Cycle!

Yes folks! In some manner of miracle I've actually gone for a run, followed by a cycle only 2 days later. It looks like my triathlon training may be back, and back with a vengeance!

If, by 'vengeance' you actually mean 'whimper.'

Cor luvva duck but it was hard work. First of all, I felt awful today - so when Fisher came bouncing down the stairs in her running kit, all ready for her long run which I'd said I'd cycle with her, I said I just couldn't face it.

Then, 5 minutes later I decided I could, and put on my tracksuit.

Then I couldn't face it again, had a mini-strop and went and played PS2 instead. God of War 2 rocks! Fisher headed out into the dreich Scottish weather, I merrily maimed and murdered some beasties, and then I had a sudden rush of blood to the head.

"Are you a woman or a wuss!?" I demanded. I gave myself no reply, but the die was cast. I stomped down into the garage to get my bike out before I could change my mind - and discovered the front tyre was flat as a proverbial pancake. I then attempted to pump it up for 10 minutes without loosening the valve, so exhausted myself before I'd even begun, while the tyre remained flaccid as an empty bladder.

Muppetry aside, I managed to get myself on the poxy contraption and headed off after Fisher. Naturally, she'd chosen to go up Quarry Road and off towards the Craigsanquhar, which meant a hideous, hideous hill. There is nothing more exhausting than riding up a hill on a bike. I was gasping for breath to such an extent that I literally couldn't open my throat enough, and started making alarming snoring sounds. The woman walking her dog down the hill thought this most amusing. Although she was too civilised to laugh in my face, I heard her cackling from around the corner. Downhill-walking old crone.

Just over two miles into the ride, I met Fisher coming back the other way and followed her back home. I attempted to cycle up our hill, but faiiiiiiled and had to get off and push. When I actually dismounted I thought my knees were about to crumble beneath my bulk. Most chastening. Anyway, to make up for this final mini-failure I completed God of War 2. Such a beautiful game. Sadistic and bloodthirsty - but beautiful.

Tonight I'm off to the tennis social - briefly - before driving Fisher in to Edinburgh for her craft fair. Her jewellery is going great guns at the moment and she's run off her feet. I hope the fair is a success. We could do with a little extra mullah coming in!

Run!

Yes folks, it's some kind of miracle! I managed to quell my soul-sucking reluctance and accompany Fisher on a run at Tentsmuir with the pooches. It was cold, so I donned trackie bums, my vest top that I have to wear under my bra (get blisters from the straps otherwise), a running t-shirt, and my running jacket.

I then stepped out of the house and found it much milder than anticipated - but did I amend my wardrobe?

Noooo!

I therefore started shedding clothing like a washing machine with its door open after about 5 minutes of my run, having to leave my jacket hanging on a fence post and picking it up on the way back.

But! Without even trying, I managed to complete my fastest ever 5k. 33mins 55seconds. Yes yes, I know there are three legged pigs who can run faster, but I was dead, dead chuffed. I was also utterly knackered all the way round because I'd eaten only 2 bits of toast, some 4 hours previously. Goober.

We then went ot Tesco and picked up the weekly shop before returning home and getting ready to go out for a home-cooked meal with Fonda, who's just got her dining room up and running and wanted to show it off. It's lovely - wooden floors, white walls, a Mediterranean feel - even in the depths of a Scottish winter. She cooked us lamb and cous-cous (she put baby tomatoes, pre-roasted in balsamic vinegar, in the cous-cous which were delicious and which Fisher, cous-cous Queen of our house, is now going to adopt. If she can be arsed) followed by Apple Pie and cream from M&S. We chatted over coffee and biscuits, discussing her boyfriend (whom she never fails but to paint as a complete twong, but I'm sure isn't) who then telephoned, on cue. Fonda said she was busy, so she'd call him later. "Yes, really!" she replied to his disbelief, and put the phone down. Ten seconds later, he rang again.

"You never asked," we heard Fonda say, and correctly interpreted this as a resonse to "you didn't tell me why you're busy!"

