I awoke early on Saturday morning with a deluded desire to run my old Fair City half marathon route.
YOU FOOL, etc.
I think I was still slightly half-cut from the night before to be honest.
But still, I set off at a more sedate pace tan I was use to some 25 autumns ago.
The South Notts lanes were wonderfully empty, except for half a dozen or so cycling clubs that were out for the weekend run.
That's something that didn't happen back in the day.
I felt strong pretty much all the way around.
A few aches started surface during the Platt Lane run in.
I arrived back at the family home, buoyed with what looked like a PB of a half marathon time.
Blimey - where the chuffers did that come from?
I then realised that I had missed out the back leg of the route, cutting off three miles or so.
A brief shower, and then I bused it out to the Fair City.
I had no particular tasks in mind, apart from a couple of hours to spare and an interest in seeing how the city has changed.
The Trams were the main wtf moment for me. I came close to being taken out by one heading up Market Street.
But what a way to go.
I went in search of a pilgrimage to Selectadisc, expecting some shitty shop to have replaced the institution that pretty much defied my youth.
Instead I found a fantastic vintage shop that wasn't up its own arse.
A rather rare Fred Perry original tank top was on show. I couldn't resist and coughed up the notes.
Rob's Records was a another random find. I wasn't expecting the old boy to still be trading out of Hurt's Yard.
But there he was, with a front room piled high of vinyl.
I did some digging in the crates, looking through the soul 7"s.
I then realised that I haven't got anything to even play them on.
A brief walk down to Hockley, and then around the back of Broad Marsh for the bus journey back.
It was then a tight turnaround to catch the 14:43 out of Parkway and back to over there.
Saturday evening was spent catching up with Anna, catching up with the mad cat, and catching up with From the Cradle to the Grave.
A return to the childhood pool once again on Friday morning. Make the most of these visits whilst the situation allows.
But for Friday morning this meant more bloody village changing rooms, plus the added bonus of Radio Bollocks blasting out as I put the lengths in.
No such thing as a bad swim etc, but the Keyworth Duck Pond did push me slightly.
Fifty lengths, and then back to the family home for a morning and afternoon of work shifts.
I did ponder haircut at the local village barber at lunchoen. Last time she managed to mess up even a No.1 all over.
I cut my losses, so to speak.
A working day followed. It was actually rather rewarding.
I headed out to West Bridgford late afternoon for some BOOZE and a catch up with an old friend.
The real pub in the middle of nowhere was bloody ACE.
I confess to actually getting a little lost walking around the backstreets of the City Ground.
And then it was back to what remains of the family home, the second half of the QPR game, then more BOOZE plus darts.
My fargo publishing tool has thrown a wobbler btw.
Immediate updates may be sporadic.
I awoke in the family home to see a For Sale sign standing outside the front door.
No time to ponder this.
An early morning work shift, and then a light jog to the village pool where I first learnt to swim some 40 autumns ago.
Nothing had changed.
The pool was packed, the water temperature was spa like and the bloody 'village changing rooms' were bobbins.
But hey hoe.
There is no such thing as a bad swim.
A bit more work back at what remains of the family home, and then it was time to get suited and booted for a family funeral.
Some things just remain private.
But the Funeral Director did compliment me on my cravat.
I arrived back in what is left of the family home mid-afternoon for more work.
Gilles Petersen kept me company. It was all a little more uplifting that the funeral tunes.
Thursday evening was spent in the delightful company of the returning Detectorists on BBC4. Plus some Question Time twaddle.
Early morning darkness, drizzle and work shifts to start off Wednesday.
I got my head down and fought with the mad cat for control of my favourite morning chair.
She battled supreme. You don't say.
Work, PMQs, G Man with @Robert Elms.
Not a bad way to spend the morning and early afternoon.
And then late in the day I made the journey to the Fair City for some family business.
Rum old day in store tomorrow
A swim (sufficient), a trip to the dentist (filling required) and work (plodding).
Tuesday went a little downhill to be honest.
