Quick Blog

I'm just killing time before Ceegar and Meeper turn up for a walk and lunch. It's a bit grotty outside, but they still seem keen - so I've got my walking trews on and am brim-full of determined enthusiasm. Hurrah for wind! Hurrah for rain! Hurrah for grey skies and the feeling you'll never be warm again ...

No. It'll be great.

I had an active Monday. I actually managed to run for half an hour, followed by half an hour on the cycling machine. I have no idea exactly how long the run was, either in time or distance, but it was at least 30 minutes and it hurt like a bastard. My fitness levels are shockingly bad, but quelle surprise when I've done nothing but sit on my lardyarse fatbags all winter. However, I was pleased to do the run and then not wuss out on the cycle, which I completed on the 'hill' setting. Highest resistance was 19, and my average time was ... well, shite, but 10.8mph. I did 5 miles.

Later that evening I drove all the way to Cupar for some tennis. Unfortunately, when I arrived there was only one other person there and it was raining. We have all-weather courts, but people still expect only to play in perky sunshine, a gentle breeze setting their starched little tennis dresses a-waving while they giggle their way to drop a dainty little shot over the net.

Ok, I'm not sure I've ever been more unfair in my life. My tennis club is made up, almost exclusively, of retired - or nearly retired - people, all of whom dress with extreme practicality and most of whom are never afraid of chasing down difficult balls - almost exclusively to your own, much younger humiliation as the 64 year old grandmother whistles a backhand smash past your wobbling arse. On that evening I was miffed to have turned up after a 50 minute drive to discover I might be going home without a ball hit in anger. Luckily, the one other person who was there gave me a knock - and then another 5 people showed, so we got some doubles in. Alas, I guess I hadn't hydrated properly (as Fisher would say. I prefer the term 'drunk enough water') so I got a stonking great headache after my 8th game. I called it a day, drove home and chowed mightily down on Fisher's chicken fricasée.

So that was Monday. Yesterday we decided to go antiquing for Spartan and Blarney, to see if there were any bargains out there that might adorn their new house with original pieces, at prices not dissimilar to IKEA. We found a few bits and bobs. We then got home, cooked up some shepherd's pie (I added haggis for a touch of originality) and took it down to see them. I mean, we saw them. We didn't take the shepherd's pie to see them, as if we were two crazy Sapphics with a surrogate baby.

Hm. I now have an image of a shepherd's pie dressed in a frilly baby hat, perched in a high chair with me cooing over it. And then eating it. Freaky. I'm going to have weird dreams tonight.

I gave massages, then we ate the food. I think the pie was a success, and the Stewart Tower ice cream with chocolate Malteser cake certainly was. Champagne generously provided by Blar - whose vast bellied state dictates she could only drink a glass - was also very welcome. There was some footie on the telly, so while watching that we also looked at photos of the interior of their new house in Nitten and gave generally useless advice they didn't need or, quite probably, want. We've also threatened to come down in May and stay for a few days and just blitz the place - a promise that will stand. And now I've written it down for all to see, and everyone knows how I feel about promises, so I can't back out now.

*Finger hovers over delete button.*

*Finger retracts. Reluctantly.*

Aaanyhoo (an expression I use too often to be quite as tongue in cheek as I intend), it was a really lovely evening, and I hope my massage skills will be called upon every Tuesday or so, thus thrusting our company on them on a weekly basis. Heheh.

Oo. I think I hear a car. Time to go and walk.

Yay!! Hurrah wind! Hurrah rain! Hurrah picnic in wind and rain!

(If I don't return from this walk, let my tombstone read 'Here Lies A Victim of Determined Enthusiasm - A Lesson to Us All'.)