Granted, if I phoned Fisher only to be told she was busy, I'd want to know what she was up to, in an interested sort of way. In fact, if she said: "I'm busy right now, can I can I call you back?" I'm pretty sure I'd say: "Sure. What are you up to?" And if, for some reason, I didn't ask straight away I think I could contain myself and wait until she called me back to find out. Not Fonda's fella. He had to know then and there, to the extent of calling her back, further interrupting proceedings. Couple that with Fonda telling us that, when she'd asked what he was doing for Christmas, he claimed he would "decide on Christmas Eve."

Sounds like a selfish, self-centred arse to me. Who actually thinks they can just descend on a family Christmas at the last minute? Someone who's never cooked a Christmas meal, or done anything to prepare for Christmas, or any social gathering that involves feeding, housing and entertaining a large number of people, that's for sure.

Still, Fonda keeps bemoaning the fact she always says the wrong things about him, and I'm trying very hard to reserve judgement until I actually meet him. I'm sure he's a great guy. Fonda's certainly happier since they got back together, so that's good.


Aaanyhoo - enough judgement and crabbishness! I've done far too much looking down the old nose in the past few days, and it makes me feel all curled up inside. Life is good! Next week we go down to York to enjoy a hotel break with Brother and Gaura and belatedly celebrate his birthday. The tennis social is this Friday, and Sunday night we're going out for a meal with Koios and Pro before the trip to York, where I plan on discussing New Year plans. And Christmas is so close! Holy crap ona stick! I must book our Malta flights.

I'm off to do that now.

Urg. Flights.

No! Life is GOOD! Hurrah for flights. Hurrah for Christmas, family and pals. Hurrah, I tell you!

Descent of the Spawn ... again

This weekend has been pretty chaotic, as is always the case when the Spawn comes to town. It's also be terrific fun to see everyone, especially as my mother had flown over from Malta to help out with Wrecker and his burns.

First and foremost, I was dead chuffed to see Wrecker striding up and down the corridor, his usual boisterous self, and although his appetite was a little 'off' he was otherwise in great humour. Gemmill was delighted to be at HC, and the first thing he did was subtly angle for his 'surprise.' He went straight to his bed, where I usually hide a present, and was obviously deeply disappointed not to find anything. In actual fact, I had hidden a PS2 game there, but it obviously didn't register. Anyway, when I told Sister it was there, she asked if we couldn't take it out, as he children were becoming far too used to gifts! So Fisher whisked it away while Gemmill asked if he'd got a 'different bed' this time (translation: "I say, there's appears to be no gift in the bed in my room, ergo I must be sleeping in a different bed this time, where there is surely a big fat present awaiting me.") and demanded to know: "What is there to do here?" I'd clean forgotten to bring any of the toys up from the garage, so it did look dauntingly un-child-friendly. However, the PS2 game was a real hit - Buzz's Junior Monster Rumble - and he whiled away a happy half hour or so before his supper, thrashing his mother, Granu and Auntie Fisher.

Once the kiddies wre in bed, we adults sat down to game pie and a hearty chat, which lasted well into the night. Sister remarked it was the first time in weeks she'd actually relaxed, and considering the strain she's been under, I'm not surprised. She's been relying on the hospitality of her sister-in-law, with whom she's not always on ideal terms, and it all became just a little too much. When she and Ma had to leave the kitchen in a tip because they were running late, The Sister In Law came back from work, unexpectedly, for lunch and found it covered in sugar puffs and breakfast debris. Granted, this is annoying - but The Sister In Law was, and I quote, "beyond devastated." Nor did she mellow in any way when given flowers by way of apology. Instead, she decided it "wasn't working out" so Sister told her they were moving.

If my kitchen had been left like a bomb site, I would have been a bit cheesed, for sure. In fact, my kitchen has, in the past, been left a tip. But I know dealing with two boys of strong personality, neither of whom are easily persuaded into doing that which they do not wish to do, is incredibly difficult. The Sister In Law deals with her children by organising their lives to the extent they literally only see them for about two hours a day. But rather than vanish down a line of disapproval in the way people raise their children, I'll just reserve my disapproval for the fact that The Sister in Law did little to make Sister feel comfortable and, after pretty much booting her out, had the audacity to say, upon farewell:

"Let us know if there's anything we can do to help!"

