A pounding hangover wasn’t helped by an early morning call to BT on Sunday morning.
Sign up for a dirt cheapo BT TV deal they said. All part of the Black Friday bollocks.
And then we’ll bill you for everything that we said we wouldn’t bill you for.
I kinda get how phone / TV / the modern interweb have all collided.
But boy – it’s don’t half make for a bloody confusing phone bill.
Cheque in the post, etc.
I buggered off to the lovely lido for some peace.
I was slightly tearful again before entering the water. My Saturday experience was just horrid, horrid.
Failure to return on Sunday would just be… failure.
The water temperature had slipped to 6.6 degrees.
They’re doing this to mess with my head, right?
I judged four lengths as a major success. I pressed on for a couple of more.
Sunday: I WIN you.
The swimming itself was fine; it’s the leaving the water and trying to reconnect with a sensible air temperature that screws you over.
The gypsy caravan sauna was more like a naked Northern Line at 8am.
Move down inside the carriage, etc.
Back at base and I bashed out the Dulwich match report for Buzz. Disco Darryl and I had a lengthy conversation last night about how football journalism has become so crap.
I added to that talent pool.
And then Sunday was all about the chores.
It’s been three weeks since I have been around at South Lambeth Road. I had a lot of catching up to do.
Gardening, compost sorting, bicycle cleaning, window cleaning and housework.
Oh woe is me.
The window cleaning ROCKED.
Never underestimate the SEXINESS of a magnetic window cleaner from three floors up.
Phew. Life in the fast lane etc.
Housework was achieved in record time. I was buzzing off my tits listening to the Forest commentary as I went about my duster duties.
I hooked up once again early evening with Disco Darryl to record Town Hall Tapes.
Ten minutes, one take, that’s yer lot.
Job’s a good ‘un.
I finally managed to finish off editing and publishing the SW9 school content.
Let’s do it all again over in SE21 in the morning.