Off to the Fair City tomorrow for some family business.
The morning after a BIG ride can go one one of two ways:
Stiffness or Superman.
What a combination both would be.
But for me on Monday morning I was my own Superman.
A brisk short ride to the pool, 40 power lengths, and then back at base for the morning shifts.
Anna was around as well, doing her best to keep the wheels of industry turning, all from the lofty position of the Desk from the Raj / Colchester.
I fear that our work skills are shifting ever closer together towards the same goal.
Luncheon was taking watching England almost hanging on for a fantastic Test saving innings, plus cleaning up the Tourer bike from yesterday.
The work kept on coming.
The fading of the sun brought the bloody starlings.
At least I think it was them?
Chatter, chatter, chatter.
Oh do piss off.
And then Anna joined in the racket with a work conference call.
Come back starlings, all is forgiven etc.
I listened to Match Talk on BBC Nottingham early evening.
Oh dear. I hadn't realised what a rut the Reds are currently in.
I then caught the full draw for the first round of the FA Cup.
It was a good effort from the home Salford fans who were hosting the BBC live broadcast. Heckling ahoy!
We then watched Inside Out on Brixton gentrification.
It was half-decent (although why no comment from Lambeth Council on the hyper-gentrification and social cleansing that it is pushing through in the area?)
And then finally more track cycling with the Revolution Series to end the evening.
And that's about it.
I rolled out early morning with the Colchester CTC Club.
I was suitably riding the Tourer.
I had planned to detail every twist and turn along the 87km route, and then report back with some flowing prose to match the momentum of the turning wheels around the autumnal Essex lanes.
But balls to that.
I cycle to escape, not to become a third rate poet.
But it was rather lovely.
I have absolutely no idea where we were going or where we went.
Morning tea was taken in roadside cafe that had a shop bolted on selling the tat you usually see on sale in Sunday supplement small prints. It stank of fake perfume.
It all got a little muddy in the run in towards luncheon. I wasn't very happy in messing up my Tourer.
The food refill was in a Hadleigh boozer. My bacon baguette did the job to see me through for the roll in back to base.
I stopped off at the pool on the way back - not for swim, but to get cleaned up.
I fell asleep in the sauna.
The ride home was under the cover of darkness.
I had my lights with me, but allowed the full moon to guide me along.
I now feel especially tired, and a little grumpy.
But a good day.
An incredibly early start as Anna and I made a rare trip together to Transpontonia.
The main purpose was to transport a huge London cycling map that has been framed. It's bloody lovely.
Also bloody lovely is my new Dennis the Menace jumper. It's proving to be quite a talking point. Everyone has an 'opinion' on it.
I confess that we looked like a couple of low level art thieves as we emerged out of the 7am shadows, shifting the bloody huge frame around the estuary wilds lanes whilst I was wearing my stripped top.
Waiting for me in Sunny Stockwell was my Labour membership card.
I'm looking forward to joining up with my Vauxhall CLP Comrades to help deliver democratic socialism to the masses.
I disappeared off to the lovely lido, leaving Anna to do a bit of garden digging.
I was expecting to have to sign up for the next five months for a new winter swimming membership.
It appears that I have an all year round membership. I'm not entirely convinced, but I didn't hang around to argue the cause.
The swim was a South London classic. Twenty lengths of the lido, with a lane all to myself.
The water is down to 13 degrees - pretty much perfect.
I cycled back to Sunny Stockwell at some pace to try and warm up again.
I joined Anna in the front garden for a bit of bulb planting. Gawd knows what we've bought, but we blagged an online offer for a box of bulbs for a grubby fiver.
A brief bit of Lidl luncheon, and then we walked up South Lambeth Road, and then through the backstreets of Vauxhall en route to the Newport Street Gallery.
I thought that I had been following closely all the changes around Vauxhall. You miss a week though and WOH - where the chuffers did that building come from? It really is quite incredible.
We were both blown away by the Newport Street Gallery. It is a stunning space.