I said Sister should have turned round and asked to stay for another two weeks.

Aanyway, I wasn't there and have only Sister's spleen venting upon which to go, which isn't entirely fair. After all, The Sister In Law did let her stay for 2 weeks - and that length of time is guaranteed to put everyone on nerves' edge.

Next day, we went into Dundee to satisfy Gemmill's need to see the robot at Sensation, and Sister's desire for lunch at the DCA. Lunch proved to be a mistake. They're always pretty slow, but this time they took an hour to bring us our food. Astonishingly, the boys didn't run ragged and eventually we managed to get food down us and move on to other things.

That evening, Fisher and I were promised to a charity quiz, run by the ex-president of my tennis club who is a bit of a control freak and is NEVER WRONG. On the other hand, she proved a brilliant quiz maker. We rocked up to Age Concern in Cupar (God help me, but that did my ego no good. "How did you spend your Saturday night?" "I had a kickin' time at the Age Concern." I am, officially, mentally ancient) and discovered tables full of keen quiz goers - and the pamphlet of paper provided for our answers.

It was like War and Peace!

We were in for a long night.

Well - long it certainly was, taking some 3 1/2 hours, but it was also entertaining, with rounds like: "Guess what's in the bag" where you had to identify several plastic baggies of ordinary hoursehold powders. Lu and I volunteered to be indentifiers and got 9/10. The one we failed on was ground almonds. I thought it was polenta. I got lightly ribbed over this by Tom, who was there with Debbie. "Polenta? Who d'you think set up this quiz? Heston Blumenthal?"

Obviously a pie man.

The slightly unbelievable result of this epic quiz night was that we four walked away the winners, despite a 20 question round on Scottish football anthems and their corresponding competitions, which was a complete disaster. We won four bottles: one of Glenfiddich, one of red wine (Hardy's), on of Irn Bru, and, even more oddly, one of orange barley water. Fantastic!

Next day, we met up with Arrow and Lu again for Sunday lunch. I roasted a couple of guinea fowl with rosemary, garlic, pancetta and butter under the skin, and they turned out well. We then played a little Monster Rumble with Gemmill, took a walk up the hill to let Gemmill hunt the geocache, and returned to HC to flop. Or so I fondly imagined!

I wanted to play a grown up game or chat with Arrow and Lu while the kiddies watched TV, but Lu and Arrow were happier watching Pepper Pig, so I went through to do some work in my study. After 5 minutes, I was interrupted by Fisher who had just been alerted by my mother to the fact that Ma's flight was not, as thought, at 9.30pm tomorrow night but instead at 9.30am tomorrow.

Mild panic ensued. Flights to London had to be booked, then from Malta to London - but the Malta Airways desk was, of course, shut until 8am on Monday and we didn't want to book online if it was possible to transfer her ticket for £30. As we all rushed around like headless chickens, discussing alternatives (taxi to Glasgow that night/ stay 'til Thursday when another flight leaves from Glasgow/ flights from London on Monday/ flights on Tuesday and stay with Brother and Gaura etc) Lu and Arrow remained watching Pepper Pig, oblivious. I'm delighted to know how easily they can be entertained.

Aside from the flight nonsense, it was my ideal Sunday! A housefull, a Sunday roast, a walk, then flop. Ok - the flop didn't quite work out as I expected, but it was pretty perfect otherwise.

Next day we were up by 7.45 to see off Ma and Sister & Sons, who managed to leave the house only 20 minutes or so late. Some kind of record! Ma managed to get her flight sorted and it much relieved our minds. We waved them off fondly, then returned to a house that seemed to echo with emptiness. Still, it was rather nice to slope about in a dressing gown for the rest of the morning before the cleaners arrived (then left again because they couldn't do the full amount of time and Fisher threw a minor wobbly and demanded they come back when a complete clean could be achieved).

