's hot now and Doggo is slow. He trots round with a clear round but it's too slow to get us anything.

We do a quick wander into the Elvaston Castle grounds for a rather nice 'award winning' ice cream and then we head for home. After all, I've now got a girl in a skirt to play with. Once home I send her straight to the bedroom, ordering her not to remove anything until I get there. The skirt stays on.

I get more than I bargained for in the bedroom. L soon has me writhing in agony on the bed, as she tends to a very nasty looking swelling that I've picked up. It takes her two hands (and a pair of tweezers) to coax the fluid out. It was one hell of a nasty bite that I'd picked up on my leg. She seems to take great enjoyment in torturing me like this.

We head over to Derby for a night at the Smithfield and the Flowerpot. L doesn't bother getting changed, despite the fact she has just bought a new skirt. She says the one she's wearing seems to be working pretty well. If it ain't broke don't fix it.

The bus is just arriving as we walk up, I heroically run and hold up the bus for my still injured girl. We get to share the bus with the usual bunch of weirdoes and drongos.

Crop Circle is ok (2 pints of), L has a ginger flavoured beer. Follow this by a couple of 5% ales at Flowerpot, Abbeydale being one of them.

We don't think the Red Arrow is going to turn up to bring us home; in fact such is our lack of trust in it we don't expect it to. Then amazingly it shows up.

Feeling Broody

Had a romantic moment with L after her shower this morning and she generously offered me a quickie, no doubt concerned about me not being fully warmed up before my bike ride. It took some effort but I turned down her enticing offer. Don't want to get in the way of a good power walk. My self-control amazed even me or perhaps it's just my age.

Once on the bike, for the first time for ages, I managed to tail a lycra clad female for part of the ride. I didn't tail her for very long, because regrettably she was over 60, on a shopper bike and was going very slowly.

Get to work and realise I've been seriously out done. One of our directors has parked a sparkly new red Cannondale in our reception. Too good to be chained to the fence like everyone else's. It's making me broody for a new set of wheels for myself. On closer inspection, well you have to don't you; it’s only a cheap one at around £800. It's basically the same set up as mine just with slightly better components, so I’m soon over my jealously. It’s certainly not as good as my next bike.

L says that if I have a new bike, can she have a new dog? Of course, she can. As long as she can cope with two on the paper round in the mornings. I think that put her off. The rescue dog that L has been longing for has been re-homed, so relief all round. The home though, have invited L round to power walk the dogs for them, which could set off the broodiness again.

She could of course part exchange our old one but she says she couldn't part with the old codger. Nor could I for that matter. He probably thinks the same about us, a pair of old codgers, holding him back. He does appear to have made a miraculous recovery because his limp seems to have gone and L had no chance of checking his paw this morning because he was too busy throwing socks about.

I get ready to head for home with L telling me to have a safe cycle ride but not to pretend that I'm on a Cannondale. I tell her to get the iced coffee ready. They'll be no X, if there ever has been, because L's not at her physio this week. I tell her she'll have to draw her own. She says she's practice with the whipped cream for the ice coffee. Sounds promising.

I come home through Kegworth and Clifton again. It's another blistering ride, which I think deserves rewarding. Protein shake, cake, iced coffee and a girl, who out of consideration for my aching legs is happy to go on top, that'll do nicely.

Then we head out to the Three Wheatsheaves for a change. Unfortunately the only decent beer is off and the clientele are an interestingly down market bunch to say the least. Theakston Mild and Bitter. We move onto the Plough. Two pints of Supreme hit the spot.

We have some steak sandwiches when we get back while watching Jools.

Limping Dog?

Wake up with a stonking headache but I still enjoy the mornings provocative body lotion session, compulsive viewing. My headache helps with my self-discipline though and I don't have to have my morning shower quite as cold than usual.

I take the bus into work but have to select some gentle music on my Ipod due to the headache. Journey is ok, apart from the usual annoying passengers.

My walk from getting off the bus in Derby to Pride Park has now got longer as they've removed the road crossing and the footpath from outside the bus station. This is because half the recreation ground is disappearing under pointless tarmac. It seems all the protesters that occupied the trees there a few years have failed. Where are they all now?

Doggo's limp doesn't seem too bad today but I'm still considering taking him to the vet or is just that I want to get back at him for biting me. Typing is quite hard thanks to Doggo's nip on my finger. We'd need to muzzle first though, although I think the vets lend them out.

I'm hoping his limp could explain his weaving problem. If he's unsure on one foot it could be making him hesitant on his weave entry. We wonder whether he's got one of his infamous ticks between his toes, mind you it would have to be a big one to cause him to limp. Maybe he's just sprained a toe or something, although if he has it didn't stop him digging the carpet up last night and it was definitely his right paw he was using.

L says to hold off on the vets because she's going to butter him up with some posh ham tonight, so that she can try and have a better look at it. If he gets the scent of posh ham, it will just make him limp more.

Despite spending half of our lunch hour in the car last week we decided to brave the drive to the pub. We take the long way round. It still takes us fifteen minutes but even that is quicker than last week. Steak and Guinness pie and Jennings Mountain Man 4.3%, specially brewed to celebrate the anniversary of George Fisher's shop in Keswick.

Get the bus home and while standing at the bus stop I have a laugh at the people running for their buses in their low-slung jeans. It can be a harrowing experience. Watching the men, the fat women or anyone in a g-string is no fun. Luckily tonight we get a good one; a young girl's jeans are almost down to her thighs as runs for the Rainbow 5, giving every one a good flash of her arse and her lacy black briefs.

Get home and feel quite ill now. Perk myself up with Ibuprofen. L bans me playing football with Doggo because of his dodgy paw but eventually I give into his nagging and give him a short session.

Just about feel well enough for Squash. My opponent tells me he's actually been training. Well, he's been doing 3K treadmill sessions but now he's complaining that his Achilles is sore. I congratulate him, now that he's had an Achilles injury he can call himself a true runner. Which I'm sure is the recognition that he's always wanted.

When we start to play, it takes me a while to get going but eventually I get into the swing of things. I win the third and fifth games, which I'm quite pleased with considering the state of my health. Opponent gets rather upset and fires the ball at me, when I hit him in the back with the ball on a key point and claim a let, not about the bruise he'll have tomorrow but because he was in a good position to win the point. Then when he loses the point to go 14-12 down he hurls his racquet against the wall. It's getting dangerous on court but I still take the next point to win the game.

Two pints of Church End Beer 3.7%. Very low alcohol.

Get home and L is servicing ice coffee, which is actually very nice. I follow it by taking the remains of the Christmas Advocaat to bed. Then I round an exhausting day off in style by having my way with L. I'm not sure if she was offering sex or not but she didn't seem to mind.