Something Hot On The Table

It’s really warm on the bike this morning. What’s wrong with the weather? We head to the pub at lunchtime almost in shirt sleeves.

The BBC announces that sticks are bad for your dogs, L was hoping it would be balls. It'll be alcohol next.

A night at home tonight being a househusband slaving over a hot stove and putting something hot on the table for L when she returns home from pumping iron.

(Wednesday 20^th January)

A False Sense Of Security

Dogging is ‘surprisingly’ off so after work I head to John Carroll for a swim. Where I am lulled into a false sense of security as I jump into lane 2 where the only occupant is a girl with immaculate hair piled up on top of her head, bone dry, who is chatting away to someone in the next lane and not doing any swimming.

Eventually she finishes chatting and starts swimming only after I've took the edges off myself with 20 lengths of the pool. Then she wipes the floor with me.

I crawl home to see if I can resist ball chucking for a fourth day in a row.

L has headed to Harvey Hadden for a workout blitz. I’m not exactly sure what a ‘workout blitz’ involves but in this case I’m told in involves Pump and Pilates.

I do the househusband thing and promise to have something hot on the table ready for when she gets home.

(Monday 4^th January)