Bath Time

As we have no races, dog shows and not even a home match this weekend, the dogs get two consecutive days on the park. Both days enable them to coat themselves in plenty of mud, such is the amount of precipitation of both the frozen and unfrozen varieties we’ve had this winter. Today is particularly bad and, much to Doggo’s terror, once we get back home I close off all exit routes from the kitchen and fill a bucket with soapy water. Bath time!

Late afternoon we head over to Leamington, taking Son and his significant other out for lunch. Desperate to avoid another identikit Wetherspoons Sunday Lunch, we visit the White Horse, which comes complete with a real 'live' plastic horse outside. 

The food is good, if pricey. They even do a very good cheeseboard. The beer is, again, blonde. It must be a conspiracy.

(Sunday 10^th February)

Delivering Food Parcels

On the park again with the boys, which is a shock to them, two days in row, and means they’ll sleep the rest of the day. Then a bit more bathroom work before we head over to Leamington to visit Son, deliver a food parcel and then go for lunch with him and his significant other. If that is indeed what she is.

We head to the gym on the way back, I feel I have to put in the effort and also achieve the monthly visit that will trigger my £50 cash back at the end of a year.

I suppose having asked me to download something from The Wanted, ‘purely for the gym of course’, L needs chance to use and abuse it. Perhaps for her own good I should have refused. Not that I’m really sure who The Wanted are, although I've heard rumours, but I wasn’t going to listen to it first to find out.

I do a mere 10k on the bike before turning to the dreadmill. After only around three quarters of a kilometre this already feels like a bad idea. Maybe it has something to do with the Lamb Shank followed by chocolate pudding that I had around an hour ago. I’m already feeling queasy before the silly device starts flashing up heart rate warnings and telling me to stop. It was reading 165bpm. So it doesn’t know what it’s talking about. Whatever happened to ‘HRmax = 220 - age’? I’m not 55 and I have told it this fact.

(Sunday 13th November)