I confess to appreciating the architecture and the potential more than the current exhibition.
And then we departed.
Anna disappeared to do some decorating back at the flat; I buggered off up to north London for the Anarchist Book Fair - purely for research purposes, Comrades. Phew. Glad that this one has been cleared up.
I particularly liked the Gender Neutral Toilets.
I had some lovely chats with various folk selling a whole spectrum of anarchic literature and pamphlets. I'll probably buy the Anarcho punk book at some stage.
I wandered down from King's Cross and through to Bloomsbury. This is a part of town that is unfamiliar to me.
The Foundling Museum was within my sights.
There was free entry today as part of the Bloomsbury Festival. It is one of the few London museums that I haven't visited as part of a blag with various school trips.
I didn't have long, but it was incredibly moving.
There was also an afternoon Handel piano recital taking place which was quite charming.
I weaved through a few Bloomsbury back streets, and I was soon back along the Gray's Inn Road.
It was weird walking back up to KX - a route that I use to do at midnight for two years running whilst working the ITN night shifts.
Not a great deal has changed along Grays Inn Road, but KX is gentrifying at a pace that would put Brixton to shame.
I met up with Anna once again. We enjoyed a couple of freebie coffees as part of her poncey bank account deal (that we don't really talk about...)
And then back at base and it was all about the BOOZE and the boxing.
Bloody Bell end was missed whilst I was having a shower after the swim early on Friday morning.
My phone BUZZES whenever Bell end takes place anywhere around the world. I've no idea where or when this all started. We shall miss Ian Bell when the old cricketer leaves the crease.
But yeah - it was rather amusing to hear my phone buzzing whilst towelling down the short and curlies.
And then Friday was all about work and worrying about the mad cat.
One of these worried me more than the other...
Work was alright. But the main agenda item for Friday was taking the mad cat to the vet for her annual jabs.
There is no easy way around this. It is the WORST day of the year.
The poor luv knows that something is up as soon as Anna and I pamper her more than usual.
The clock was counting down, and we were all getting a little nervy.
Anna did the business in catching in her in the cat carrier. My job was to carry her all the way up to the vets for the dirty deed.
It's quite a sight: I talk out loud to her, sometimes singing along as well. Anything to calm her nerves.
The poor thing pee-ed herself before we even left the front door.
Inside the vets was a bit bonkers. Taking a petrified little rescued cat into a waiting room full of dogs is not ideal.
Eventually our time came. She was weighed, jabbed and had her heart rate taken. I could see it pounding as I tried not to watch.
Hey hoe. That's it for another year.
Anna and I celebrated by buggering off on a mini-pub crawl.
We tried to book Christmas Day dinner in the local boozer. But it was already booked up - before Bonfire Night as well.
We paused to pick up some pre-booked train tickets at the station.
This was most odd.
Anna used her debit card, but the machine spat out a ticket for a completely different journey on the other side of the country.
I've told her to eBay it.
Back at base and we finished off Friday with BOOZE, and the Six Days of London, a meet that I have absolutely LOVED all week.
A 6am playful bite from the mad cat to kick off Thursday morning.
No worries. I'll get her back tomorrow with the annual trip to the vet...
In Better Breakfast News: it was another Test match Thursday.
Eating Bran Flakes whilst watching the England bowling attack is a very dignified way to start any working day.
I bashed out the Chronic blog post from the night before.
Long gone are the days when I use to keep notes at localgov meets. All you need to do is to tweet your arse off inside the meeting, and then refer back to these for the narrative.
I was contacted by First Utility once again mid-morning. It is proving very difficult to leave the bloody company.
I had a break in the working day around luncheon. I legged it outside for cheeky swim.
Time was tight, and so I decided to take the MTB on short cut on the Trail.
I've not ridden this bike or route in almost six months now. Cobwebs had to be cleared off the MTB. The Trail itself was a carpet full of conkers.
I cycled rather slowly, which wasn't quite the aim.
