Saturday morning Novara Media listening.
It’s far from perfect, and there’s a large amount in there that I disagree with. But any dissenting voice from the narrative pumped out elsewhere is worth a listen.
I cycled off along the Trail, en route to the Castle Park Run. Mr Cormorant was on Christmas Eve Watch on his favoured Hythe pole.
This was a big field for Park Run, with over 300 runners turning out for the Christmas Eve race that’s not a race.
It was also a fancy dress occasion.
I don’t do fancy dress, ever since a rather painful Mad Hatter incident in the first year of secondary school.
A Colchester kid shouted out some encouragement for me during the first lap:
“Go on Mr Elf!”
I was wearing my usual running gear 🙁
Some brave sod was running in a LibDem T-shirt.
Does this count as fancy dress?
The run itself was a caution 5km. The cough is still there, my calves are a little tight and my bloody lace came undone halfway round, taking 30 seconds or so to sort out.
The official race time of 22’25” was encouraging.
Same again on Christmas Day morning, Comrades.
A brief catch up in town with @CantCutCarwyn, and then a trip to the bank.
BROOOCE and Santa Clause is Coming to Town sounded bloody ACE on HSBC FM.
I shit you not.
I popped into the pool on the cycle journey back. It was surprisingly busy.
Forty lethargic lengths were ticked off. I then fell asleep in the sauna.
Essex Libraries delivered once again back at the other end of the Trail. I’m not sure how or why I missed out on Rip It Up when it was first published.
Anna was waiting for me back at base, having returned from a two week tour of the Lakes and Sunny Stockwell.
We went to the Co-op to stock up on milk for the coming days. It was BONKERS in there.
Anna bought a copy of the Big Issue. She was a bit pissed off that Mr Big Issue slipped her an old copy, rather than the Christmas edition.
Third World Problems, etc.
In Kitten Cat Flap News: Not so dozy Dotty has somehow managed to open the cat flap from the inside. It’s a four way locking mechanism. This shouldn’t happen.
Absolutely NO IDEA, but she was out in the garden anyway when we returned.
A His ‘n’ Hers gardening afternoon followed.
Phew. Rock ‘n’ Roll, etc.
We caught up with the David Brent film, and then out went the shout of:
“To Sunny Colch!”
Um, hurrah?
On the agenda for Christmas Eve was a candlelit solo performance of A Christmas Carrol with Anthony Roberts..
It was lovely, even for someone who rather wishes that Christmas didn’t appear in the calendar each year.
We caught the train back home, and then made an early start on the Christmas BOOZE.
Chin chin.
Have a safe one tomorrow, Comrades.