Indispensable Excesses

On Saturday morning we head to Forest Rec parkrun. Such is life that I have planned the trains for our trip to Manchester around parkrun. I run with MD, badly. Daughter walks Doggo because she’s injured. L tailwalks but then gets spotted breaking into a run (several times) when she’s supposed to be walking.

Then we head off for our chilled and romantic Mancunian weekend with loads of beer, food, cycling and other indispensable excesses. Daughter has kindly offered to dog sit. After the slow train to Manchester we check in to the Holiday Inn on Oxford Road where we are on a freebie ‘rewards’ weekend which to my surprise also includes breakfast. So we will not be breakfasting at the local Subway, which we can see from our bedroom window and which, of course, is Daughter’s former workplace.

We have tickets for the Track Cycling World Cup this evening which starts at 6.30pm. So time for a beer or two. We find a place called The Knott where the Fell Milk Stout at 5.2% appeals to both of us. We wash it down (or should that be the other way around) with one of their pizzas.

After making our way out to the cycling, watching some great action, we then return to the same Castlefields area of Manchester to The Briton's Protection, a Grade II listed pub dating from 1806. It is ok but not as good as The Knott. So we return there, only to find that one Milk Stout has been replaced by another with Black Jack Milk Stout now on the bar. Clearly the Knott is the place for Milk Stout.

We are also at the Velodrome for the Sunday afternoon session from 3pm but L insists on showing me the local Waterstones first. Although this still leaves us time for a lunchtime pint in Café Beermoth. Then when the cycling finishes at 6pm we get the train home.

Great Britain finished the event in second place on the medal table with three gold medals, which was good but only as good Kristina Vogel who managed three on her own as the German team won overall with four.

(Sunday 12^th November)

Mrs Beeton

On the bike and I’m late for work, not that I have any reason for this, other than being sluggish getting out of bed.

L complains about one of the dog refusing to go through the park gates and wanting to go home. I assumed she meant MD, keen to get back for his breakfast but no she means the old man. I've never had that problem with him. It’ll be interesting if he refuses when I’ve got the footballs on Saturday. Neither of them are actually that much into walking... they’d both make terrible dogs.

L plans a night of running, painting, knitting, reading and hoovering as well as soup and noodle making for tea. A woman's work is never done. Her words not mine. She’s turning into Mrs Beeton. Her words not mine. That’s a much fitter and sexier Mrs Beeton obviously, I don’t recall Mrs B running many half marathons but I could be wrong.

Did you know Mrs Beeton died age 28 and allegedly couldn't cook? Me neither.

Meanwhile I’m swimming. When L swam yesterday morning there were only two folk in the pool, including herself, and she bragged about spreading herself around a bit. Tonight, even the quietest of the six lanes has at least three people in it. If I spread myself around a bit I’ll end up spread all over the five young bikini wearing ladies in lane 3. Such is life.

Then its dog class with a very fired up MD. He does fired up so well. I need to get him booked into some events soon before this fired-up-ness wears off.

(Wednesday 11th January)