Dolphin Girl was doing her thing in the pool. I felt very inadequate as she lapped me after only ten lengths.
I cut my losses after a poor thirty.
More work, and then a trip to the post office to collect a parcel.
I know it's a retrograde step in keep on buying up the same model that I first bought back in 2003.
But I bloody love the f717. It does all that I want from a camera, both for work and play.
My current model is working fine. But I couldn't resist the eBay bargain of £21 for another model, y'know - just in case...
Back on the working soundtrack front and Cover to Cover with @RobertElms was You Keep Me Hanging On - Lady Di Vs bloody Vanilla Fudge and their WEIRD art rock noodling.
Vanilla Fudge won.
I suspect a fix.
Some silly housework.
And then the London Six and BOOZE to finish off Thursday.
After the stunning estuary wilds sunshine of Tuesday, today was all about staying indoors and avoiding the grim drizzle.
Working from home is made for days such as Wet Wednesday.
I tried to find some musical inspiration to brighten up the hours.
I was probably looking in the wrong place with Dave Rawlings' subdued Nashville Obsolete.
Morgan Heritage meanwhile livened things up with @RobertElms.
Work carried me through until early evening, and then I did a runner to Colchester for the CBC Full Council meeting.
I knew from the agenda that this would be a biggie.
But boy - did it drag...
It wasn't helped by the bloody temperature up in the public gallery. I just about rode it out, but my MacBook didn't.
The fan kicked into hyperdrive, draining down the battery and leaving me more or less b0rked.
I had the iPhone as a back up, but it wasn't ideal.
I hate leaving meetings early, but I wasn't going to hang around for the silly last train.
I cut my losses just after 10pm.
Later I read on Twitter that a pretty key Motion had been defeated.
I was too bloody tired to blog anything back at base.
I'll give it a crack first thing in the morning.
A day stuck indoors working.
Which is a shame, as it looked like mid-summer outside in the estuary wilds.
I managed to blag just over £100 for the forum hosting by luncheon.
Ta very much, all.
Having financed the forum myself over the past five years [gosh], the time had come to ask for a little help.
There are some very decent folk out there.
The work carried on.
New systems, same old challenges.
@RobertElms had an ACE rant about London housing.
He then seamlessly followed it by playing Shout to the Top.
I had a little shuffle along with the mad cat.
And then the second half of the Arsenal match, and the Madison in the London Six a little later.
Work, a swim, some more work, and then an evening of cycling with the London Six.
See ya Monday!
Not much more detail to add for today.
I managed to unblock a few online work blockages with the work.
The swim was pacy.
The afternoon company for the work shifts was @RobertElms. Rhoda Dakar was an ACE Listed Londoner.
Early evening was spent BALLS DEEP in converting fiddly school docs to pdf's, then to jpg's, then publishing them.
It wasn't much fun.
And neither was trying to book tickets using the crappy East Midlands Trains website, either.
I managed to catch some of the London Six later in the evening.
A calming influence at last.
After a day of CAKE and BOOZE on Saturday, Sunday was in need of some exercise.
Anna and I cycled off to Harwich, rather unsure of what we might find.
We have heard tales of Old Harwich, a charming Edwardian town with an arty slant.
That sounds a little too close to home...
Plus also the other Harwich, canonised by London cycling friends who head east en route to the cycling promised land of the Netherlands.
What we found was a bit meh.
That's slightly unfair.
The ride out east was fine. We are getting to the point in the season where these longer rides become a chore rather than an escape.
I was wearing thick tights and two lycra layers. I was still chilled for most of the ride.
We stopped off at Dovercourt for a cup of tea, with Felixstowe and the heavy docks just in sight around the corner.
And then a final push along the sea wall to the old town.
A bloody great big shipping container was setting sail, loaded up with what looked like bloody Pop Brixton on Sea.
Surely they couldn't be exporting UK goods?
And then Old Harwich.
It was a little odd to be honest.
The town has clearly seen better days, but that perhaps is the charm.
