Friday, 4 August 2017

Hard Boiled

I'm struggling badly at the mo. with an inflamed right Achilles. I'm not even sure why I felt the need to put Achilles in capitals. Anyway, I've haven't even had the energy to take an interest in the usual races that have come and gone. Some words like 'ruptured' or 'torn' have crept into the conversation, then hobbled out of it. These are words that haven't been invited to the party. They're gatecrashers. Unwelcome. These kind of words are for other people.

There was never any chance of me going to A&E; partly because they do good work and have little time for self induced injuries, partly because they've no time for malingerers like me, but mostly because they might tell me no exercise Mr Mac; or they might even stick my leg in a cast-off moon boot from a star wars storm trooper. Does the Empire do half sizes? Some exhausted doctor might advise me to take a course of paracetamol, or, alternatively, to 'use the Force'. Would this save on the prescription charges, I wonder? 

I have accepted that the running thing may have to take a back seat in any case. The karate continues to demand more elasticity, discipline and washing powder than I can provide.
A weeks planned cycling in the Alpine passes in September also means I need to beef up the quads and cut out the donuts. Easier said than done. The summer's been a bit up and down, but even as my old running canine partner declines, my new best friends are a pool full of tadpoles in the wee garden. They are keeping me busy, topping them up every day and willing them to get bigger. A bit needy, they're taking an age to sprout legs. The pool is actually only a posthole. I dug it earlier in the year and some frog decided it was the spawning spot for them.

Me and Missus Mac took the newly arrived tandem down to Ely 3 weeks ago. Its working out well so far. We had a cultural whirlwind tour of the town, Cromwells House and watched a performance of Richard the Third. We also did some flat roads around Norfolk and hung out at the Cathedral (as you do). We stopped frequently to graze on the bloated brambles at the side of the road. Its a different climate down there, I tell you.

I returned from down south only to go straight up north as I was press ganged to ride with three bandoliers up to North Berwick for a long planned weekend. We set off at 8am and had a tailwind almost all the way up in dry conditions. The 105 miles were a breeze. I then did 40 wet miles on the Saturday morning back around Dunbar turning at the Pease Bay roundabout with Steve H. It was so wet, the snails were all out in force. We kept bumping into wet, subdued Canadian couples doing some tour of the Scottish coast or somit? Might have looked like a good idea at the time. On the Sunday, we rode back home in the rain. When we stopped at Berwick for a cuppa, the delightful woman in Fortes CafĂ© brought out some towels for us....now that's service. The only other saving grace was that we had nearly a tailwind back home. It was wet. Very wet.

As I am partially laid up, I have digested Murikami's left field and engaging but weird 'Hard Boiled Wonderland' and then it was on to 'The Watchmaker of Filigree Street'.  The book was a present but it took me an age to read. It tried but failed. disjointed and poor character development. However, I am continuing to ply the urban fantasy theme with Neil Gaimans 'Neverwhere'. Its an easy, wholesome and cheery read. Now he's someone who can tell a story.

Anyway, I feel some gym work beckoning, otherwise I wont be able to pull on my jeans. Wish me luck. till next time.


Some this week      

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