A familiar start to Sunday: waking up to watch MOTD from the exact same position where I fell asleep watching it the night before.
My body clock is brilliant.
I can remember dozing off with the iPad in bed halfway through the second half of Sunderland Vs Villa.
I woke up with perfect timing to have a cup of tea, and then turn on the TV to pick up where I left off.
Football. Bloody hell, etc.
It inspired me for a mid-distance run.
I've not really pounded the mean streets much since the 'unfortunate male medical condition' that laid me up for all of the Christmas and New Year period.
But I fancied 10km or so on Sunday morning.
I headed out along the estuary and out towards Alresford, and then back along the top half of the valley.
I didn't pass a single person until the final 15 minutes or so.
The plan was then to stay in and catch up with various work hangovers and admin.
But Anna fancied a swim.
We cycled off along the Trail together on the MTB's.
She burned me up heading up Whitehall Road hill.
I'm blaming the MTB.
The swim was funny. They always seem to be with Anna.
We have developed by chance a random underwater aquatic game: who can avoid cracking up first.
We swim parallel, GURNING at each other with each underwater stroke.
Silly for sure, but it livens up the process of putting in the lengths.
Anna cracked after ten lengths.
We arsed about a bit in the sauna, and then went off walking in the direction of Rowhedge.
It's been over a year since we strolled out on this side of the muddy banks of the Colne.
A new path is in place. And rather nice it is too.
Except when you reach the final 500m or so and it's back to the mud. It's as though the funding fell short, and so did the path.
We stopped off for a couple of drinks in The Anchor. I have definitely turned from the dark side with my love of all things pale ale.
The walk back to the bikes at the gym was brisk. Two pints tends to do that to you.
We sobered up with a bike ride back along the Trail, just in time to catch the second half of the Man Utd Vs Spuz match.
Still haven't forgiven them for the '91 Cup Final.
Bits of the work hangover were cleared up early evening. We then watched the final stage of Paris-Nice.