We were both too knackered to cycle back, and so had already settled on the train. But we got the timings all wrong, meaning that we had another hour or so of wandering.
Chips by the water front were a welcome distraction.
And that was about it.
The journey back via Manningtree, then Colchester was smooth.
The temptation back at base was to just doze off in front of the football.
It was 2-1 to Newcastle when I made the decision to do a bit of digging outside whilst the weather was still holding.
An hour later and it was 6-2.
I fell asleep in the bath listening to The Jam's The Gift.
I've no idea why I chose to listen to this, but it was a decent choice, all the same.
The slumber was more to do with my aching limbs than the music.
The rest of Sunday evening was spent catching up with Music for Misfits on the iPlayer.
Another Brockwell Park Run to start off Saturday morning.
I appear to have given up any hope of keeping up with Madam Pacemaker.
...which kinda makes the name redundant.
I did enjoy the run though. A steady first lap of Brockwell, and then I put my foot down for the second leg going up BMX Hill.
I even managed a sprint finish which drew a round of applause as I crossed the line.
I took a deep in take of breath, and tried not to throw up.
The final time of 23:50 was still almost three minutes off a PB. How I managed to set that original time I have no idea.
Lake Brockwell was the reward for the running.
It was BEAUTIFUL.
I was politely asked to move lanes mid-swim as the Windrush Tri boys were about to invade the water.
I obliged, only to swim past the rubber boys for the remainder of the swim.
The falling autumnal leaves are starting to fall in the water. It all adds to the appeal of the changing nature of a swim as the seasons pass over the lido.
I settled for a brisk 12 Brockwell lengths.
STUFF yer 2am partying and rock 'n' roll lifestyle. The lido is MY legal high.
I took off my goggles and treaded water for a minute or so, audibly laughing at the sheer love that is a lido swim.
I'll be hitting the booze later...
A quick dash back to Sunny Stockwell for some domestics, and then I had to be over there by luncheon.
I cycled off to Liverpool Street, stopping off at The Oval along the way.
I had the tip off the night before that the bulldozers were about to finish off the Peter May Stand.
twIt was with a sense of perfect timing that I arrived to capture it all on camera.
This is Transpontine social history.
I edited some photos during the train journey back to over there. I listened to Lou's New York album, inspired by an earlier tweet from a senior Cllr who really should know better.
I arrived back just in time to catch the final hour of the cricket.
Long live Test match cricket - the finest sport on the planet.
And then we had an afternoon tea romantic date.
Having stood Anna up for her birthday weekend in favour of watching Dulwich, I agreed to take the girl out to Wivenhoe House Hotel for high tea.
PROPER sarnies, and then a cake selection that was impossible to finish off.
Hurrah for the doggy bag to help us out over the coming days.
We went for a brief wander back around campus. We only manage this around once a year. There really is no reason to head back.
Not surprisingly we drifted into the SU Bar. We pondered a pint to watch the Arsenal match. But thought better and cycled back home to watch the second half with another cup of tea.
Saturday evening was spent catching up with Danny Baker's Cradle to the Grave.
Another 5am start for Friday morning.
The No 2 bus along South Lambeth Road has become my morning alarm call of late.
No worries. I had school catching up from yesterday to finish anyway.
I cycled off to the lido on what was the first chilly willy morning of the season. I confess to wearing black rubber.
@mutley69 was doing some yoga nonsense of a headstand by the deep end.
It looked most odd, yet also most impressive.
Work has also finally started on the second set of decking replacement over by the old toker's corner.
I dread to think what lies beneath the layers of lido social history in what use to be the strictly adult's area.
The water was down to 13 degrees. The first length was a little lively. I soon got in the swing of the swim, and managed 12 lengths before having to leg it back to Sunny Stockwell for a school assembly.
Unknown to me it was Wear Your Own Clothes Day in SW9, with money being raised for the Brixton Food Bank.
As ever I looked a fraud with my shirt and tie.
