L goes out running with Doggo probably against her better judgement but because the park isn't being unlocked early for her to get a walk in, she doesn't have many options. Running is the only way to get to the main entrance and back in sufficient time. Poor old Doggo looks shattered after his weekend.
I'm in the car and it's busy on the roads this morning but not too bad. Although the worst problems seem to be on Ilkeston Road, where according to L, a smash has brought lampposts down and put oil on the road. At least there's no knifings or burnt out cars this morning.
L's latest book project is War and Peace and she's started typing up a synopsis of it for me as she goes along, so that I will know the story before we see the play in February. It's a very professionally done synopsis, although the story so far seems to be mainly introducing characters and I’m not sure what the main plot is or whether there is one or not yet. To be fair she says she's reading about ten chapters ahead of her summary and she blames me for putting her off her summarising last night. As I recall, from the attire she was wearing, she got what she was looking for.
The best bit of War and Peace so far seems to be a bit about someone tying a bear cub back-to-back to a policeman and pushing them both into a river. The bear swam then ashore with the policeman on its back. I look forward to them re-enacting that bit on stage. There also seems to be quite a lot about the complex tactical manoeuvres of the Russian army. The army had a difficult mission to debate, concerning whether or not to break into a convent and show the nuns a good time. Having just marched 700 miles they may not have had the energy but I would have thought they'd have made the effort but they didn't. They did try to buy a young girl who was riding on an apple cart with her Father but he turned them down. Obviously holding out for a more money. It wouldn't have been much to go round a whole army, personally I would have thought the nuns would have been a better bet. I wonder if they were Granny Smiths? Which fortunately reminds me to get Daughter some Granny Smiths, while I'm in Sainsbury’s getting my lunch.
The traffic is awful on the way home, oh to be on my bike. L and Daughter are again at their gym circuits' session. Apparently this week it was taken by a man and is therefore far more vigorous than usual. As you would expect.
Doggo and I go off to Dog class. I'm sure he's sick of all this training but he does really well. Paw-perfect.
We pick L up from yoga on the way home. She's doing all these classes because she says she's promised herself a waistline by Christmas, she reckons she's lost hers somewhere along the line. Hmmm I'm not sure about that but I reckon all these classes are increasing the size of her chest, which isn't a bad compromise.
Once home L does an excellent freebie king prawn stir-fry. I got two packs of free king pawns from good old incompetent Sainsbury's. They were originally £5.99 each but on offer as buy two save £6. They had then been reduced in price to £2.99 each. I know how to play the system at Sainsbury’s and the checkout computer deducted £5.98 off my bill. So hey presto free pawns. Although, actually that's wrong, they should actually owe me 2p.
Monday, 8 October 2007
Sunday, 7 October 2007
A Well Earned Tinny
Double dogging part two. Our second dog show in two days. This time we're in Redcar. I've been warned that it's a grotty venue, probably the worst show I'll go to all year, but it's not actually that bad. Yes, the parking is awful but the ground is good and they have a clubhouse with good facilities. The organisation isn't the best, there are no ring plans, and three of my courses are 1-7 combined with close on 300 dogs in each. So we have practically nil chance of getting a rosette and we're a grade 5, so what are the hopes of a lowly grade 1. Considerably less than zero. Our other course is a 5-7, so again not much chance of getting something. The main reason we are here is for the Crufts team event.
I am a little concerned when the team decide to do our run early. Our first run yesterday was a complete disaster. We are down to run third of the four dogs. It doesn't go well for the team as our first two dogs get eliminated. So by the time we run the pressure is well and truly off. All the same I make sure Doggo puts in a faultless clear round, just to make sure we justify our place in the team. Our medium height team does better and wins a place at Crufts in March.
In our other runs we again miss the rosettes by one place in one class and we go clear in the other three too, so a good weekend all round.
The weather though is awful, although apparently it's better down the coast at Whitby where L and Daughter have gone for the day. We meet back at the cottage and head for home at around 5.30. It's a good drive home, much better than on the way up. It's a good job because Daughter says she wants to be home for 8.00 for the Rugby, at least I think that's what she said. No shocks today as South Africa beat Fiji and Scotland go out to Argentina.
L cooks up Keema while I relax after the drive with a well earned tinny of Wadsworth, followed by a more sophisticated Bateman's Dark Lord and a glass of red. Only 21 units this week. Wow.
We retire to bed where it's nice to not have to keep the noise down.
I am a little concerned when the team decide to do our run early. Our first run yesterday was a complete disaster. We are down to run third of the four dogs. It doesn't go well for the team as our first two dogs get eliminated. So by the time we run the pressure is well and truly off. All the same I make sure Doggo puts in a faultless clear round, just to make sure we justify our place in the team. Our medium height team does better and wins a place at Crufts in March.
In our other runs we again miss the rosettes by one place in one class and we go clear in the other three too, so a good weekend all round.
The weather though is awful, although apparently it's better down the coast at Whitby where L and Daughter have gone for the day. We meet back at the cottage and head for home at around 5.30. It's a good drive home, much better than on the way up. It's a good job because Daughter says she wants to be home for 8.00 for the Rugby, at least I think that's what she said. No shocks today as South Africa beat Fiji and Scotland go out to Argentina.
L cooks up Keema while I relax after the drive with a well earned tinny of Wadsworth, followed by a more sophisticated Bateman's Dark Lord and a glass of red. Only 21 units this week. Wow.
We retire to bed where it's nice to not have to keep the noise down.
Saturday, 6 October 2007
Humiliation Works
Double dogging part one, Stockton on Tees. It’s a glorious day too. Although I discover that miracles don't happen and I wake up with the communal cold.
