"for the happy, the sad, I don't want to be, another page in your diary"

Monday, 28 March 2011

Statement of Intent

Disaster. I was 11th yesterday, not 10th, but on the bright side, I went under 43 minutes according to the chip times and there was only one girl in front of me. Oh hang on, there were two. Timing wise, it was odd that the timing mat was 100 metres down the road from the start. Not sure if that means the course was actually more than 10k or the timing distance was less than 10k?

This morning I continue my stint with the dogs and take them on the park, throwing balls for them, so my shoulder aches now again.

Six days to go until the gun fight at the Derby 10k. Protégé is on porridge this morning... he never has porridge... I fear this means he’s taking it all far too seriously. Still, I too had porridge but there were no bananas left at home to go with it. I do think he’s copying my breakfast strategy and has to go one up on bananas with his porridge. Blueberries! It’s psychological warfare... I’ll be checking his desk for sports drink when he leaves the office.

The seriousness of the event does not stop at work. L announces she's taking the event so seriously that she’s abstaining from alcohol all week until midday on Sunday. Clearly, I need to watch my back, from all sides.

I shall do the same. Well apart from one to recover from squash on Thursday and oh... there’s a works night out on Friday.

I go to Sainsbury’s at lunchtime for the weekly shop, bananas and perhaps even blueberries. Only Sainsbury’s has sabotaged everything with one of their annoying reorganisations. Their poor staff were getting it in the neck from dozens of irate customers. I couldn’t find any strawberries, let alone blueberries. In fact I came away without several things I usually buy. So their takings will be down this week, serves them right.

L and I are both out tonight but, perhaps as a statement of intent, both alcohol free. L’s on what she describes as ‘a pure, uninterrupted, eat-drink-gossip night’ which used to involve running but no longer seems to.

I’m in the pub for a committee meeting of the dog club. If ever I need alcohol it was now, talk about pointless arguing, but I stick to fruit juice. As I sip it, I ponder whether it would be acceptable to strangle a couple of fellow committee members.

Afterwards I pick the dogs up from my parents, who in a moment of madness had offered to dog sit. Both dogs look exhausted, as does my father. That’s the first time he’s had MD round without me being there to referee, maybe he won’t offer again.

(Monday 28th March)

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