Late afternoon and the school fire alarm went off.
Usually we get the heads up if this is a practise. Nothing was mentioned earlier in the day.
I confess to having the thought of making a dash to save the MacBook Air. This is not the type of example that should be set in a school...
It was a false alarm, of sorts.
I made the short cycle back to the flat, and then spent pretty much all of Friday evening... editing and publishing school content.
The decks have been cleared.
The weekend fun can now begin.
Spats along the Walworth Road to start off Thursday morning.
Not spats as is mild disagreements, but spats as in the high end Dandy shoes that I have always wanted to wear, but never had the bottle to carry off.
Especially not down the Walworth Road early on a Thursday morning.
But my, my Sir: you looked bloody ACE.
My high spirits were soon taken down a level with the expected news that it wasn't good on the family front back in the Fair City.
My dear, dear Nan
I pushed on with the school work.
This meant using a PC for the first time in over five years as I tried to transfer some images over.
When did PC's become so crap?
In the end I had to get a helpful Year 4 young chap to show me how to use the bloody thing.
I went oblivious about my work for most of the morning, not realising that my brief visit to the Nursery led to a large splash of yellow paint on best-est jeans.
I missed Bell End in the cricket as well.
I walked back from SE17 through to SW8 at chucking out time.
There was some huge film shoot taking place on one of the estates. I chuckled as to how many people it takes to just film a short piece for the telly.
Work shifts followed in the flat.
I caught up with the @BBC5Live piece on Forest from the night before.
I can't wait to see the Miracles film now.
Happy, happy days.
A bit of Brixton Buzz action, and editing some school content brought Thursday to a close.
Early work shifts and a cricketing breakfast to start off Tuesday.
The UAE Test series takes place in the perfect time zone.
A 7:30am for the start of play means Bran Flakes as the first ball is bowled.
Bell end normally follows soon after.
I blagged another F717 camera mid-morning via eBay.
I reckon I must be in double figures now for the number of models that I have owned since 2005.
Sure, it's a false economy in buying them up, plus it doesn't do a great deal to help improve your photography 'skills.'
But for £21 it is an absolute bargain.
I simply LOVE these cameras. They are perfect for my school work with a quick fire start up to capture scenes on the fly.
The only downside is the sensor fault that Sony now refuses to fix.
My current model is still going strong, but for £21 it is good to have a back up.
It was then a day of deep, deep work shifts, only broken up by a video interview mid-afternoon.
As the longest serving member of staff [gosh] I was asked to record a short piece addressing changing company values and culture.
Put simply, everything and nothing has changed.
That's the way I like it.
I confess to putting on a cravat especially for the recording.
The make up brush remained in the bathroom cupboard though.
Work went all the way through until early evening.
And then just after 8pm I put the heating on.
Normally I resist for as late in the year as possible. It is Anna who insists that we have a great TURN ON.
But I was bloody cold.
I had a relaxing evening catching up with An Inspector Calls before it runs out on the iPlayer.
I studied this in my youth for 'O' Level drama (grade B, thank you very much.)
I was surprised as to how word perfect I was almost 30 years later.
That was Monday.
It went by just like that.
Sometimes these days are the best.
Not so WOOSH-ing was the morning run.
I just didn't fancy a swim soaked in chlorine pretty much all weekend.
My time for the traditional estuary wilds circuit was half-decent, but it felt like I was plodding.
And then a fairly intense work day followed.
I was working on various projects from home, plus publishing updates from all three schools.
I'm finding that lovely teaching staff are now starting to send through more photos or videos that they have shot.
This is ACE etc.
Although I do worry that it might put me out of a job.
I had a spare hour mid-afternoon. I read through the kangaroo court paper that CBC is about to put one of its Cllr's through.
And politically motivated as well.
Never trust a shifty LibDem, as I told Anna around the evening dinner table as she opened up yet another email from Paddy Pantsdown, or whoever.
Monday evening was spent de-WOOSHing by watching bits of the football and much more of the darts.