My parents accompany us, while L intends to walk up the Cleveland Way to Saltburn by Sea. Saltburn is an old Victorian seaside town with a long pier. It sounds a nice walk but it won't be the same without an errant collie, who I kind of need with me. L hopes to persuade Daughter to join her. Hmmmm could be tough; Daughter’s packed several DVDs and the TV guide but I'm pleased to say I was proved wrong, they both walk to Saltburn, although they get the bus back.
At the show, we totally cock-up on our first course. Doggo completely misses his dog-walk contact and then although he gets his see-saw contact, he doesn't stop and wait on it, like I tell him to. So I put my foot on the see-saw pushing it back down to the ground and at the same time pick Doggo up around the mid-rift and put him back on the contact point. I can see the look of pure humiliation on his face. All the poodles will be laughing at him. Serves him right he should listen to me. The judge meanwhile is making a slitting gesture across his throat which means it's elimination for us. It's illegal to touch the equipment or to pick your dog up. He repeats his mistake on the A-frame so I repeat the process. More mortified looks from Doggo. We even miss the first weave although that may have been my fault, my concentration had gone by then, or maybe Doggo was doing it deliberately by now.
Things can only get better, as they say, which they do. We concentrate on getting all our contacts on the next agility course, treating it as a training run. He hits every one. Humiliation obviously works. In fact we go clear for the rest of the day in all of our remaining three runs. We miss the placing by one position on two occasions. Overall though a good day.
We needed to hit good form because there is controversy over the selection process for our team for the Crufts qualifying event tomorrow. We were supposed to have two teams of four and we were in the 'B' team but only five people have turned up. This means five people for four places and we are in, the person to be omitted is not happy. Understandably.
The first two Rugby quarter-finals take place today. Amazingly England put in a terrific performance to defeat Australia. Then in the evening France create a huge shock and dump out the hot favourites New Zealand.
In the football, Derby seem to get the team selection all wrong again and go down 1-0 at Reading.
We find a pub for the evening, the food is good, although we all over eat. The beer is naff though, they have no real ale on, despite having the pumps for it. I drink something called Tetley's Imperial, whatever that is. Get home very sober.
Doggo seems too tired to get up the spiral staircase, whereas last night he confounded all of us by making light work of it with his climbing skills. Eventually I have to persuade him to join us upstairs where L and I concentrate on keeping the noise down in the four-poster because my parents are sleeping next door. It's almost like being sixteen again.
My parents accompany us, while L intends to walk up the Cleveland Way to Saltburn by Sea. Saltburn is an old Victorian seaside town with a long pier. It sounds a nice walk but it won't be the same without an errant collie, who I kind of need with me. L hopes to persuade Daughter to join her. Hmmmm could be tough; Daughter’s packed several DVDs and the TV guide but I'm pleased to say I was proved wrong, they both walk to Saltburn, although they get the bus back.
At the show, we totally cock-up on our first course. Doggo completely misses his dog-walk contact and then although he gets his see-saw contact, he doesn't stop and wait on it, like I tell him to. So I put my foot on the see-saw pushing it back down to the ground and at the same time pick Doggo up around the mid-rift and put him back on the contact point. I can see the look of pure humiliation on his face. All the poodles will be laughing at him. Serves him right he should listen to me. The judge meanwhile is making a slitting gesture across his throat which means it's elimination for us. It's illegal to touch the equipment or to pick your dog up. He repeats his mistake on the A-frame so I repeat the process. More mortified looks from Doggo. We even miss the first weave although that may have been my fault, my concentration had gone by then, or maybe Doggo was doing it deliberately by now.
Things can only get better, as they say, which they do. We concentrate on getting all our contacts on the next agility course, treating it as a training run. He hits every one. Humiliation obviously works. In fact we go clear for the rest of the day in all of our remaining three runs. We miss the placing by one position on two occasions. Overall though a good day.
We needed to hit good form because there is controversy over the selection process for our team for the Crufts qualifying event tomorrow. We were supposed to have two teams of four and we were in the 'B' team but only five people have turned up. This means five people for four places and we are in, the person to be omitted is not happy. Understandably.
The first two Rugby quarter-finals take place today. Amazingly England put in a terrific performance to defeat Australia. Then in the evening France create a huge shock and dump out the hot favourites New Zealand.
In the football, Derby seem to get the team selection all wrong again and go down 1-0 at Reading.
We find a pub for the evening, the food is good, although we all over eat. The beer is naff though, they have no real ale on, despite having the pumps for it. I drink something called Tetley's Imperial, whatever that is. Get home very sober.
Doggo seems too tired to get up the spiral staircase, whereas last night he confounded all of us by making light work of it with his climbing skills. Eventually I have to persuade him to join us upstairs where L and I concentrate on keeping the noise down in the four-poster because my parents are sleeping next door. It's almost like being sixteen again.
Friday, 5 October 2007
Missing In Action, Presumed Dead
We are driving up to the North Yorkshire coast tonight for a dogging double header over the weekend, so I’ve been undecided all week about whether to cycle today. It might be best to save my energy for the drive up, I don't want to doze off behind the wheel. In the end though I decide to go for it. Partly because I need to check out next weekend's Duathlon course and I’m running out of time to do it.
L has got me some new inner tubes for my bike, another favour I need to return. So my bike is repaired and raring to go. I make it into work with thankfully no new punctures. The weather has turn cold again though, so I needed my new kit. It was also a good call to cycle because the A52 was blocked due to an accident, so driving would have been unbearable.
It's a busy morning at work. I have two meetings and everyone wants to know about Ireland. My colleague who went with me and was full of cold on the trip, calls in sick. Somebody else who I have a meeting with is also spreading their germs around. It will be a miracle if I don't catch something. I'm supposed to be leaving at lunchtime but with everything being so mad, I'm half an hour late getting away.
Then guess what, heading out to the Duathlon course, I have a puncture in Shardlow. I replace it with one I patched up the other night. It lasts half a mile, seems my repair wasn't very good. Luckily, this time, I have another tube with me, a brand new one. I give the tyre and the rim a good clean with my gloves in case something sharp is stuck in there. Then off I go again. I alert L by text, just in case I need another rescue mission.
