Officially Old

I'm in the car today so that I can give Doggo a good kicking tonight, with his football that is. We won't get many more opportunities post work. The nights are getting darker and consequently the council are rapidly reeling in the closing times to try and maintain that sixty-minute buffer between locking the gates and darkness. I hope he appreciates me giving up my cycling for him; then again I'm on a guilt trip for stopping out tonight and abandoning him. Of course I feel just as guilty about L, so I lavish some attention on her this morning. I hope she appreciated it. I did.

Son's on an INSET day today. Already. He’s only just started at college. Honestly he’s never there. They're supposed to be preparing them for life, getting them used to doing a full days work etc. Oh. Perhaps they have a point, who bothers to do a full days work these days, sometimes I get the impression it's only L and me who do.

L says she feels spaced out this morning and blames this on the fact that getting up is bad for her. At least she's not blaming my activities this morning.

I receive a 'so long and thanks for all the sinks' message from my squash opponent. He's signing off today from his job at the kitchen factory. Back to being a part-time contractor. Yep looks like I was right. It is only L and me who do a full days work these days.

Someone has read my 'Frustrated Florists' post and put some adverts for florists onto this blog. The cheek of it.

Daughter is reading a book called 'My Big Fat Teenage Diary'. A woman called Rae Earl has published her real-life diary from 1989, when she was 17, fatter than her friend who was 'up the duff' and obsessed with sex and 80s pop. It sounds great. I shall read it next, right after I finish Graeme Obree's book. So about 2011 then.

If she can make money from her old diaries then I must go through the loft and find my old teenage diaries. I feel a publishing contract coming on.

I get home and take Doggo for his promised session on the park. L and Daughter are at the cinema again. Something called Mr Woodcock this time.

Then I head off to Bingham for our occasional ex-students night out. L tells me to keep away from anyone talking about money, how times have changed; she used to warn me to keep away from other women.

It's actually quite a night, a six pinter. Although one of the pubs tried to charge me £8.90 for three pints. Then they realised they'd charged us for Guinness. I'm glad I don't drink Guinness. It should have been £7.80, so that's alright then. Everyone else seems to get a round for less than £7.

Some good beers. Shepherd Neame Late Red x 2, RCH Cream, Landlord, Black Sheep x 2.

We discuss our respective hobbies, which appear to be:- dog agility, jam making and watching 'Heroes'. As you can see, we are now officially old. I don't mention triathlon; I think I bored them to death with that one last time.

We must be drunk because the chap whose house we were staying out cooks us up some Kofta kebabs, well he defrosts them from his freezer. It's appreciated but they taste as bad as they look. Quite why he had them in his freezer in the first place, I'm not sure.