Got a WOOSH day tomorrow as well.
Sunday started with Cat Wars.
The mad cast lost.
It was the usual commotion. The mad cat doesn't like cats. She doesn't like anyone, to be honest.
Another cat poked his paws over the garden wall.
The mad cat went BONKERS - even more so than usual.
And so Cat Wars was lost, and so was my lycra etiquette.
I'm not entirely sure what happened here. It looked so different on eBay.
The Wifey Weekend Roll Out was a little bit laboured. I chose to ride on the tourer, for no other reason than I couldn't be arsed to get the road bike out.
We battled cross winds heading out, and then we blown back on course at the turnaround point.
I managed to disturb a family of pheasants whilst taking a roadside pee.
A bit of gardening back at base, and then I was in need of a clean up.
A bike ride out to the pool would sort this out.
My swim on Sunday was all about going through the motions. I had a little time to spare and so rewarded myself with 15 minutes in the spa.
What followed what quite incredible.
I witnessed the world's WORST swimmer.
Fella: you were SHOCKING.
Well done etc for getting in the pool, but I'm still not sure if I was party to some art prank comedy swimming moment.
His technique involved 3-4 violent lunges with the arms. I think that a freestyle crawl was being attempted.
This came to a close and a stationary standing position about 5 metres in.
Then an attempt at breast stroke, but with the legs 180 degrees in the air, as though a dive was also being attempted.
Halfway down the pool and the goggles were tossed aside in anger.
And then when a full length was finally completed about 5 minutes later, a completely BONKERS routine followed where the Fast Lane [yeah, I know] sign was splashed over.
It was all a little OCD.
I shouldn't mock, but it was most amusing.
I wonder what Lido Mike would have made of it all?
The rest of Sunday was spent on some Brixton Buzz preparation for the week ahead.
And then Anna and I finally caught up with This is England.
Grim, but gripping.
Fifty lengths in the pool to start off Saturday morning.
That felt bloody good. Booze free from the night before as well.
Back at base and I gave the garden the first serious fork of the season.
The turf still felt firm.
What follows next is the grass thinning faster than my hair.
FORK IT, etc.
I picked up some work shifts to see me through Saturday morning.
Pay to play, as ever.
It was fairly easy going, with the mad cat as company.
I had a momentary inspiration to start the housework after luncheon.
The enthusiasm didn't last.
I buggered off to Broad Lane just before 3pm for the football.
I think that this was the first time that I have seen Wivenhoe Town actually win.
So what if the Dragons had to drop down a division to achieve this?
The first half was poor.
As ever - watching crap football is ACE.
The second half was far more exciting. Wivenhoe had plenty of flair down both sides and attacked throughout the 45 minutes.
I became so over-excited that I forgot to booze.
The enthusiasm saw me complete the housework back at base come full time.
And then an evening of DARTS and BOOZE brought Saturday to a close.
I cycled off to the pool first thing on Friday morning caught in No Man's Lycra Land.
I was neither short or long, but the silly plus four lycra extensions.
I felt equally silly and chilled.
This was a morning for the full on lycra look.
Still, it was a strong ride, followed by a strong swim. Pasta and Bran Flakes are the new Special Brew, Comrades.
West Ham Wanker was feeling a little tasty himself in the changing rooms. He started to give me some boxing training tips, oblivious to the fact that I don't box, or even support West Ham.
He then started to sing Sex Bomb to me in the showers.
I made my excuses and left.
A quick haircut - No.1 all over.
No delicate comments about 'hiding your problem, Sir.'
Back at base and I was banished yet again upstairs into the office. Anna blagged the desk from the Raj / Colchester.
The mad cat set up her stall for the day on my body warmer.
And then work.
A rather pleasant mail dropped mid morning: "You are the longest serving member of staff. We would like to capture your social history of the company."
Laugh / cry etc.
Actually it's been a definite case of laughing of late.
@RobertElms had a 1970 four-fer.