As I reach Kegworth, the tyre seems to be holding up so I head out to Sutton Bonington and the Duathlon course. Time is getting short, we are supposed to be picking Daughter up from school and heading straight up to our cottage. It dawns on me that school now finishes at 3.10 and not 3.30 as it used to be. Bugger. I haven't even packed anything yet. So this is not a good time to take a wrong turn on the Duathlon course but of course I do. Eventually I make it round the course and get back onto my route to home. As I go over the Dunkirk Flyover it's 3.00. I call L, telling her to fetch Daughter. I'm soon home and by the time they get back, I'm almost ready.
L seems a bit miffed that I didn’t call her earlier. I'm a bit miffed she didn't call to check I was ok. She says she assumed I was dead but she didn’t call to check in case I fell off my bike answering the call. Anyhow she’s made me a great doorstop sandwich, so she must have had some faith in my powers of survival.
We leave at 3.50, which isn't that bad or it wouldn't have been if the M1 hadn't been so horrible. L drives the first stretch, although 'drive' is not really the right word, crawl being more appropriate, while I recover from my traumatic 30 mile ride. I munch on the sandwich and an energy bar, washed down with a protein milk drink, lots coffee and water. I ring home and talk to Son, who sounds really rough; it seems he's gone down with the same cold as everyone else. It really will be a miracle if I don't get something. Once we get off the M1 and onto the A1, the traffic is better. By then I've recovered and I'm raring to go, so I take over the driving.
We get to our cottage by the coast, very nice it is too. Apart from the manic central heating that is, which means it's a bit like living in a sauna. I go around trying to turn off as many radiators as possible. The cottage could be really romantic, particularly if there was a howling gale blowing outside. L and I could snuggle up on the settee, or make use of the spiral staircase and the four-poster. Just a shame we're not alone, a little matter of Daughter, dog and parents.
All of us walk down to the local sea front chippy. The fish is excellent, the chips not quite so. Back at the cottage we split two bottles of wine between the four of us.
When we go up to our room, another thing we discover is that the cottage has incredibly thin walls. It's not even possible to go to the toilet without everyone knowing about it. So L and I sample the four-poster, very quietly.
L has got me some new inner tubes for my bike, another favour I need to return. So my bike is repaired and raring to go. I make it into work with thankfully no new punctures. The weather has turn cold again though, so I needed my new kit. It was also a good call to cycle because the A52 was blocked due to an accident, so driving would have been unbearable.
It's a busy morning at work. I have two meetings and everyone wants to know about Ireland. My colleague who went with me and was full of cold on the trip, calls in sick. Somebody else who I have a meeting with is also spreading their germs around. It will be a miracle if I don't catch something. I'm supposed to be leaving at lunchtime but with everything being so mad, I'm half an hour late getting away.
Then guess what, heading out to the Duathlon course, I have a puncture in Shardlow. I replace it with one I patched up the other night. It lasts half a mile, seems my repair wasn't very good. Luckily, this time, I have another tube with me, a brand new one. I give the tyre and the rim a good clean with my gloves in case something sharp is stuck in there. Then off I go again. I alert L by text, just in case I need another rescue mission.
As I reach Kegworth, the tyre seems to be holding up so I head out to Sutton Bonington and the Duathlon course. Time is getting short, we are supposed to be picking Daughter up from school and heading straight up to our cottage. It dawns on me that school now finishes at 3.10 and not 3.30 as it used to be. Bugger. I haven't even packed anything yet. So this is not a good time to take a wrong turn on the Duathlon course but of course I do. Eventually I make it round the course and get back onto my route to home. As I go over the Dunkirk Flyover it's 3.00. I call L, telling her to fetch Daughter. I'm soon home and by the time they get back, I'm almost ready.
L seems a bit miffed that I didn’t call her earlier. I'm a bit miffed she didn't call to check I was ok. She says she assumed I was dead but she didn’t call to check in case I fell off my bike answering the call. Anyhow she’s made me a great doorstop sandwich, so she must have had some faith in my powers of survival.
We leave at 3.50, which isn't that bad or it wouldn't have been if the M1 hadn't been so horrible. L drives the first stretch, although 'drive' is not really the right word, crawl being more appropriate, while I recover from my traumatic 30 mile ride. I munch on the sandwich and an energy bar, washed down with a protein milk drink, lots coffee and water. I ring home and talk to Son, who sounds really rough; it seems he's gone down with the same cold as everyone else. It really will be a miracle if I don't get something. Once we get off the M1 and onto the A1, the traffic is better. By then I've recovered and I'm raring to go, so I take over the driving.
We get to our cottage by the coast, very nice it is too. Apart from the manic central heating that is, which means it's a bit like living in a sauna. I go around trying to turn off as many radiators as possible. The cottage could be really romantic, particularly if there was a howling gale blowing outside. L and I could snuggle up on the settee, or make use of the spiral staircase and the four-poster. Just a shame we're not alone, a little matter of Daughter, dog and parents.
All of us walk down to the local sea front chippy. The fish is excellent, the chips not quite so. Back at the cottage we split two bottles of wine between the four of us.
When we go up to our room, another thing we discover is that the cottage has incredibly thin walls. It's not even possible to go to the toilet without everyone knowing about it. So L and I sample the four-poster, very quietly.
Thursday, 4 October 2007
So Very Un-Irish
Up at 5am and off to East Midlands airport. So no chance of getting to express my thanks for L’s smash and grab raid on the Rocky Road. I'm off the Newry in Northern Ireland today with one of our salesmen to try and clinch a deal with a scrap metal company.
