Falkland Ho!

After an extremely non-productive morning, spent watching the final ever Sopranos (deeply unsatisfying, as I predicted. TV script writers simply don't know how to end things - and even with all the arty-farty techinques from my Theatre Studies A Level and English degree, I'm just left thinking they totally copped out by 'letting the viewer decide'. I dunno about anyone else, but I'm fed up with being left to decide. It would make a change if the storyteller actually decided for once), playing Civilization III on the computer and feeling antsy, I decided to bother Fisher.

"No, no," I told myself, "she's working. Leave her be. Entertain yourself."

I closed out of Civilization, banished Camino, and opened all the Word documents with bits of my novel on them. I looked at them. They looked at me.

Another hour of Civ followed. It was time to bother Fisher.

It being a beautiful day outside, we decided to take the dogs for a walk. However, the last few times we've been to the beach it's been unbearably windy and the sand gets in your eyes. Fisher didn't want to go to Tentsmuir, so we decided to go, randomly, to Falkland and walk the Lomond hills.

It was looooovely. The sun shone on us all the way, and we did the West Lomond walk, which is 7k (4.3 miles) with a short, steep climb at the end (about 200m). It took us an astonishing 2 hours to do such a short distance, which means we were walking at a cheetah-esque 2mph. Strange, considering we didn't really feel as if we were dawdling. I suppose we did stop for quite a few photos, too.

Nearing the Summit
We chased the sun on the way home, and because neither of us could be arsed to cook, got a pizza - which is why I now feel fat, sick and seriously pissed off with myself. Hey ho - at least Pro and I have let our bet ride to the end of March - with the prize now being a full meal, bought and paid for by the looosah.

So that was today. Rather fun - except that Fisher, in her usual bout of contagious optimism, managed to persuade me against my better judgement that we must have walked 6 miles. It sure as hell didn't feel like 6 miles, but so convincing was she that I allowed her to dupe me into believing. Bah. I really should know better by now.