The Last Supper

MD seems to bark at most dogs he meets on his morning walks but not the dogs he trains with at his agility, unless of course they make a careless error on a course, in which case he often volunteers help and advice to them. So L tries introducing him to a couple of the dogs he usually sees, so that they can be friends. Unfortunately he wasn't having any of it. Oh well. Perhaps it’s too late for them to be friends once MD has made his mind up about another dog.

I was a bit late leaving on the bike this morning. L suggest I pedal quicker, and then adds her usual ‘be careful’. I can hardly do both, can I. So I pedal quicker and put ‘careful’ on the back burner. It was also very windy but I think it was blowing my way as it didn’t seem to slow me down much.

L is torn about going into work today, as she feels she ought to be at home on her little boy's last day. Her little boy? She means our great hulking nineteen year old; who is probably saying his goodbyes to a few hostelries as we speak. That is when he gets back from his GP, where he’s having the required meningitis jab. Which I hope doesn’t put him off his curry tonight.

The other day I blogged about the weirdness of age adjusted performance. L reminds me of the time she won an orienteering competition but because the second place girl was fourteen, the girl was given the win on a handicapping system. That is even though most fourteen year olds who take up a sport like orienteering are going to be pretty physically fit and quicker than someone of our years. She reckons the girl had a ponytail and they give extra points for that... Hmmm. Well I would but I’m not sure it’s standard practice. I can see I’ve reopened a raw wound here.

I too, remember it all so well. It was known as the Galloppen, was run on a league basis and had a totally unfathomable handicapping system. It wasn’t just L. I was out galloppened every year by a chap who was twice my age and also happened to be on one of the organising committees (not that I’m saying this had anything to do with the formula used for the handicapping...). This chap never came anywhere close to beating me on a course ever, in fact I’m sure a couple of times he finished the following day... However he was still champion several years running.

I think we’ve both been psychologically scarred by the experience which is perhaps one of the reasons why we don’t orienteer any more.

The weather turns foul. By 5pm it’s blowing a gale and throwing it down. At least I’ve got full waterproofs unlike L who ran into work and hasn’t even got a coat. At least she’s not cycling or anything crazy like that.

I get home and Doggo takes one look at my bedraggled state before heading straight for the sanctuary of the bedroom, that’s before I even open the back door to show him the rain. Thankfully it doesn’t look as if there’s much will there to go for a walk on the park. Instead, MD and I play football in the garden whilst Doggo continues to hide indoors.

Then we head into town for the last supper. I can confirm that the condemned man ate a hearty meal of Lamb Madras, rice and naan bread. Tomorrow it’s Uni.

(Friday 1st October)