Bedraggled

I think we're all thoroughly sick of this drought now, so go away and stop raining please. We now have flood warnings in the supposedly barren south-west.

To top it off I was too sluggish leaving home and missed the bus, which was then slow as it had to weave around the flooded areas of the A52. Late for work. To top that off I have my running kit with me, so that I can run in the blessed wet stuff later. Joy.

The weather does tease me a touch, fining up nicely during the afternoon before going deathly black overhead just before home time.

At least L’s had a good day at work ‘I can't decide whether to throw myself out of the window or go to the gym’. The latter may be more beneficial to her health.

I run quite a long way, three blocks (in the 'trade' they call them bricks) of three miles, so nine in all, if my maths is correct. I get the bus the last few miles, although at first I don’t think the driver is going to let me on. He gives me the sort of disgusted look that anyone would give a damp bedraggled person who is about to make their bus seats very wet. I give him a look that tries to say ‘I’ll stand up if you wish’. The nice man lets me on.

(Wednesday 25th April )

In For The Long Haul

L saves me this morning by making me late enough to miss the bus and therefore I don't get soaked in another of those drought inducing thunderstorms but I'm still in plenty of time to drive. In theory. The traffic is horrendous. I can’t even get on the A52 at Bramcote. Diverted through Stapleford nothing is moving there either, so I end up doing a u-turn and going through Ilkeston. I’m sure it’s only this bad when I elect to drive.

At least I’ve chucked some kit in the car and I head to John Carroll Leisure Centre after work. Although I’m not a great fan of the gym.

They only have two bikes in their gym and one of them has a sign on it, saying out of order. They do have two other bikes but they don’t have their pedals in the right place, they’re a bit like those pedal go-carts that some folk had as a kid but which seemed far too much effort to be of any use.

On the one unbroken (almost) proper bike is a chap in a woolly hat who seems to be in for the long haul. Thirty minutes later he’s still there. Which is perfectly fine. I wanted at least thirty minutes myself. It’s not really worth putting your leg over for less.

Unfortunately this leaves me with the dreadmill for company, which wasn’t what I had planned at all and this keeps cutting out every ten minutes telling me my session has ended, which obviously it hasn’t because I’m still here and having to restart it all over again. Stupid thing. After the thing cuts out for a third time I give up and go for a swim. I’m not a great fan of the gym.

I’m also not a great fan of the pool. I get into lowly lane four because it looks quietest. In it are just two other people and they aren’t doing much swimming. I assume they know each other because they stop for a grope and a snog after every length, not that they do many. This is good actually as it means they don’t get in my way.

Sadly after a while they get out, presumably to continue their performance elsewhere, and three lads replace them. The lads dawdle in the shallow end making it very difficult for me to actually touch the side to turn. They don’t show much sign of doing any swimming, perhaps as they’re teenagers they’ve forgotten how or simply CBA. I conclude they’re probably just ‘hanging out’, trying to look cool, trying to pull the chicks etc. In which case they’re wasting their time, she’s just pulled and got out. When one of them does finally remember how to swim, I duck out of the way of his flailing arms and decide it’s time to call it a day. I must have done at least thirty lengths anyway.

I get home in time to take the boys out but it’s still too wet to walk or train the dogs, so we'll just have to chuck hot dogs instead.

(Wednesday 18th April)

Drought

Just as the warning comes out that the current ‘drought’ could last until Christmas it starts chucking it down. At least I got the grass seed down. We have a hosepipe ban of course but then I thought the one they announced ten years or so ago was still in force. It never seems to make the news when they cancel it, if they ever do. If they’re short of water they ought to come to our garden, it never dries out and we have the pawprints to prove it.

Despite still feeling very stiff I attempt a run. One is often required to ease such aches. I follow orders and take it easy. The first mile to the bus is terrible and it doesn't get any more palatable as I hobble home from Stapleford. It felt like 10 miles but was probably only 200 yards. Thankfully the GPS thinks it was somewhere in the middle.

Back home I set up a few jumps in the garden and train MD in the rain.

(Tuesday 17th April)

Drought

On the bus, some call it tapering, for a jaunt around sexy Stoke on Sunday.

Have you heard that they’ve declared a drought in eastern England? Apparently it’s not much better here in the midlands.

As I ride home from work on the bus, the driver can’t seem to find a fast enough setting to clear the latest thunderstorm from his windscreen. Oddly as we drive through Bramcote everywhere is white over. Snow or hail? I’m not sure. The rain eases off by the time I get off the bus in Nottingham but the deluge has left its mark.



Though I imagine it’s the wrong kind of rain to ease the drought.



I get home to find one dog, bone dry, waiting for me to open the bedroom door so that he can hide whilst the other one is bouncing around in the garden in the rain and up to his eyeballs in mud, waiting for his ball to be kicked. They are so not alike. I take one look at the ominous clouds still lurking over head and axe the planned park session, whilst also refusing to kick MD’s ball on health and safety grounds. He sulks.

L’s at the pool, with the delightful pleasure of slipping into rain soaked clothes once she’s finished her swim.

Things do ease up later and MD does get his ball kicked, for a while, before we slip out to the Ropewalk for a few.

(Friday 10th June)