Time To Let Our Hair Down

At lunchtime I do another 5k run and then after work I swim. For once, I arrive at a near empty pool and get a lane to myself. It’s so good that if anyone had tried to join me I would have started backstroking to stop them. I swim 60 lengths.

Daughter has temporarily gone back to Sheffield ready to do clearing for the university tomorrow and is staying until Saturday. So we have the house to ourselves... we can let our hair down for a bit and have a Friday night, every night. 

(Wednesday 13^th August)

Unpalatable Language

The ride into work went well apart from the fact I had some parasite hitching a lift on my rear wheel all the way to Derby. He was dawdling along so slowly I had no choice but to pass him but then miraculously he found enough momentum to hide in my slipstream. No apologies but a cheery wave when he finally pulled off.

It was almost as bad on the way home. I saw a chap trying to catch me, so I put on a bit of a spurt. Which meant, when we both had to stop at the lights, he ended up collapsed at my feet, uttering some rather unpalatable language concerning my sudden acceleration. At least he was chatty, when he got his breath back, and apologised for using me as a hare.

Daughter is on the university helplines today dealing with enquiries about clearing. I think she’s loving the power she has over people lives, telling them whether they meet the criteria for a place at the Uni or not.

Full of Olympic spirit, I decide to treat L to a weekend away... in Glasgow. She likes cities. The first event at the brand new Sir Chris Hoy Velodrome is a round of the Track Cycling World Cup, which doubles as a test event prior to the 2014 Commonwealth Games.

Still scarred by the brutal experience of Olympic ticket buying, I get my strategy right this time and velodrome tickets for Friday and Saturday night are purchased and a hotel. All I need now is train tickets... at £120 each return with two changes, perhaps not.

Tennis tonight is truly horrible. I really do not like playing tennis, the courts are far too small these days...

(Thursday 16th August)

Utmost Confidence

Its ‘A Level’ results day and hopefully our most uneventful exam results day ever because I have utmost confidence in Daughter getting the grades she needs. In fact before I’m even on the 7:10 bus she’s rang me to tell me she’s checked UCAS and she’s definitely got her place at Sheffield Hallam. Although I think I heard the screams of delight from the bus stop. Seems she was one of the few who got on the UCAS site before it went down and the actual results will be a bit of an anticlimax now that we know she’s in.

I run the last four miles into work which is hard work at first, after that speed session with L last night, but I got into it and ran every step.

Daughter’s acceptance letter arrives in the post. So they obviously knew a day or two ago, seems the student is the last to know. Meanwhile the media are spreading the usual scare stories about thousands not being able to secure a place at University. Utter garbage. The university places were effectively doled out months ago when people got their offers.

Having done the whole university application thing twice now in two years I speak from experience when I say that there’s one simple rule to ensure a place at University and that is make sure your child applies for places on University courses that they are capable of getting the grades for. If you don’t, you either won’t get any offers or you won’t get the grades for the offers you get. The system even allows you to hold an 'insurance offer' at lower grades in case you don’t get your first choice. So there really is no excuse. Follow that simple rule and then there’s no panic, no tears and most importantly no clearing.

After a bit of carbo loading and replacement of lost fluids over lunch, in the pub, I’m all set to go for bloody tennis. For which, my opponent seems to have seriously upped his game. He must have been practising, which he denies. I reckon he’s borrowed a wii or something. His improved game actually makes me play better and it’s definitely my best match of the year. I even enjoy it. The result is still the same though.

No, I didn’t manage to wangle a free game out of the nice young lady that L gave me the phone number of. Actually there was nothing nice about her at all, she’d got an inner Rottweiler, and wouldn’t let me use my free pass for the tennis centre on a tennis court.

Later we’re in the White Hart, the former home of the best pint of the much missed Kimberley Classic and now possibly the former home of a decent pint of Abbot too. This week we again have the two beers from Full Mash and no Abbot, which is good in a way because they’re local but unfortunately the bar staff let them down.

It seems to be the very same two barrels and one of the beers is clearly off but remains on sale. Whilst the other is dragging its heels along the bottom of the barrel because the barmaid can’t get a full pint into the glass because the line is full of air. She shrugs as if serving the pint an inch from the top of the glass isn’t a problem. It’s not even froth, it’s just empty. I point out to her that the barrel must be empty but that part of staff training clearly hasn’t been done yet.

On the plus side they do curries for a fiver here with rice and naan included. We try one, in fact we try two, one each, and both are excellent. So we’ll be back for the food if not for the beer.

When we get home about 10:15, the A-Level passees are still pre-drinking in Daughter’s bedroom. They’ll never get cheap curries that way.

(Thursday 18th August)