Certain Catastrophe

On Thursday, L and I have a pre-tennis tennis knock up before her class. It’s a bit wet underfoot, actually very wet underfoot, and L is worried that I'll injure myself but then, if we don’t play, I’m quite capable of injuring myself in our garden while kicking balls for the dogs.

I don’t cycle on Thursday and I also don’t cycle on Friday as for the second day running the weather forecast on Radio 5 warns cyclists that they face certain catastrophe if they venture out in the elements or words to that affect. The forecast predicts heavy rain and hail but they were wrong on Thursday and they’ll probably be wrong again. I know they’re just winding me up and I’m a fool to believe them but I get on the bus again.

In fact when I go out for a sandwich at lunch time I am more concerned about heatstroke than hail but it does start to rain later, although not that dramatically. I hope no one’s planning a dog jog tonight. Ah, L and Daughter are. Just to get the dogs out of the way while I get my massage.

On Saturday we go up to Sherwood Pines to Parkrun and then in the afternoon, well teatime obviously for bloody TV, Derby play Leeds in the 1st Leg of the Championship Play Off Semi Final.

My Leeds supporting friend leaves his darkened room long enough to watch it, likening it to a TV series you’ve long ago lost interest in but you still force yourself to watch it through to it’s grisly and disappointing conclusion. Then Leeds win 1-0 and he’s suddenly looking forward to the next episode.

I go in person, via a visit to see L’s Dad in hospital, and even bump into Son. Who kept his attendance quiet, probably because he’s always a jinx.

Meanwhile in Derby itself, L says it’s like WW2. Lots of fighting and they’ve brought in the police dogs. She questions who’d be a police officer or a police dog? Daughter and the Lad obviously. They’d sort them out.

(Saturday 11^th May)