The Cycling Gauntlet

I’m hurt, mentally. I’ve been at work for two hours and L’s not asked yet if I’m alive, having ridden the cycling gauntlet again... I could be in a ditch somewhere. She’s apologetic when I point out her lack of concern.

It's probably the pain of being back at work, which is also making her consider drowning her stresses in Waterstones because she’s not allowing herself booze or chocolate this week. AF and CF, well she ought to be BF as well. That mountainous book pile alongside her side of the bed can’t really take another addition. It’s already doubtful whether those at the bottom will see daylight again in myhttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif lifetime. AF, BF and CF, L's ABC of being ‘free from’.

The local press are up in arms that they’ve changed the recipe of HP sauce, which was conceived in Nottingham. What they don’t mention is that the once great ‘British’ sauce is now made in Holland. I've been boycotting it ever since. Although Wikipedia says the sachets are made in Telford, so perhaps I’ll nick a few of them the next time I’m out.

I pedal home as fast as I can following an SOS from Daughter. Typically a few days before she goes off to Uni her computer has decided to break down. The prognosis does not look good, as I have a quick look before heading off to dog class.

Meanwhile Daughter heads off out for yet another round of tearful goodbyes before she becomes a Yorkshireite (be careful how you say that) or perhaps the term's a Yorkie? I thought all the goodbye-ing would be done through Facebook these days but apparently not. Although a lack of a computer wouldn’t help...

Christmas is going to be manic for her if during her fortnight off she has to fit in a week of tearful hellos and another week of tearful goodbyes, somehow slotting Christmas in the middle of it.

(Wednesday 14th September)