We'd planned on doing some exercise, but lack of sleep quashed that idea and instead we had a lazy day. I helped in the jewellery workshop, putting the hooks on earrings (very proud) then played a lot of God of War 2 (not very proud at all), and before you knew it, it was time for supper. Amazing how a day doing nothing can speed by.

So that was that for the Visiting Spawn. Terrific stuff. I love, love, love a busy weekend.

Clippin'

I've just had a mini trantrum and had to come and sit down for while. I've been clipping Bridie, who hates it. She started trembling as I washed and shampoo'd her, increased the shaking to a positive vibration during her hair-drying session, and hasn't stopped throughout the clipping. It breaks your heart, especially when she leans against you and whines, as if to say "oh why, why are you doing this to me? Don't you LOVE me any more?"

Pathetic!

I managed to do most of her, but I have a slight problem in that when the hair gets in my face it actually hurts. It's not just an aggravating tickle, it's so excrutiatingly acute it's almost like my face is on fire. I don't understand why Fisher doesn't seem to suffer in the same way - or anyone else for that matter. Fisher is now finishing off Bridie, after I swore violently and stormed inside, scrubbing my face with hands which, it turns out, were covered in teeny tiny hairs. Great.

Ok, after my little sit down I went back and clipped half of Baffie before having to run inside and have a shower. My face is now red and blotchy. I have the same reaction to grass. Is this an allergy, or just sensitive skin? Hmm. Also hate my own hair in my face, and flies or sundry flying insects buzzing around the region have been known to drive me to the brink of insanity. Just ask Phid, who remarked, after out Hadrian's Wall walk and with typical Phid sensitivity, I thought: "Yes, you did seem inordinately bothered by the flies. I mean, there were just as many buzzing around me ... and I didn't make such a god-awful whinging fuss!"

Ok, she didn't say the last bit, but it was practiaclly hanging in the air like a frozen turd from a cow's arse.

AN-yway, Bridie is now sleek and pepper black, with little sprinkles of salt. Fisher is just finishing off Baff so she gleams like a gilded lily, and we have 2 black poodles lolling about the house as well. Thank God poodles don't moult.

Im listening to The Clientele as I type. Jolly good. Very mellow. Me likee.

England Out

Hey ho, that's England out of Euro 2008 then, and no less than they deserve. I have to say, I think I've pretty much stopped caring about Internationals. It's either that or feel sick with sadness for a week after a poor result.

Anyway - I won £65 quid on the game, so all in all England did me a favour.

Now, I'd better hop off and put it on Spurs to get relegated.

Stuff

After the filth of yesterday, with its driving rain, windswept beach upon which we walked 3 rather dubious pooches and I mentally ranted and railed at Fisher (I'd suggested a nice woodland walk, only to be shouted down), and general lack of vigour, it was nice to get out and about today. After all, aside from the crazy walk, the only thing I did on Monday was play endless games of Civilization III. I think it was somewhat alarming for our Eastern European cleaners to hear me screeching "Fuck you, you war-mongering German arse-bandits!" as Bismark once again attacked a weakened city.

Still, I now have a 24 city strong nation, and am kicking ARSE (bandits).

So today - it being a Tuesday and therefore Fisher's Day - we went climbing. Without an instructor there, we found ourselves much less inclined to drive ourselves up walls with the vim and vigour of previous occasions. Also, the fact we were now relying on each other and each other alone, put a little psychological block in Fisher's mind. While I have complete faith in her abilities, she is simply not as secure under my aegis. You can see her lack of confidence in me in other walks of life, too - like when I offer to load the dishwasher and she gets a slightly panic-stricken look in her eye because she doesn't think I do it as well as her.

Hey ho.

Anyway, we spent a happy 2 hours clambering at a leisurely pace up and down walls, getting extremely frustrated because we couldn't actually complete a '3', let alone a '4'. To make myself feel better, I got Fisher to time me up the final wall - a '3' we'd done several times before with ease.

