Repeated Use Of The Delete Button

L forgets her phone this morning. Which is always a bit weird, like having your arm cut off, although it shouldn’t be.

It’s actually not a bad day to be without your phone as mine is simply full of dozens and dozens of Black Friday emails. I’m getting a sore finger from repeated use of the delete button. I wonder who I can sue for personal injury.

I just hope she hasn’t left her phone in the kitchen because the constant pinging of email arrival might keep the boys awake. Then again, somehow I doubt it would.

I’m on the bus today after three hard days cycling but obviously I can’t skip a workout completely so I go for a slightly less hard session on the Watt Bike, just a swift 15k to top the testosterone up for the weekend.

L arranges to walk the dogs up to meet my bus but I don’t get there. With her phone having been left home alone all day pinging away it’s now on charge so she doesn’t get my message telling her the second accident I’ve come across in three days has blocked the A52 at Bramcote. At least one if not two cars are on fire and one of the cars is in two pieces, one each side of the carriageway. Not good at all.

With the hold up looking to go on for some time, I hop off the bus and walk/jog home, only of course for the bus to then pass me. So that ‘slightly less hard’ gym session turns in to an impromptu brick session instead.

(Friday 25^th November)

A Bit Of Table

I collect L’s Derby 10k race number and t-shirt from the stadium. I think the t-shirt is exactly the same as last year’s design but in charcoal grey. How practical, it matches the dog and won’t show the hairs or the mud.

After work I do a short brick session in the gym before heading home to put something hot on the table for L when she returns from her literary evening and to prevent Doggo licking it. He does like a bit of table.

Talking of literary evenings, L has just arranged a naughty night out with an author e.g. it’ll be wine, cake and books. She says I’ll have to send her out handcuffed. Hmmm, an intriguing thought. It would certainly cause a stir. She should never jest about such things.

(Tuesday 12^th April)

Glowing With Smug

Apparently I have competition. My occasional (when I don’t see him first), self-appointed, personal trainer is apparently now doing the half marathon on Sunday after previously announcing he was giving away his number. My spies saw him training on the dreadmill this morning and believe he has said he's aiming for two and a half hours. L says they all say that. Well, she normally says three hours.

I’m delighted for him and now we can run together. I’m aiming for two and a half hours as well. L promises to throw bottles at us from Triumph Road. She’s thoughtful like that.

She's also feeling very smug, practically glowing with smug having done a brick session. That must have involved a bike.

Tonight the much derided match forcibly relocated from Saturday. Subsequently attendance is about 5k down on what you would expect. Despite being 0-0 it’s a good close game that Derby would maybe have won had we had a manager who is a bit more prepared to take risks. He’s still new, so perhaps he’ll become more daring in time.

The joy of Monday’s is that our usual post match haunt, The Harrington in Elvaston doesn’t open. We visit Aston’s Malt Shovel and celebrate my Dad’s Birthday with a couple of drinks.

(Monday 21^st September)