After staying out in Bingham overnight I head home, dodge past the four-legged guards at the front door and slip into bed with L.
Parkrun has again been eschewed in view of D-Day, for
injured ankles and the like, in Sheffield tomorrow.
Later I take the dogs on the park but Doggo quickly slams
his anchors on when he spies a large white marquee in the next field that
wasn’t there the other day. I think he’s worried it’s suddenly going to fill
with air and go whoosh over his head. Among other things, he has issues with hot air
balloons. In fact, that dog just has issues, full stop.
With no obvious films worth seeing on at the local cinemas,
we decide to stay in and prepare properly for D-Day. Pasta and no alcohol.
(Saturday 11th May)
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