I manage to bike to work on Tuesday, which given the horrendous traffic was clearly much preferable to driving or being on the bus. I assume something must have happened on the A52.
L meets her parents for lunch, which is apparently cottage pie followed by apple crumble, all off the children's meal at £3.90 each. No wonder they don't cook much.
I'm dogging in the evening while Daughter takes L on a Fartlek session. Scary. This is despite her dodgy arm which her GP, in a phone call, assures L isn’t infected and says it should go away in a few weeks. Although she's already had the problem for quite a few weeks...
Her boss takes a look at it and says it’s infected. So off she heads to see her GP to get antibiotics.
I’m on the bike again on Wednesday which is also known as London Marathon rejection day. L’s sister gets hers first and she’s probably really relieved. Then Daughter gets hers followed by me. So perhaps L got lucky? Nope, hers follows soon afterwards. A full house then.
My latest beer delivery doesn’t arrive in time for us to drown our sorrows and is listed on the courier's website as damaged in transit, which sounds messy. It’s gone back to the retailer and they’re having to do me a new box.
Taking of beer, we spend Thursday evening at the Nottingham Beer Festival drinking our way through some interesting beers and eating a curry from Mem Saab’s mobile van (which is oddly more expensive than eating in their restaurant). I have a steak and stilton pasty for dessert but L doesn't join me in that.
I manage nearly 11 units while L only manages 6. Someone clearly wasn’t trying.
(Thursday 10th October)