The meeting goes well but Northern Ireland itself is a big disappointment. The place is so, well, British, so very un-Irish. We don’t have a coffee in Ma Murphy’s Coffee House but Costa Coffee. My colleague shops in Tk Maxx in the Westfield Centre in Belfast. The roads are just like they are here. We could have been anywhere. The only thing that told you we were in Belfast were the souvenir sellers flogging pictures of the road blocks, peace barriers and burning cars of the past.
In fact we could be in Nottingham, where things are altogether uglier. Police there have found a man's body in a burning car near Wollaton Park. I jest with L that they probably wanted to dump it on the park but the council had already locked it and gone home. The car was a Mercedes SLK, so it looks like drugs. At least the police will be pleased he was stabbed and not shot. Don’t want those gun crime figures going up again.
I get home around 7.30pm and have two glasses of red wine with L. She tells me she’s been rumbled for stealing the Rocky Roads. The first words spoken to her as she walked into work this morning were 'Oh dear, no earrings then'. She managed to bluff her way out of it but she couldn't bring herself to tell them that she had brought them home in a clandestine deal with me. At least I finally get chance to show my appreciation.
The meeting goes well but Northern Ireland itself is a big disappointment. The place is so, well, British, so very un-Irish. We don’t have a coffee in Ma Murphy’s Coffee House but Costa Coffee. My colleague shops in Tk Maxx in the Westfield Centre in Belfast. The roads are just like they are here. We could have been anywhere. The only thing that told you we were in Belfast were the souvenir sellers flogging pictures of the road blocks, peace barriers and burning cars of the past.
In fact we could be in Nottingham, where things are altogether uglier. Police there have found a man's body in a burning car near Wollaton Park. I jest with L that they probably wanted to dump it on the park but the council had already locked it and gone home. The car was a Mercedes SLK, so it looks like drugs. At least the police will be pleased he was stabbed and not shot. Don’t want those gun crime figures going up again.
I get home around 7.30pm and have two glasses of red wine with L. She tells me she’s been rumbled for stealing the Rocky Roads. The first words spoken to her as she walked into work this morning were 'Oh dear, no earrings then'. She managed to bluff her way out of it but she couldn't bring herself to tell them that she had brought them home in a clandestine deal with me. At least I finally get chance to show my appreciation.
Wednesday, 3 October 2007
My Knightess In A Black Astra
L helps me warm up then it’s into the condom for the bike ride to work. It’s a bit warmer this morning but I’ve put away my summer gear and spent a bomb on these new trousers, so I’ll have to cope. I run into L and Doggo on their way back from the park but Doggo didn't even notice me. He was far too busy with his nose up another dog’s bottom. It’s a bit early for them to be on their way back, which is not a good sign. Hope they’ve not had another run in with the psycho doe. L is still seething that the council didn’t manage to slay the one deer she wanted rid of.
As I arrived at Chaddesden Bridge, the cyclist in front of me dismounted and unwrapped his fags, it's a healthy pastime cycling you know, and dropped all the wrappers on the floor. The nearest bin was a mere two feet away. When I told him that there was a bin here, he meekly replied 'ok yes'. So perhaps he wasn't trying to make some statement after all. Probably just a pillock.
Once I’m over the bridge and I'm clipping back in, I nearly get embarrassed as this five foot female midget comes past me. Head down, she's off and she's only on a shopper bike with full mudguards, panniers, saddle bags etc. Not exactly a bike built for speed. She goes past a couple of drongos on MTB's as if they weren't there. Not difficult admittedly but they still looked gutted. The reason lads, is that she's mastered the principle of gears. The lads are pedalling four times more quickly than they are moving, she is not. I save myself from embarrassment, as I reel her in and pass her.
At work, it’s a full house, three bikes in the car park.
L has promised herself a new pair of earrings if she can keep off the cakes today. However no one has opened the Rocky Roads yet, which is a shame because I’d like L to bring me some Rocky Road. I tell her that if she brings me some Rocky Road without indulging herself then I’ll buy her the earrings. Of course she could open the packet, bring me some and nick a piece herself and I would never know. I’ll just have to bank on her being so guilt ridden if she does illicitly indulge, that she’ll turn down the gift. Either that or she’ll seek to alleviate her guilt in other ways that may also be beneficial to me. So I can’t lose really.
I suspected yesterday that I had a slow puncture in my rear tyre and when I was cycling home up the hill at Lodge Lane in Spondon it just didn't feel right. I pulled over and it was nearly flat. It wouldn't pump up so I got all my kit out and changed the tube. The repair went smoothly and only took ten minutes or so. So soon I was on the move again. However just as I was descending the hill down into Ilkeston I heard it instantly deflate. With no more tubes I had no alternative than to get off and walk. I text L, more in hope than anything, as I'm sure she's got a gym class. A chap in a car pulls over, he's got his own bike in the back and as a fellow cyclist, he offers me a lift, to Eastwood. I decline. Although it was nice of him to offer. I'll walk, it's only three miles or so. L rings, her class doesn’t start until later and soon she's on her way to rescue me. When she arrives she informs me that she's clocked nearly eight miles in the car, so it could have been a long walk.
I get home too late to swim but we do get to dog class. Which goes well, I try not to over do it with Doggo. We even get praise from the trainer.
Aside from being my Knightess in a black Astra, L's also come up trumps with the Rocky Road. There are two chunks in a box in the fridge waiting for me. She says she hasn’t even licked her fingers. I look forward to shopping for earrings for her.
As I arrived at Chaddesden Bridge, the cyclist in front of me dismounted and unwrapped his fags, it's a healthy pastime cycling you know, and dropped all the wrappers on the floor. The nearest bin was a mere two feet away. When I told him that there was a bin here, he meekly replied 'ok yes'. So perhaps he wasn't trying to make some statement after all. Probably just a pillock.
