Another Saturday morning, another mad dash to make the start of Park Run.

If it’s the second Saturday of the month then it must mean that I am back in Sunny Colch.

I think?

Muddy Banks Man, innit

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The Trail was caked in shit; I was caked in shit.

Rural living is not for me, Comrades.

The Estuary Wilds had been colonised by squirrels. What I thought was a lone bushy tailed fella earlier in the week turns out to be a whole bloody inbred family of them.

Once again they teased me with attempts to jump through my spokes.

I arrived at Castle Park very mucky, and a little nervy.

There wasn’t much time to dwell upon this.


And we’re off.

Oh Lordy.

Colchester Park Run, innit

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I was boxed in right from the start of Park Run, despite being positioned towards the front of the pack.

It’s *not* a race, but the boxing in led to at least 15 seconds or so off my official race time of 21’45”.

I had a brief charity shop run post-race. A couple of M&S jumpers were dropped off.

A rather decent pair of suede brogues (I know) caught my eye for a tenner. They fitted perfectly, but they were a little pointy.

Never trust a man with pointy shoes. Or with buckles on his shoes for that matter.

I tried to get my imitation Brompton rear bag patched up at the Repair Cafe in town. But the Repair Cafe was… in need of a little repair.

It was closed.



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My final run around town chore was a visit to the very welcoming Metro Bank. After almost four years of various admin nightmares with the company structure, we’ve almost got a bank account for South Lambeth Road.

We just need some money now…

I cycled on to the gym. It was a little odd observing the Armistice halfway through a weights session on an industrial estate in Essex.

The swim was functional.

I swam with The Undertaker.

At least I was in safe (ish) hands, should anything go wrong.

A his ‘n’ hers snorkel couple were in the adjacent lane. They were swopping the snorkel between each other after every couple of lengths.

At least I *think* they were a couple.

It was showing little regard for personal hygiene, all the same.

A clean-ish bicycle is a good bicycle, right? Chapeau!

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Another layer of crap was added to the MTB on the ride back to base. I rescued it with a thorough clean.

Anna returned from Cumbria (I think?) at luncheon.

We crammed a week of catching up into a baked beans on toast meal.

I had a random midday work shift, and then out went the shout of:

“To Wivenhoe Town FC!”

Oh Lordy.

The Dragons are having a tough time of late.

2-0 down at HT seemed like quite a result to tbh.

The final score of 5-1 was harsh.

Anna commented that at least you get to see goals when you go and watch Wivenhoe – and not always in a good way.

#Wivenhoe Town FC, innit

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An Amazon Echo was added to my shopping basket early evening. Anna can justify it for the odd work that she doesn’t talk about.

I just want to live the Star Trek dream.

And then more work.

Hey hoe.

I listened to The Hurting to keep me company. It still sounded remarkably fresh and relevant.

If you had told me 35 years ago that this album would still receive an occasional play then the teenage me would have told you to do one, Daddio.

A half decent day.

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