Dog Shaped Alarm Clock

As usual the dog shaped alarm clock goes off at just before 6am and starts licking any bit of flesh it can get its tongue on. I probably should say I like his style but I don’t. It can also be a right passion wrecker in the mornings.

I’m tapering on the bus. I consider a lunchtime run but don’t risk it. I’ve also managed to keep out of the pub at lunchtime and I haven’t heard from my squash/tennis opponent. So that’s another possible injury opportunity avoided.

L is stressed, and her event is only a piddly little tri or perhaps that not why she’s stressed. As ever I am happy to de-stress her by whatever means are necessary. So we bring forward Friday and challenge Doggo to wreck it.

He doesn’t. I cut the lawn first and that means he’s so knackered after trying to wreck that, that he can barely make it up the stairs.

(Thursday 28^th May)

Brakes? Who Needs Them

I give my now repaired bike (for a second time) a go. It seems to pedal ok and all the gears work but what have they done to the brakes? Luckily I don’t use them much.

It’s chucking it down by the time I come to cycle home and brakes suddenly become more important but also less effective. Still, looking at the horrendous traffic queues it’s still far better than driving.

L has headed over to Derby to visit her brother in hospital so there’s not even anyone to towel me down when I get home. Well, just the two four-legged towels with tongues that are willing to attempt to lick anyone's legs dry.

Ultimately it’s that wet, that two tongues are not nearly enough and we have to leave for dog training before the job is done.

(Wednesday 6^th November)

Drifts

It’s zero degrees but the sun is out so I bike.

There is still some snow around.

Although mostly the snow drifts have been replaced drifts of grit. They have dumped so much of it on the roads, which combined with some very dry weather, has simply left it all piled up in the gutter. My wheels kick up clouds of it as I bike through dunes of the stuff at the side of the road.

The other problem is I’ve put on far too much. That’s as in clothes, not weight. Then again, perhaps both. Anyhow, I’m well hot by the time I get to work.

L spends the morning filling in on reception at her work and listening to Simon Bates. Who is still going strong, now on Smoooooooth Radio. Still doing the Golden Hour and his mushy story bit. None of which I ever believed. L is apocalyptic at that, clearly a believer. Perhaps I'm just a sceptic.

She threatens to write in and request REM’s ‘Tongue’, one of ‘our’ songs. Although I'm not sure that's quite the sort of story they usually broadcast. I’ll pop it on the hi-fi tonight. Although, Daughter's home. Looks like we’ll have to slip her a tenner, like the old days.

We go to a different pub at lunch, The Waterfall, for variation. The beer won’t be as good but perhaps the food will be better. The pie isn’t. It’s distinctly average and comes in a dish. I hate pies in dishes. The Abbot Ale is decent though.

Unfortunately 5% Abbot + Pie and Mash + Cycling to work = doesn't bode well for a decent performance at squash. I'm not wrong.

(Thursday 28^th March)