Once I’m over the bridge and I'm clipping back in, I nearly get embarrassed as this five foot female midget comes past me. Head down, she's off and she's only on a shopper bike with full mudguards, panniers, saddle bags etc. Not exactly a bike built for speed. She goes past a couple of drongos on MTB's as if they weren't there. Not difficult admittedly but they still looked gutted. The reason lads, is that she's mastered the principle of gears. The lads are pedalling four times more quickly than they are moving, she is not. I save myself from embarrassment, as I reel her in and pass her.
At work, it’s a full house, three bikes in the car park.
L has promised herself a new pair of earrings if she can keep off the cakes today. However no one has opened the Rocky Roads yet, which is a shame because I’d like L to bring me some Rocky Road. I tell her that if she brings me some Rocky Road without indulging herself then I’ll buy her the earrings. Of course she could open the packet, bring me some and nick a piece herself and I would never know. I’ll just have to bank on her being so guilt ridden if she does illicitly indulge, that she’ll turn down the gift. Either that or she’ll seek to alleviate her guilt in other ways that may also be beneficial to me. So I can’t lose really.
I suspected yesterday that I had a slow puncture in my rear tyre and when I was cycling home up the hill at Lodge Lane in Spondon it just didn't feel right. I pulled over and it was nearly flat. It wouldn't pump up so I got all my kit out and changed the tube. The repair went smoothly and only took ten minutes or so. So soon I was on the move again. However just as I was descending the hill down into Ilkeston I heard it instantly deflate. With no more tubes I had no alternative than to get off and walk. I text L, more in hope than anything, as I'm sure she's got a gym class. A chap in a car pulls over, he's got his own bike in the back and as a fellow cyclist, he offers me a lift, to Eastwood. I decline. Although it was nice of him to offer. I'll walk, it's only three miles or so. L rings, her class doesn’t start until later and soon she's on her way to rescue me. When she arrives she informs me that she's clocked nearly eight miles in the car, so it could have been a long walk.
I get home too late to swim but we do get to dog class. Which goes well, I try not to over do it with Doggo. We even get praise from the trainer.
Aside from being my Knightess in a black Astra, L's also come up trumps with the Rocky Road. There are two chunks in a box in the fridge waiting for me. She says she hasn’t even licked her fingers. I look forward to shopping for earrings for her.
Tuesday, 2 October 2007
Condom Trousers
L is looking very tempting this morning but no, I got my warm up in last night. Also I fear that it might take me twenty minutes or more to get my new cycling trousers on because they look very tight.
I manage to pour myself into my new trousers, which appear to be made of gossamer-like fine gauge lycra. I double check the label to make sure they're not manufactured by Durex. In fact the whole process of getting into them is very reminiscent of the process of rolling a condom on. Hopefully my circulation will still be working by the time I get to work.
I'm in almost full winter mode for cycling now. I've put my lights back on and not only do I go for the long trousers, I also put my summer socks away for the year, opting for thicker ones and even go for the jacket. L warns me not to get carried away in my new lycra gear. As if.
In fact, I'm very impressed with the new condom trousers, they're very comfortable, although the padding is a bit new and stiff at the moment. I could have some sore bits tonight. In fact I wonder at first whether I've got them on back to front or not but no, I don't think so. Good job, I can't really stop at the roadside and put them on the other way round. Hopefully they'll soften up a bit after a few rides. They'd better do, I can't take them back now, as after I wiped my nose on my gloves, I wiped my gloves down my trousers.
In fact it turns out L was right. My new lycra does make me ride faster. All snug and warm and condomised, I bomb along at quite a nice pace, cutting through the wind like a knife. It's not record pace but 53 minutes is pretty good. I've been ambling to work in 58 or worse. I am however, as predicted, numb in one particular place. I will have to see if I can get any sympathy out of L later.
L tells me she's been out for a lunchtime swim. So she's obviously trying to out do me again but she's safe, I shall not try and out smug her today. I shall swim tomorrow. Tonight I shall run and exercise Doggo, ending up at the Tennis Centre to meet her out of pilates.
The traffic is heavy as I cycle home, the M1 has been closed due to an accident involving a motorcyclist, and although it now appears to be open again, I think a lot of people are not risking it and taking alternative routes.
Two 'serious' cyclists go past me at the Bramcote Island lights, which is rather unfair as I've stopped at the lights and they hit it just right as they change. I set off to give chase, as you do. I manage to catch them and then draft them all the way along Derby Road. I'm very pleased with myself; it didn't really take much effort but then when the road goes uphill after Priory I can't stay with them. Oh well.
I get home and change kit, taking off the new condom trousers and putting on Ronhills instead. Better to be safe than sorry. I don't know how powerful these new trousers are yet. I don’t want L causing an embarrassing scene in the Tennis Centre car park and having to chuck cold water over her, my lycra has a strange effect on her.
Doggo and I extend our run, just a little bit. No harm topping up the smug a little bit is there now. We do a lap around the university lake before we go to meet L. We get a good reception from her, a chocolate muffin and a chocolate brownie that she had sneaked out of work. Nothing for Doggo though, she didn't manage to get away with a flapjack, they’re his favourite.
I cook up a curry. Mince and chicken combined. E.g. leftovers.
I manage to pour myself into my new trousers, which appear to be made of gossamer-like fine gauge lycra. I double check the label to make sure they're not manufactured by Durex. In fact the whole process of getting into them is very reminiscent of the process of rolling a condom on. Hopefully my circulation will still be working by the time I get to work.
I'm in almost full winter mode for cycling now. I've put my lights back on and not only do I go for the long trousers, I also put my summer socks away for the year, opting for thicker ones and even go for the jacket. L warns me not to get carried away in my new lycra gear. As if.
