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.