I get the bus in with the intention of running home, although my legs feel wrecked after cycling yesterday and then playing squash last night. Then it rains for most of the day, putting a dampener on my enthusiasm as well.
I read on the bus that in a recent study, women who considered themselves to be good looking were more likely to get mad if you argued with them, than those who didn’t think they were good looking... particularly I would guess if you told them they weren’t pretty...
L says she is fine... She didn’t look fine earlier when she couldn’t bend down. She’s somehow done something to her back. I’ve not seen her in this state since she fell over skiing a few years ago and landed on the bottle of sun cream that was in her pocket. On that occasion it took weeks until she could bend properly again.
She has the afternoon off work, so that she can wait in for the man who says he’s going to make all our central heating problems go away. She ‘hobbles’ home, her words, not mine. So much for being fine. If that was me she’d be nagging me to see someone about it and I would have ignored her, just like she is me.
She attempts to work from home. I have visions of her lying on the floor, nursing her bad back whilst jabbing her finger at the keyboard she’s holding above her head. Perhaps not.
Her work is scuppered because our computer won't co-operate. Although she's not being very helpful with the details, and sounds just like one of our clients. Turns out it's an internet problem. I suppose it’s possible that this has something to do with reports of an explosion in the centre of Nottingham and 3000 premises that are reported to be without power. Someone’s blog post that the whole of central Nottingham is on fire does appear to be a little wide of the mark.
The gas man turns up, a different one, who has no idea what the previous man did or didn’t do and hasn’t brought the parts we were promised. So he has to start all over again. He replaces the standard pressure release valve that the other chap said, on its own, wouldn’t fix the problem. We’ve had this replaced before, so presumably it won’t make any difference this time either.
L is now complaining that our computer has locked totally and refuses to accept her latest Sophie Kinsella audio book... it could of course just be expressing a critical opinion.
The rain stops and I run home. Well as far as Attenborough. It was rather uneventful run, pleasant at times, unpleasant at others. I had one sticky moment when I hopped into the cycle lane to go around a car parked on the pavement and almost got run down by a cyclist. They don’t stop you know, these cyclists.
I reach my destination, hoping for 11 miles, I get 10.5, that is according to my GPS. According to my legs it’s far enough. I lean against the bus stop, sweating profusely and alarming the rest of the bus queue. It alarms them even more when I join them on the bus.
At home Son is out, again. He may be getting good grades at the moment but it won’t last if he keeps popping down the pub at such regularity. Don’t know where he gets it from. I reassure L that he’s just practising for University. All my best assignments we’re conceived in the pub.
He’s bringing a few friends back later, as it Daughter, so we are told to make ourselves scarce. We best pop down the pub then.
When we get back a few hours later the central heating is still working. Strange.