In fact, I'm very impressed with the new condom trousers, they're very comfortable, although the padding is a bit new and stiff at the moment. I could have some sore bits tonight. In fact I wonder at first whether I've got them on back to front or not but no, I don't think so. Good job, I can't really stop at the roadside and put them on the other way round. Hopefully they'll soften up a bit after a few rides. They'd better do, I can't take them back now, as after I wiped my nose on my gloves, I wiped my gloves down my trousers.
In fact it turns out L was right. My new lycra does make me ride faster. All snug and warm and condomised, I bomb along at quite a nice pace, cutting through the wind like a knife. It's not record pace but 53 minutes is pretty good. I've been ambling to work in 58 or worse. I am however, as predicted, numb in one particular place. I will have to see if I can get any sympathy out of L later.
L tells me she's been out for a lunchtime swim. So she's obviously trying to out do me again but she's safe, I shall not try and out smug her today. I shall swim tomorrow. Tonight I shall run and exercise Doggo, ending up at the Tennis Centre to meet her out of pilates.
The traffic is heavy as I cycle home, the M1 has been closed due to an accident involving a motorcyclist, and although it now appears to be open again, I think a lot of people are not risking it and taking alternative routes.
Two 'serious' cyclists go past me at the Bramcote Island lights, which is rather unfair as I've stopped at the lights and they hit it just right as they change. I set off to give chase, as you do. I manage to catch them and then draft them all the way along Derby Road. I'm very pleased with myself; it didn't really take much effort but then when the road goes uphill after Priory I can't stay with them. Oh well.
I get home and change kit, taking off the new condom trousers and putting on Ronhills instead. Better to be safe than sorry. I don't know how powerful these new trousers are yet. I don’t want L causing an embarrassing scene in the Tennis Centre car park and having to chuck cold water over her, my lycra has a strange effect on her.
Doggo and I extend our run, just a little bit. No harm topping up the smug a little bit is there now. We do a lap around the university lake before we go to meet L. We get a good reception from her, a chocolate muffin and a chocolate brownie that she had sneaked out of work. Nothing for Doggo though, she didn't manage to get away with a flapjack, they’re his favourite.
I cook up a curry. Mince and chicken combined. E.g. leftovers.
Monday, 1 October 2007
Jonathan
In the car today, so an amorous start to the day. Then into the queues. The M1 is gridlocked which upsets the A52.
The radio trumpets Derby's new marketing strategy which is 'Derby: The Dead Centre of England'. This is a reference to the fact that Derby is supposedly one of the most haunted cities in the UK and the city is (and I quote) 'ready to scare the living daylights out of anyone brave enough to visit'. I'm not really sure that that will pull the punters in.
Meanwhile Nottingham is having an enquiry, which starts today, into their proposed workplace parking levy. I was invited to participate, in my role as a serial complainer, but I, in common with most WORKING people who will be affected by the WORKPLACE levy, had to go to WORK.
The enquiry hears that commuters driving in the morning rush-hour travel at an average 17.3mph. I average over 15mph on my bike; of course if it wasn't for having to dodge the cars I'd be much quicker.
Doggo is, as expected, rather slow at dog class. If he can just get through the shows this weekend then he can have a rest for most of the winter. We pick L up from yoga on our way home.
L cooks up some slag. Then says that I can take her to bed after she's read a chapter of her book. I'm not sure if this means a chapter of just one book or a chapter of all the half a dozen or so books she has on the go at the same time. She assures me she's only doing Jonathan tonight. That's apparently Jonathan of Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell. She seems to have a thing about him.
I'm not convinced. I go on the computer and give her half an hour just in case. I don't want to come between her and her other men.
34 units last week, most of which were on Friday night.
The radio trumpets Derby's new marketing strategy which is 'Derby: The Dead Centre of England'. This is a reference to the fact that Derby is supposedly one of the most haunted cities in the UK and the city is (and I quote) 'ready to scare the living daylights out of anyone brave enough to visit'. I'm not really sure that that will pull the punters in.
Meanwhile Nottingham is having an enquiry, which starts today, into their proposed workplace parking levy. I was invited to participate, in my role as a serial complainer, but I, in common with most WORKING people who will be affected by the WORKPLACE levy, had to go to WORK.
The enquiry hears that commuters driving in the morning rush-hour travel at an average 17.3mph. I average over 15mph on my bike; of course if it wasn't for having to dodge the cars I'd be much quicker.
Doggo is, as expected, rather slow at dog class. If he can just get through the shows this weekend then he can have a rest for most of the winter. We pick L up from yoga on our way home.
L cooks up some slag. Then says that I can take her to bed after she's read a chapter of her book. I'm not sure if this means a chapter of just one book or a chapter of all the half a dozen or so books she has on the go at the same time. She assures me she's only doing Jonathan tonight. That's apparently Jonathan of Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell. She seems to have a thing about him.
I'm not convinced. I go on the computer and give her half an hour just in case. I don't want to come between her and her other men.
34 units last week, most of which were on Friday night.
Sunday, 30 September 2007
No Horses Head In My Bed Yet
We have a leisurely start to the day for saying it's a dog show day. Which gives us enough time for one course from last night's menu of lust, lunacy, and murder.
We leave at 10am. The show is near Lincoln and we drop L and Daughter off there. They're going shopping. A girl thing.
The show goes well. A much better all round performance from Doggo. We record three clear rounds out of three. All too slow to get a rosette but rosettes are only given out to the top 10 and as they are all grade 5 only events, so it's not surprising we don't get one. We've only graced the top 10 in grade 5 on 4 occasions this season. It's tough at the top, as they say.
We put in a creditable performance at Clever Dogs, which is combined Agility and Flyball. It’s probably the Clever Dogs that stuffs our rosette chances because we do this before our last two agility runs. We have several practice sessions on the Flyball part, four I think. Then we do the whole course, quite quickly in 25 seconds, but then they tell us that was just a practice as well and now we have three timed runs to do. Doggo, who is already looking creased, does the first one, again in 25 seconds, before deciding that enough is enough and goes off to hide behind my parents.