It took me 58 seconds.

That's crap!

Never mind - we can only get better. There's no such thing as worse than us at climbing.

My arms now ache and it's fecking cold in here, so I'm off to build a pathetic fire because I can't swing an axe to chop more logs, so will be using the drabs from yesterday.

Good News!

I got a phone call an hour ago from Islander, saying that Wrecker had been for his last general anaesthetic, where the doctors check the progress of his wounds - and it's excellent news. Everyone is amazed at how well he's healed; there will be no need for a skin graft, and fingers crossed he'll be out on Monday! Ma is flying out that day, so Islander is going back home to work while Sister continues with Ma and the boys, staying with her sister and brother-in-law.

A relief! I didn't realise just how concerned I was until I heard that news. I know now that it's been swilling about in the back of my mind pretty permanently. Every time the phone rings I got a nasty little flash of what if ...

So, that news has cheered me up immensely.

As for the second day in Gemmill's company - it was as hectic as the first. We took him to the Science Museum, which is terrific for kiddies and adults alike, and he spent several happy hours there. He was a little more bolshy than the previous day, as we knew he would be, as the novelty of Auntie Fun had worn off. Actually, his devotion to his Auntie Fisher is now in full swing. He's always at pains to show how good she is at things: she gives the best swing-arounds (where he gets swung round by the arms), is the best at running, feeding squirrels, and is the first person he runs to when frightened. If I'm Auntie Fun then she's Auntie Cuddles. He doesn't want to compete with her - he wants to take care of her and make sure her feelings aren't hurt. Mine, on the other hand, are designed to be crushed by the full weight of his competitive spirit. Superb stuff.

After the Science Museum, where we also grabbed lunch, we asked him what he would like to do next. The answer was swift in coming: back to the 'garden' please. Delighted, we took him off to this free attraction and spent a couple more hours revisiting the exotic plants and playing in the play park.

Back at the hospital, Wrecker was looking cheerful, as was Islander whose turn it was for a good night's sleep while Sister took the night shift. We promised to bring her some room service from the Hotel du Vin, and left her to it.

Back at the hotel, we availed ourselves of their gym - which is crap, but who cares? At least they have one - and then took Sister her grilled chicken sandwich, some crisps and a bottle of lemonade. It turned out to be far from exciting, but the box they put it in was very elegant, so that was something.

On our return, we flopped gleefully on the four poster, ordered up some Buccleuch Burgers from room service, and whiled away the astonishingly long wait watching TV.

Room service proved rather ordinary, which is a shame, but no real complaints. Their chips were gorgeous, and we were hungry enough not to care about the boring state of the burger. I imagine the kitchens are too busy concentrating on the magic performed in the Bistro to be overly concerned with room service.

Next day, we took Gemmill and Sister back to - you've guessed it - the Botanic Gardens. Sister then had to return to the hospital because Islander had to go to the airport and deal with the people going to China in his stead, so we played in the playpark until lunch time. Dragging Gemmill away from the roundabout, where he and a little girl were trying very hard to kill themselves by flinging themselves off it while it was still spinning, was quite a challenge. He didn't want lunch, so promises of food - even ice cream! - did no good. Eventually he came because I made him, and then coaxed him away from a tantrum by suggesting we hunt squirrels.

When we eventually got him out of the park, we searched out an Italian place off Byers Road where they had a very child friendly - if deserted - atmosphere. We let him choose lunch (pizza - good man!) and had a very pleasant time helping him write his name, draw pictures and generally be extremely good company. Then it was back to the hospital to drop him off, bid farewell to Sister and Wrecker, and head on home.

This brings me pretty much up to date, save to mention Lu's birthday meal at the Craigsanquhar, which was very chilled, and going for a 4 mile run today. I've discovered I've put on 1/2 a stone since my lightest, so it's back to the grindstone in that respect. Hey ho. Still - I'd rather live beyond 40, if you don't mind, so I'll forego the odd bag of Maltesers.