I’m still suffering from Covid shit wipeout each morning. I can’t get going. It doesn’t help having the 4:30am wake up call from Dotty. Trying to get back to sleep after spending 15 minutes chatting shit with her doesn’t aid the beauty sleep.
From 7am onwards I’m a zombie around the house, stumbling around and not really knowing what I’m doing. FIVE mugs of tea later and I’m buzzing off me tits.
Yep.
Bloody Covid shit.
I arsed around for far too long trying to sign up for the Essex Big Weekend freebie tickets. The online hoops I had to jump through for the inevitable disappointment was time well wasted.
There wasn’t a great deal of choice for events, tbh. I ended up putting my name down for the draw for Colchester Zoo.
Some Late Junction catching up from last night followed. This included a warbling song that was “a tale of a woman who is heartbroken after marrying an impotent man.”
Oh.
That’s not something you hear on the Radio 1 Roadshow, or whatever it’s called these days.
Some frantic telly searching for Quest took place. Blimey. There it is in the listings. I never knew I had access to that.
The reason for finding an obscure channel is the rolling out of Vuelta later this evening. Quest has the evenings highlights package.
I was free mid-morning for a bicycle ride. Damp lanes meant that the roadie was overlooked for the Raleigh electric.
wtf is it with arsehole car drivers that have shitty personalised registration plates?
Within the first ten minutes I suffered three extremely close passes from twats vain enough to buy up a personalised plate.
Knobs.
I reached the temporary traffic lights outside of Great Bentley. A’s theory of these being triggered once you activate some technical marvel was disproved. The lights were green as I rolled up five metres away. And then red.
Maybe they don’t like me?
There was some spectacular Big Essex Skies once I managed to escape the close pass dickheads. The sweetcorn in some of the fields approaching Ardleigh were the height of grown men.
I was all alone around some extreme Estuary Wilds back lanes. For some reason Careless Whisper was lodged in my head. I started to sing rather loudly.
“MORNING!”
…as some old boy on a roadie sped past me.
Whoops.
I reached the Church at [not sure where]. This is always empty, almost abandoned. But there was an Elenor Rigby type figure this morning, tending to a grave.
Not a bad ride. I managed to beat the lunchtime downpour.
And then it was all about Forest away at Old Trafford. Oh, and Wivenhoe Town at home in the FA Vase.
Football. Bloody hell, etc.
Forest were 2-0 up in the time in took me to cycle up to Broad Lane. Blimey. That won’t last.
It felt weird to be out on the MTB for the first time post Covid. I thought I had a mechanical, such was the unfamiliar set up.
Nope, it’s just me being MTB rusty.
I reached Broad Lane with Forest still 2-0 up. The pitch looked lush.
Brantham Athletic had an extremely young team. I’d wager that some were still schoolboys. They were bloody brilliant, playing with pace and attacking Wivenhoe down both wings.
There was also a Joe 90 Lino to add to the youthful occasion.
I was shooting using the Nikon SLR. It’s an absolute BEAUT for sporting action if the light is favourable.
Wivenhoe struggled with a final score of 5-1 to the visitors. The Dragons showed spirit and pressed to the final whistle. But they were simply out played by a very pacy team.
A little telly admin took place back at base. I’m out of space on the BT box.
189 recorded shows of TOTP? I’m never going to watch these, tight?
SEE YA.
The first half of West Ham away at Brighton followed, and then the horrid Hundred Eliminator from back at The Oval. A was there with M on a girly day out.
The SE11 rainbow was more interesting than the cricket.