I manage to talk him into one last attempt and he does me proud. 23 seconds. So we decide not to take up our option of a third run, well Doggo decides. Anyhow it’s the best time out of three that counts and I couldn't see us improving on that. Hopefully it might get us into next August's final but we'll see.
My father has now moved onto Harry Potter book two. The infection is spreading.
The Sunday papers are full of Anelka's lucky deflected equaliser and not Derby's far superior goal but that's the media for you.
Back home I cook up mince and pasta for tea and enjoy a tinny of Wadsworth 4X. It's actually rather nice. Oh dear, does this mean I'm becoming one of the Government's notorious binge drinkers? I dilute it with two glasses of red wine.
Daughter (hello there, I need as many readers as I can get) discovers my blog, on a tip off from L. Surprisingly she takes it rather well. At least I don't think I'll be coming home to a horses head in my bed. Daughter won't understand that statement; we've not taken her to see the Godfather yet. The downside, I think it's a downside, is that she now thinks I'm a sex maniac. Although L reassures her by saying that all men are. Funny thing is we keep seeing all these plays and films where the women are the ones doing all misbehaving and bed hopping. Hmmm. Also Daughter herself is reading that diary by the self-confessed sex obsessed mad woman. Hmmm.
We leave at 10am. The show is near Lincoln and we drop L and Daughter off there. They're going shopping. A girl thing.
The show goes well. A much better all round performance from Doggo. We record three clear rounds out of three. All too slow to get a rosette but rosettes are only given out to the top 10 and as they are all grade 5 only events, so it's not surprising we don't get one. We've only graced the top 10 in grade 5 on 4 occasions this season. It's tough at the top, as they say.
We put in a creditable performance at Clever Dogs, which is combined Agility and Flyball. It’s probably the Clever Dogs that stuffs our rosette chances because we do this before our last two agility runs. We have several practice sessions on the Flyball part, four I think. Then we do the whole course, quite quickly in 25 seconds, but then they tell us that was just a practice as well and now we have three timed runs to do. Doggo, who is already looking creased, does the first one, again in 25 seconds, before deciding that enough is enough and goes off to hide behind my parents.
I manage to talk him into one last attempt and he does me proud. 23 seconds. So we decide not to take up our option of a third run, well Doggo decides. Anyhow it’s the best time out of three that counts and I couldn't see us improving on that. Hopefully it might get us into next August's final but we'll see.
My father has now moved onto Harry Potter book two. The infection is spreading.
The Sunday papers are full of Anelka's lucky deflected equaliser and not Derby's far superior goal but that's the media for you.
Back home I cook up mince and pasta for tea and enjoy a tinny of Wadsworth 4X. It's actually rather nice. Oh dear, does this mean I'm becoming one of the Government's notorious binge drinkers? I dilute it with two glasses of red wine.
Daughter (hello there, I need as many readers as I can get) discovers my blog, on a tip off from L. Surprisingly she takes it rather well. At least I don't think I'll be coming home to a horses head in my bed. Daughter won't understand that statement; we've not taken her to see the Godfather yet. The downside, I think it's a downside, is that she now thinks I'm a sex maniac. Although L reassures her by saying that all men are. Funny thing is we keep seeing all these plays and films where the women are the ones doing all misbehaving and bed hopping. Hmmm. Also Daughter herself is reading that diary by the self-confessed sex obsessed mad woman. Hmmm.
Saturday, 29 September 2007
Lust, Lunacy, and Murder
Get home from Bingham quite early. L and Doggo are still in bed. So I join them. So I kind of get a lie-in. L is cold, so I warm her up, twice.
When I get up for the second time I take Doggo and L for a run. L again opts for a shorter route. Doggo sticks to me like glue once L has split off from us. His confrontation with that dog the other day does seem to have shaken him up. We manage to avoid having any confrontations.
Then off to the match. Derby v Bolton. Everyone seems to be looking forward to it. Another near sell out crowd due. I think a lot of people are still in shock from us winning a game. What will the reaction be if we win another one? They'll be breaking out the open top bus and the commemorative mugs.
In the end we draw 1-1. The continued absence of record signing Robert Earnshaw is starting to annoy a lot of people. Steve Howard has now played all eight games and hasn’t scored but still Earnshaw doesn't even get to lift his bottom off the substitutes bench.
I spend half-time discussing Quidditch with my Dad. He's just read the first Harry Potter book. Harry is infiltrating us everywhere. I shall not succumb.
L and Daughter are at yet another film. A Gerard Depardieu, this time. At Nottingham's micro small 21 seat Screen Room which L describes as 'cute'. At least I think it's the cinema she's on about.
When I get back from the match it's a bit of a rush to get into town for tonight's spot of culture and our second play of the week. Whereas Tuesday's play promised to be 'Uplifting' and didn't deliver. Tonight's play 'The Changeling' promises us lust, lunacy, and murder. Which sounds all together more promising and totally my bag. Although once the play starts it is quickly difficult to see where the lunacy ends and the lust starts. As for the murder, there's plenty of that.
'The Changeling' is described as a dark Jacobean tragedy. Written in 1621, it comes from the same period as Shakespeare and has much in common with his work. A young woman called Joanna wants to marry Alsemero but the one thing that stands between her and her man is the bridegroom arranged for her by her father. She asks her deformed manservant De Flores, who she dislikes immensely, to dispose of him for her. Because he is obsessed with her, he agrees. She tries to pay him in gold, but he has another form of payment in mind. At first she cannot guess what his price is but soon she realises that the only payment that he will accept is Joanna herself. At first she is totally repulsed by this thought but once he has had his way with her and beaten her intended husband to her virginity, she realises that, in common with most women, a bit of depravity floats her boat, and quickly she can't get enough of it. So here we go again, yet another wayward, if not quite married, woman.
