Conflicting Images Of Femininity

What wonderful weather this morning, three degrees below zero and sunny. It would have been a cracking cycle in. Would you believe that some people are bemoaning the cold and longing for the return of summer. Did I miss something here, they're longing for the return of that wet, miserable period a few months back? Give me winter any day, preferably with six-foot high snowdrifts but now I'm just dreaming.

I take the bus, no squash tonight but I'm still resting my legs. Don't want to be subject to any more embarrassing overtaking moves by the over 60's.

As I walk to catch the bus I spot in the distance a grey dog lurching from house to house with a person attached to it. Ah, that must be L and Doggo on the papers. One downside of the cold is that it makes Doggo incredibly frisky and it looks like he's giving L a good workout this morning.

Lots of 'crap' in the papers today. The exercise issue is in the news again. They say that 80% of women are not doing enough exercise to be healthy. Despite the fact that women feel under incredible pressure to be thin, they say they hate the way they look when they exercise and say it 'conflicts with their image of femininity', so they don't do it. Which doesn't tally with the fact that most men think women look dead sexy when they exercise. Their loss. Men are from Mars, women are from Venus, as they say.

Mind you, someone who did get on his bike and do some exercise has been sentenced to three years on probation. A chap was caught in the 'act' with his bicycle by cleaners in his bedroom at the Aberley House Hostel in Ayr. They knocked on his door but there was no reply, so they let themselves in with the master key. They discovered the chap in a compromising position with his bike. Now he's been charged with sexually aggravated breach of the peace and been placed on the Sex Offenders Register. Perverse yes but surely what you get up to in your own room is your own business. Would he have ended up in court had he been doing it with a real person? It must have been a carbon frame.



Another royal cock-up by my good friends at the Royal Mail means my entry for Saturday's dog show hasn’t been delivered. So that's stuffed our weekend. We were planning to go to the show at Preston and then carry on up to the Lakes for the rest of the weekend. L's even been out and bought three bottles of mulled wine to ward off the cold, one red, one white and one AF. We're tempted to go anyway and just do the Lakes. Think we'll leave the AF one at home though.

When I get home, Daughter and L have gone off to the gym. I ought to run, so I take Doggo for a spin round the pond. It ends up more interesting than I intended. I put gloves on and when I attempt to scratch my eye, I miss. In the process I dislodge a contact lens which promptly disappears up my eye somewhere. Running round the pond in the dark by torch light with only one eye working is very disorientating. Eventually I manage to jiggle the lens back into the centre of my eye and thankfully full vision is restored.

At home L cooks up some very nice trout with mushroom ragout, which has sherry in it and she pours me a stonking glass of the sherry that is left over and a glass of red wine as well. So another fairly boozy night. Then we enjoy a double dose of Bleak House and post-watershed afters.

An Innocent Bath

Alarm goes. Legs feel ok, so bike it is. I grab a warm-up and get my kit on.

The ride in goes well, as its half term all the tanks are currently off the road, which makes it infinitely more pleasant. Then again anything would have felt good after the hell of Ticknall. It was a tad nippy, thicker gloves are becoming number one priority I think. I refuel at work. I have some porridge, one of those exorbitantly expensive Dorset cereal bars and a glass of mango.

L says she can't bring herself to type good morning which isn't a good start. I tentatively enquire as to how it went with Doggo this morning and which lamppost she's strapped him to, just in case I need to go and rescue him. Turns out she did bring him home and now she's left him with Daughter and the TV. Not sure if that's meant as a punishment for Doggo or for Daughter?

She says she's cheering herself up with one of her Death Proof CDs of which she has two, thanks to the Royal Mail. They seem to have lost multiple things during the postal strike and now replacements have been ordered, things are turning up in pairs. All the retailers will put claims in with the post office, so it's going to cost the Post Office a fortune and presumably next years pay rise. I can feel another strike coming on. She describes the CD as very jolly. Which could mean almost anything. She describes Ian Curtis is jolly.

L's not working late tonight and should be home when I roll in, in my lycra. So I could head straight home and let her help me with a warm-down. Which is just the inspiration I need to set a new PB. Problem is I’d have to skip my swim as she’s going out again at 7.30 to yoga. Life is just one big decision.

L says I must swim; I must think 'Vitruvian'. Hmmm. I’d rather not think ‘1.9km swim’ thank you very much. My adventurous streak is still up in those foggy Ticknall hills, still pedalling away.

So I cycle to the pool and then realise I’ve left my lock at work. Bugger. I cycle to home and borrow Son’s, then I cycle back to the pool. I have a good swim, it’s not too busy, three people in my lane. They are psychos but nothing compared with those hardened types at Ticknall, I would hate to end up in the pool with them.

L goes to yoga and I drop Daughter there on my way to dog training. When L’s finished they’re going to do a gym session. Quite a pair of fitness freaks.

There are only four of us at the 'train your own' session. Excellent, lots of time on the equipment. Doggo downs tools after half an hour or so, totally creased.

L proposes bath and wine, rather than food. I don’t have a problem with that. Almost as soon as we've settled in the bath, Daughter bangs on the door and tells me not to blog this. Blog what? We're only having a bath. We may have misbehaved in the bath in the past but we were young and impetuous then. Anyhow it's much more fun in the shower.

We retire to the bedroom. L is very unbloggable. Two glasses of Rose.