Run Guinea Pig Run

My colleague at work retires today after something like 35 years at the company. Which is scary but what is scarier is that I’m not that far behind on length of service. Even more importantly, who will I go for 2-for-1 pizzas with now?

They shut the company for an hour and a half over lunch, order in an excellent buffet and several bottles of champagne. After three glasses, I’ll be a bit crap on my run tonight.

Also after around three glasses my boss mentioned that the company would sponsor me if I did the London Marathon as a charity place. So that’s food for thought, although it wouldn’t cover all the fund raising I’d need to do it would be a good start. That said, it looks as if getting a charity place isn’t easy as most of them seem to be saying they are full and have waiting lists.

It was suggested, bizarrely, by someone that I do it for Guinea Pig Rescue and run it dressed as a guinea pig. L seems horrified at the thought. I guess that means she wouldn’t be up for snogging a sweaty guinea pig at the finish line. She also confirms that she wouldn’t be up for the training runs with a guinea pig either. I wonder what the Lad’s view would be. Would he still run with me? Or would he try and chase me up a tree?

After work I run nine miles fuelled by champagne and king prawn vol au vents. I also, heroically, even cycle to work the next day. My first ride in three weeks.

We don’t parkrun on Saturday as L is too injured, so we get a very welcome lie-in instead. She vows to throw herself into the gym later. Not that any throwing is allowed, she needs to ease herself gently into the gym.

There’s a match on Saturday afternoon and then in the evening we visit a new pub and one we haven’t been to for about a decade. First we go to the Herbert Kilpin which hides down an alleyway called Bridlesmith Walk off Fletcher Street. Kilpin was a footballer from Nottingham who went on to form A.C. Milan in Italy. Then we revisit the Bunkers Hill Inn.

(Saturday 23^rd November)