When the complete history of the 21st Century is one day written, my fargo entry for Saturday probably won't feature.
What a frustrating, plodding day.
Much of this was as a result of the weather. I despise being idol, sitting around and not having any purpose.
I also despise heading out when it is pissing it down.
A slight delayed start to the day then waiting for the estuary rain to dry up. If I had kept on just giving it another five minutes, I would have been house bound all day.
I made it to the pool for a mid-morning swim. I had a lane all to myself until Anna decided to gatecrash.
There is never any situation where it is acceptable to play poolside music. Except when that music is Talk Talk. It's My Life had me coming up for air during the key changes.
A few luncheon errands and running around, and then a spot of gardening as the rain momentarily looked the other way.
I say gardening, I mean FORK IT of course.
We had wild plans for a romantic train journey out to, um, Thorpe-Le-Soken and then a stroll out towards the tranquility that is Landmere Quay.
But the rain was the worst: wet rain.
Anna hastily plotted a local walking route. It looked crap with with little imagination. I packed my hip flask and downed a mouthful of whisky before leaving the house.
In the end it was something of a drunken walk.
We got lost.
The rain was relentless, keeping the pace with the swigs from the hip flask to keep me company.
I aborted a botched photo shoot. The skies were dark and the mind was fuzzy.
Somehow we arrived back at base having trampled across foreign fields and caked in countryside shit.
I sobered up watching the Arsenal Vs Man Utd match.
Playing with the mad cat completed the evening.
Not exactly epochal, Comrades.