Serenade Radio and the Carpenters’ Top of the World for a tip top start to Tuesday.
I refuse to listen to the early morning new bulletins these days. It is hard to tell if you are still dreaming when you hear the headlines.
Splendid isolation, etc.
But f-Trump and the real world.
It ‘aint for me, Comrades.
A couple of Graun swimming pieces were enjoyed with the ritual of the four cups of morning tea.
"Don't forget to breathe" https://t.co/ZJzZmmOBQl … via @swimdemcrew Live to Swim, Swim to Live etc.
— Jason_Cobb (@Jason_Cobb) January 31, 2017
"Plan getting dressed. When you get out of cold water, you need to get dressed very quickly" https://t.co/wNIKL0zhz5 Arf @OneEyeGrey
— Jason_Cobb (@Jason_Cobb) January 31, 2017
I long for the return to Lake Brockwell during the second half of this week.
Work pressed on.
Steady…
Daisy and Dotty were a worry.
#lolcats, etc.
Daisy was out a little too long. I opened the back door and did my ridiculous cat call.
I then slammed the door.
It bounced back at me.
Dotty was caught trying to go out.
I cried, but not as much as Dotty.
A thorough inspection followed. All seemed fine.
I kept my eye on her for the next couple of hours. She was eating, drinking and shitting.
Once again I cried, thinking about the situation.
Luncheon was the escape I needed for the swim.
The Trail was damp with an Arthur or Martha tide. It couldn’t decide what it was doing.
I passed the Pet Shop Girl by Ferry Marsh. She pointed out that a seal was beached on the Muddy Banks.
There was some concern about the wellbeing of the little fella.
Tuesday was that kind of day.
I watched the seal for five minutes or so, and then cycled along, confident that everything was OK.
Local Seal Expert is not a badge that I wear.
And then some GRUNTING in the gym with 40 lengths to follow.
I was feeling good.
I showered, and then recalled a random @RobertElms conversation from earlier.
He relayed how he once had to get the Fire Brigade to cut through his bicycle lock as it had jammed.
I think you know what is coming next, Comrades…
It was cold, wet and with darkening skies that I realised that my bicycled lock was f-ed.
Bollocks.
I don’t know what the problem was.
I was stranded three miles from home with a bicycle that needed shifting that I couldn’t shift.
Martin from the pool was ace. Together we bashed at the lock, but with no success.
@Bannatyne HUGE thank you to staff member Martin who helped us out with bike lock problem at Colchester today. Really appreciated. STAR.
— Colchester Chronicle (@ColchChronic) January 31, 2017
As a last resort I tried the tool hire place across the road.
A very friendly chap passed me a pair of industrial bolt cutters. I wasn’t that optimistic.
Three seconds of cutting and the bicycle had been liberated.
Bike locks: bloody hell.
I cycled back along the Trail without a lock, but celebrating an unlikely sense of freedom.
Tuesday evening was all about spoiling Madam Dotty and then the Liverpool match.
Plus I’m halfway through Lefties.
Good, innit?