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.