I'm rather proud that I first made my first appearance in the world when Whilst My Guitar Gently Weeps was in the charts.
Mr BT phoned later in the afternoon.
But I do feel rather awkward in doing this.
A mad burst of late afternoon gardening followed before sunset.
It was a sad moment as the garden table was stored away for yet another season. Age is starting to show around the edges for us all.
I listened to Mickypedia for the first time whilst doing all the sweeping and raking. Coming out of the South London Hardcore stable, It's no surprise to hear that it's another fine effort.
Anna and I caught up with various Novara Media content from the past week over an evening meal.
The quality and quantity that is being produced in house is quite special. I put £10 in the online kitty to help support the project.
A bit of darts, and then I had more work shifts through until bedtime.
ROCK 'N' ROLL Friday night.
A GLORIOUS estuary wilds day - where I was stuck indoors.
It started with the mad cat coming to sleep on me.
Except I remembered my last thought before I went to sleep the night before was to change a headline on a pre-scheduled Brixton Buzz piece, as the original just read as bollocks.
The mad cat was purring.
The clock was ticking.
The auto-scheduled post and corresponding tweet were about to kick in.
And that was kinda the routine for the remainder of the day: just about staying in control of things.
But only just.
Work projects bounced from one to the other.
I had a slight distraction when @RobertElms had a review of The Programme, the new film about the Lance Armstrong lie.
Sounds bloody ACE.
I had a break in the work schedule late in the day.
That estuary wilds sun was calling.
I went out walking with the camera and the headphones, with no other plan than to listen to some tunes and snap away where the mood took me.
Boat Man Neil was enjoying a pint outside the Quay. We had a pleasant catch up.
Back at base and a returning Anna from South London brought an end to Thursday.
The girl did well with some Transpontine olive bread.
An early morning email from the vet: time to take the mad cat in for her annual jabs.
Time to take the mad cat in for the Worst Day of the Year, more like.
I relegated the email and prioritised with much more pleasing work demands.
I went from Late Junction to the latest Great Big Kiss podcast as the soundtrack.
Once again: THIS IS THE MUSIC OF THE GODS.
It had me dancing around the kitchen at 9am, anyway.
I tried to watch Cameron's speech. I gave up after five minutes and made a cup of tea. I felt much happier with the world.
My music went a little Selectadisc sub '85 - 90 for the rest of the afternoon.
The Boy Bragg, Beats International, Lloyd Cole, Everything but the Girl.
Like Nu Labour never happened, etc.
I had some more work shifts later in the evening.
I downed tools and celebrated with a bag of chips.
The most memorable thing from the morning swim on Tuesday was being cut up on the bicycle ride in by a man cutting grass.
His grass cutting contraption had L plates on it as well.
Talk about being mowed down, etc.
The swim was short, yet functional.
Work shifts followed for the rest of the morning.
Some of the tools we use have had a pretty major dashboard makeover. I was fumbling around in the online darkness.
And not for the first time.
Robert Elms was a mixed bag.
BBC London 94.9 has decided to go back to the future and re-brand simply as Radio London.
Which all meant that the music for Tuesday came from 1970, the year that I was born.
It had a definite suede head feel to it. I wish that I had been born 15 years earlier.
The afternoon was spent editing and publishing school content from SE21 yesterday.
My policy of just capture, then think about the consequences later, is starting to drag me down slightly.
I now run around and schools and try and video / record / photograph as much as I can see.
This is a fine way of working - if you have decent editing skills.
Which I don't.
Half a dozen videos, 12 pieces of audio, 50 odd images and 3,000+ words later and the school site was up to date.
I had some power pop late afternoon with London 0, Hull 4.
Fresh, as ever.
I note that the political message is back in vogue once again, Comrades.
More evening work shifts, and then a playback and editing of METROKNOBBERS.
Inside Croydon is bloody good.
I then made a big-ish decision late in the evening.
As ever, I'll sleep on it.
Nothing about work, personal shit etc. Just letting go of something that I should have done a long time ago.