Applause from a runner as I climbed Col du Whitehall Road in Sunny Colch on Wednesday morning.
I can do this in my sleep.
GRUNTS in the gym followed. Half the bloody village was in there. I’ve long since given up on keeping up appearances around these parts.
Forty lengths of a power swim followed.
A female swimmer was encased in black rubber in the adjacent lane.
It was most odd for an indoor pool.
I descended back down Col du Whitehall Road. I passed an old fella climbing on a Moulton space frame. I applauded him.
The Postman Delivers:
I’m pretty pleased that I’ve managed to make most of the Bankside season after a very slow start. The flat renovation took an age. Now it’s time to start living, Comrades.
I hung out some washing on the line.
I took the washing back inside once again.
Phew: ROCK ‘N’ ROLL, etc.
I started to make a few back of a fag packet plans for The Chronic. I’m still not sure what the f to do with it.
Almost 8,000 Twitter followers isn’t to be sniffed at.
I have the knowledge, I have the skills. Time is the problem.
Informal conversations have taken place about… dosh.
A little more work, a little more podcast listening.
Having finished with South London Hardcore, I moved on to my next podcast catch up session.
I have REALLY missed The Bike Show. I’ve got around 25 shows to savour.
Jacko sowed the seed for some wild camping. I’m considering giving it a go over the final few weeks of the summer.
The plan is to roll out on a Saturday morning, sleep underneath the Essex stars, and then a little more riding on a Sunday.
I need to sell the idea to Anna first.
S Ldn planning for the week ahead followed.
People, places, parties.
You don’t want to get me started, etc.
And then more work and the L************e Vs Notts t20 to end Wednesday.
A decent day.