During the interval, we have a bit of a debate over the play and sort out a few things we don't understand between ourselves while enjoying our respective tipples of Burton Ale and Leffe. One of the things that confuses us is that a lot of the play takes place in a lunatic asylum. Although the set, laid out like an ancient stone asylum building, is excellent.
Unfortunately as soon as the second half starts, I get even more confused. Joanna appears to go ahead with her marriage to Alsemero, who appears to be something of an amateur medic and has a load of potions in his wardrobe. As you do. She discovers a potion called 'M', which when taken by a virgin, causes her mouth to gape, sneeze uncontrollably and then laugh hysterically. This presents a bit of a wedding night problem for her, that is solved by Joanna substituting her maid in her place in the marital bed but we didn't realise this at the time. If they’d made these things clearer we might have understood it better.
Also apparently the title of the play comes from a sub-plot in which another servant, Tony, pretends to be a lunatic in order to infiltrate first the asylum and then hopefully the wife of the chap who runs the asylum.
The play is quite psychological, with its portrayal of a woman who will stop at nothing to get her way and in the process is driven to dangerous lengths but that's women for you. Sex after all is a phenomenal force that causes chaos with everyone's lives.
At the end, after their affair is discovered, Joanna and De Flores, overtaken by the aforementioned trio of lust, lunacy, and murder, finally end up stabbing each other to death during a one final torrid shag.
When I read up on the play after the fact, it looks a cracking plot, if only we could have followed it fully at the time. It all seemed rather muddled. It was still good though, a full-blooded production you might say. The casting is good, Joanna is young and attractive, De Flores, older and deformed. They do say opposites attract. Imagine how good it would have been had we understood it all. Perhaps I should become a theatre director myself.
Up to the Ropewalk for a couple of pints of their guest ale from Mauldon. Home for a very late Spam curry.
When I get up for the second time I take Doggo and L for a run. L again opts for a shorter route. Doggo sticks to me like glue once L has split off from us. His confrontation with that dog the other day does seem to have shaken him up. We manage to avoid having any confrontations.
Then off to the match. Derby v Bolton. Everyone seems to be looking forward to it. Another near sell out crowd due. I think a lot of people are still in shock from us winning a game. What will the reaction be if we win another one? They'll be breaking out the open top bus and the commemorative mugs.
In the end we draw 1-1. The continued absence of record signing Robert Earnshaw is starting to annoy a lot of people. Steve Howard has now played all eight games and hasn’t scored but still Earnshaw doesn't even get to lift his bottom off the substitutes bench.
I spend half-time discussing Quidditch with my Dad. He's just read the first Harry Potter book. Harry is infiltrating us everywhere. I shall not succumb.
L and Daughter are at yet another film. A Gerard Depardieu, this time. At Nottingham's micro small 21 seat Screen Room which L describes as 'cute'. At least I think it's the cinema she's on about.
When I get back from the match it's a bit of a rush to get into town for tonight's spot of culture and our second play of the week. Whereas Tuesday's play promised to be 'Uplifting' and didn't deliver. Tonight's play 'The Changeling' promises us lust, lunacy, and murder. Which sounds all together more promising and totally my bag. Although once the play starts it is quickly difficult to see where the lunacy ends and the lust starts. As for the murder, there's plenty of that.
'The Changeling' is described as a dark Jacobean tragedy. Written in 1621, it comes from the same period as Shakespeare and has much in common with his work. A young woman called Joanna wants to marry Alsemero but the one thing that stands between her and her man is the bridegroom arranged for her by her father. She asks her deformed manservant De Flores, who she dislikes immensely, to dispose of him for her. Because he is obsessed with her, he agrees. She tries to pay him in gold, but he has another form of payment in mind. At first she cannot guess what his price is but soon she realises that the only payment that he will accept is Joanna herself. At first she is totally repulsed by this thought but once he has had his way with her and beaten her intended husband to her virginity, she realises that, in common with most women, a bit of depravity floats her boat, and quickly she can't get enough of it. So here we go again, yet another wayward, if not quite married, woman.
During the interval, we have a bit of a debate over the play and sort out a few things we don't understand between ourselves while enjoying our respective tipples of Burton Ale and Leffe. One of the things that confuses us is that a lot of the play takes place in a lunatic asylum. Although the set, laid out like an ancient stone asylum building, is excellent.
Unfortunately as soon as the second half starts, I get even more confused. Joanna appears to go ahead with her marriage to Alsemero, who appears to be something of an amateur medic and has a load of potions in his wardrobe. As you do. She discovers a potion called 'M', which when taken by a virgin, causes her mouth to gape, sneeze uncontrollably and then laugh hysterically. This presents a bit of a wedding night problem for her, that is solved by Joanna substituting her maid in her place in the marital bed but we didn't realise this at the time. If they’d made these things clearer we might have understood it better.
Also apparently the title of the play comes from a sub-plot in which another servant, Tony, pretends to be a lunatic in order to infiltrate first the asylum and then hopefully the wife of the chap who runs the asylum.
The play is quite psychological, with its portrayal of a woman who will stop at nothing to get her way and in the process is driven to dangerous lengths but that's women for you. Sex after all is a phenomenal force that causes chaos with everyone's lives.
At the end, after their affair is discovered, Joanna and De Flores, overtaken by the aforementioned trio of lust, lunacy, and murder, finally end up stabbing each other to death during a one final torrid shag.
When I read up on the play after the fact, it looks a cracking plot, if only we could have followed it fully at the time. It all seemed rather muddled. It was still good though, a full-blooded production you might say. The casting is good, Joanna is young and attractive, De Flores, older and deformed. They do say opposites attract. Imagine how good it would have been had we understood it all. Perhaps I should become a theatre director myself.
Up to the Ropewalk for a couple of pints of their guest ale from Mauldon. Home for a very late Spam curry.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
