I went to the gym and couldn't face running, so did 30 mins on the bike, on hill - which turned out to be 8 miles ... nearly. I ran over in order to complete the distance, but only by about a minute - if that. I did a fast half mile on the treadmill, then weights.
3 x 12 reps on the pully-down thing, 30kg
3 x 12 reps bicep curler, 25kg
3 x 12 reps on the chest pressy thing (where you push out from a sitting position), either 25 or 30kg, can't remember.
To make up for all this nonsense, I then ate a whole 175g bag of Maltesers, and felt sick. Shame, as it rather spoiled Fisher's delicious Teriyaki Chicken. I really must stop doing that. I think having regular meals would help. At the moment I forget to eat, and am then SO hungry at the end of the day I scarf down anything I can get my hands on.
Ok - boring stuff out of the way. On to ... er ... more boring stuff.
Nay! For we went out! Yes indeed, a few nights ago Fisher and I donned our glad rags (more emphasis on the rags than the glad) and headed off to Edinburgh for a wine tasting at Sideways, followed by dinner at Calistoga with The Clan. It was muckle good craic, as they say round these parts. Although, I have to say, the guy giving us the wine tasting was a class 1 knob. He decided, apropos of very little, to display a bizarre desire to spout his disapproval of some Jewish people who phoned up the v posh Witchery restaurant to request Kosher food. The Witchery then had to send out to Glasgow for said Kosher nosh, which seemed to displease this fellow very much. The cheek of it! To request Kosher food! Don't these Jewish folk know they should be grateful just to be allowed to eat in Britain? King John expelled them all, and yet here they are, eating food and behaving as if nothing ever happened!
Ok, he wasn't that bad, but it did take the biscuit when he said:
"It's just my opinion but I think people are stupid like that. I mean, if it's a case of starving or eating non Kosher food, which one will you choose?"
We all stared at our feet, thinking "who said anything about starving? Who, if on borderline starvation, would be eating at the Witchery?"
He then went on to say:
"I don't see, if God exists, which I don't believe he does - " yeah, no shit " - why he'd have a problem with you eating non Kosher if it was a matter of life or death. I mean, unless you believed in some real Old Testament type God, or something."
I shit thee not, readers. He actually said this, with a proper scoff in his voice. When we pointed out, not unreasonably, that Jewish people ... er ... like, did believe in a 'real Old Testament type God' he attempted to back track, failed and, upon realising that we were all getting distinctly uncomfortable, said defiantly:
"Oh, are my views too strident for you?"
I think Barry managed to switch the topic of conversation admirably at this point, which was exceedingly good of him because I was a hair's breadth away from saying:
"Not too strident. Just pig ignorant - and quite offensive."
This would not have been a good idea. Luckily, danger was averted, we returned to swilling Californian vino (the best of the bunch being a St Francis Cabernet Sauv - who'd a thunk it? I generally dislike cabernet) and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. We then went next door for nosh at Calistoga (food good, options limited), gave Wheeler his birthday pressies, and all was most convivial.
Aside from this sojourn, I've been extraordinarily lazy this week. I've been revisiting Prince of Persia: The Warrior Within on PS2, and it's such a beautiful, atmospheric and thoroughly engrossing game! A real work of art - although I have to say, the fighting is extremely frustrating. There are just too many combinations to learn, so you end up button mashing - which I hate. On the whole, though, it's one of the best games ever made. Not quite as good as God of War, but right up there.
The other thing I've done is write a song - and embark on the next volume of Las Amazonicas. For those reading who don't know, Las Amazonicas is a book what I writted, with all my pals taking the lead roles. It's set in the 16th century, on the high seas - because it was written for Koios's Christmas present a few years ago, and that's the sort of thing she likes. Considering I know bog-all about 16th century sea-faring, it was a bit of a challenge (although not really. I just made it up). This volume continues the adventures of the all-woman crew of dastardly pirates. Considering I've been writing it for only a few hours, and have nearly 40 pages, it could turn out to be rather ... ah ... epic. Also, I had one - just one - idea to work into the plot. Alas, as usual, my friends turn out to have minds of their own, so I find the crew of Las Amazonicas quite on the other side of the world to where I wish them to be, embroiled in quite a different adventure.
So, yes. It's going to be a long 'un.
Lastly, I wrote a song. The tune is rubbish. I'm not happy with it at all, so I'm going to start again tomorrow. The lyrics are ok, though - but I can't think of a decent title. Therefore I'm going to write them down here, and hope one of you three readers can come up with something marvellous. I'm next to useless at naming things.
Here it is:
As Yet Untitled Song
The world's a broken playground
A carnival of dreams
With a troupe of strutting players
Painted fools behind the scenes
We all want the limelight
Solo dance across the floor
But we scratch amongst the chorus
Hungry wolves with blunted claws
Chorus
Every part we play is minor
Even presidents and kings
And our dreams are just a footnote
In the grandest scheme of things
We want to leave our mark here
When the darkness takes the light
But like children clutching inkwells
We've the tools but cannot write
We're a cast with no direction
With an audience of ghosts
And the stories we're declaming
A compendium of boasts
(Chorus)
Take me to the river
Wash me clean and make me whole
For this theatre of shadows
Leaves a stain upon my soul
Let me see the final curtain
In the footlights, not the lists
With no shame in my performace
No regret for lines I've missed
The world's a broken playground
A carnival of dreams
With a troupe of strutting players
Painted fools behind the scenes
We all want the limelight
Solo dance across the floor
But we scratch amongst the chorus
Hungry wolves with blunted claws
Chorus
Every part we play is minor
Even presidents and kings
And our dreams are just a footnote
In the grandest scheme of things
We want to leave our mark here
When the darkness takes the light
But like children clutching inkwells
We've the tools but cannot write
We're a cast with no direction
With an audience of ghosts
And the stories we're declaming
A compendium of boasts
(Chorus)
Take me to the river
Wash me clean and make me whole
For this theatre of shadows
Leaves a stain upon my soul
Let me see the final curtain
In the footlights, not the lists
With no shame in my performace
No regret for lines I've missed
Yes, I know some of it doesn't quite scan - but that's the beauty of music: you can let the tune bear the rhythm, and as long as your words aren't too squashed it works fine. (Yes, I'm also aware than 'kings' and 'things' is bollocks, but sod off. I've never been a particularly good poet, so leave me alone.)
Tomorrow, dogs arrive - as do Kois and Pro and Blarney and Spartan, for a weekend's chilling. I'm taking the fellas out for supper with my winnings from the Croatia game (and the extra winnings for me being a clever sausage and putting a fiver on Capello to become next England manager. Damn me for not making it a tenner!) so we can have a jolly good moan about our lot. Those not interested in the footie are remaining at home to - I dunno - crochet or something. I'm v much looking forward to it!
Will let you know how it goes.
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