Graveyard Shift

It’s cold, it’s wet, I’m such a wimp. I decide to stay dry and go to work on the bus.

There is no squash again tonight. Although my opponent is fit the only courts available were at 8.15 or later. That to him is the graveyard shift, for me it would just about be the perfect time. Plenty of time to cycle home, get my breath back, rest the legs a touch and maybe even get something to eat.

Instead, it’s Plan B, which really should be called Plan A, as it’s much more fun. L and MD do their usual walk to the Dispensary where Doggo and I meet them, having driven there. I grab a quickie in the gym first though.

In the Dispensary they have a tasty Milk Stout from the Bristol Beer Factory and something from Watneys... I do find the fashion for resurrecting old defunct breweries rather strange. Surely the use of Watneys which closed in 1979, and is famous for its much maligned Red Barrel and Party 7s, must be one of the most ironic or perhaps not?

(Thursday 2^nd March)

Article 50

Still nobody has a plan. Meanwhile the pound is now worth peanuts and not even a full packet at that. The one bonus is that at least all the impending doom has got more people interested in politics.

L has started writing her memoirs, basically documenting the unfolding chaos. She says it’s going to be her own ‘Politics for Thickos’ book. I hope she’s gracious with the royalties when they start flooding in.

She has purchased a book on basic politics to get her started but she knocked back my offer of the snappily titled ‘Politics for Dummies’ because she wasn’t sure she could sit and read it on the bus or the train or in the pub. All she’d have to do is wrap a copy of ’50 Shades’ around the outside of it if she wants to look normal. Daughter, however, has no such qualms and orders said book.

L's also activate the Facebook equivalent of Article 50 and she’s out, deactivated, gone and no longer friends with me or anybody for that matter. It’s all happening.

It's pub night with the old school chums today, I wonder if they’re in or out. One of each as it happens. The outer, who’s unemployed, will just have to put up with our doom mongering. Number 51, Mill Town Black Jack, lightens the mood a touch.

At Antibos later, I’m sure the 100% European staff are trying to disguise their accents or is it just me imagining it.

(Tuesday 28^th June)

Wind Assisted Tennis

MD had it on him this morning and kept throwing his ball under my bike as I was trying to get it out the shed. I’m glad I’m not walking him this morning, although I will be tomorrow.

L suggests that if my calf is too sore I could always cancel tennis and rest it in the pub with her. Tempting. Actually it’s not too bad this morning. I’m happy to rest it in the pub after tennis.

That is if it is tennis. It depends on the weather. Tennis is Plan A but if it rains it’ll be squash, we’ve got a court booked just in case.

By lunchtime, with the weather looking good, we’ve cancelled the squash court and are looking forward to wind assisted Tennis. It doesn’t look like rain but it could be interesting serving with the wind, will never keep the ball in court. At least we’ll have something to blame our bad shots on.

I don’t enjoy the first set - 2-6. I’m not enjoying the second set either at 2-4 but enjoy it more when it becomes 6-5. I warn my opponent that after an hour and a half on court I’m not playing a decider if I win this one. It’ll be dark soon. I don’t, perhaps a lack of motivation is the problem here. I lose on a tie break.

L’s in the gym, probably getting a refresher course as it’s so long since she’s been. Although not as long as since I last went. We all adjourn to the White Hart.

(Thursday 23rd June)