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.