An early morning work shift.
With a cricket hangover.
OUCH.
That bloody hurt.
I managed to make it to Brockwell Park for the 9am start of Park Run.
I was carrying an odd foot injury and I had a cold; the six pints at The Oval the night before was weighing heavy on my mind.
Which is a polite way of saying that Saturday wasn’t ideal running conditions for a Brockwell PB.
I paced a fit female runner around the first lap.
Or maybe she paced me?
She dropped me on the second climb of BMX Hill. I tried to catch her on the Cressingham climb, but the Oval BOOZE almost greeted her instead.
Oh dear.
A crap official race time of 22’28” dropped later in the morning. Some runs are better than others, Comrades.
Which all made the lovely lido swim a little strange. I put in twenty power lengths at Lake Brockwell. A compliment was even made about my speed by a seasoned Icicle.
The S Ldn sun trap was working wonders poolside. I arsed around a little with the other Icicles for a social catch up.
The mid-morning Lidl run saw me at my penny pinching best. A £1.09 salad bowl had a 30% sticker. I didn’t get the discount.
I politely made a point of asking for my 32p refund. Daniel Cruz Tizon would have been proud.
I gave the windows a clean in the flat. It’s a precarious business cleaning sash windows two floors up.
The plan was then to head out to Newport Street Gallery. But the not so Sunny Stockwell rain started as soon as I left the flat.
And so I put in a Larkhall Park snappy snap walk instead.
My timing was b0rked. It left me with a mad dash to Moorgate, and then a sprint down to LS and a train back to *over there.*
Oh dear.
I made the departure with less than 30 seconds to spare.
I managed to beat the downpour at the other end of the line, just in in time for the next work shift.
Saturday evening was spent with more work, Le Tour catch ups and getting to know Anna, Daisy and Dotty all over again.
What an odd flitting and flirting existence.