I could be on borrowed time. L has been checking out the six pack on a 93 year old body builder. Come to think of it she didn't actually say whether they were male or female but she was so impressed she’s thinking of taking up body building herself. I actually have no idea what that involves, maybe taking steroids, eating raw meat and perhaps pumping the odd bit of iron. L intends to Google it.
We visit the pub at lunchtime where I get my hand around a Slumbering Monk and my chops around a rather nice minted lamb casserole. All perfect preparation for the return of squash tonight.
That is if I get there. As I set off home by bike, I have a ‘mechanical’ with my cleats. Two screws, one in each foot, have fallen out. Which is my fault for not tightening them up enough but I didn’t do so because last time I had them so tight I couldn’t get them off to change them. Now the upshot is that I can’t get them in my pedals and have to ride home unclipped.
Typically sod’s law dictates that some someone, most likely a girlie, will come belting past you thereby challenging you to a race because, being unclicked, you are unable to respond in a satisfactory fashion.
Yep, with a waggle of her rear and a flick of her ponytail she’s off up the road before you can get the expletives out. Bugger. I set off in wobbly pursuit and do at least manage to slipstream her for a while.
Squash ends in a 3-2 defeat, which is a victory really. After which we have a refreshing pint in the Navigation. As it’s an early game the manic guitarist, who bizarrely also turns out to be L’s Pilates instructor, hasn’t have started up yet. L has walked the dogs up from home and quickly strikes up conversation with the enemy.
(Thursday 25th September)