bulk :: 15st 1
days without alcohol :: 0
Wii Fit sessions :: 4
substantial bike rides (90mins+) :: 4
nagging stomach pain alert level :: elevated
I’ve probably got about eight weeks left up here. In Grimstone. And although I’m having a thoroughly pleasant time and am Getting Stuff Done, I am very much looking forward to getting back to London. I miss people. I’m realising that without leaving the house on a regular basis to spend time in the company of other human beings, I regress. I tend to go a bit vile. Last week I found a full beard on my face, and in the last few days I’ve sprouted a cluster of small red blotches on the crown of my Johnson. It’s grisly stuff, I know, but apart from being hunched over my two monitors like a low-rent Terry Pratchett, I’ve little else to report.
The problem of course, is hygiene. Or, more precisely, a lack thereof. Thankfully, cycling has come to the rescue, for when I return from an hour or so of grafting and gliding, I am invariably radiant with perspiration and sporting a magnificently oily calf.
I miss London, however, because I want to be forced to shower by the prospect of social congress, rather than the appearance of cheese-blisters.
You know, sometimes I look at my bike and I want to kiss it.
Speaking of dubious tenderness, the answer to last Mittwoch’s Bookscan competition was…
You’re kicking yourself now, I know. Stop it. It’s not allowed.
Now, as for this week’s Bookscan, I have a doozy. I also have approximately 200 CDs to give away. I’ve uploaded them all onto my machine and I’m about to sell them to the ghouls at Music Magpie, but if you can guess the answer to this here competition, you can maybe have some instead if you like. There's bound to be something you’d like there. My Fair Lady maybe? It’s very good. Some of it.
So without wishing to 'drown the miller' with preamble, name the book, claim the prize…
This weekend I am going to go cycling and I am going to tidy and read. I'm also going to attempt to adjust to life without joints. I have run out of ‘the herb’. In reality, the tough part will be no more tobacco, for which it's fair to say I’ve most probably redeveloped something of an addiction. And with the bastard tobacco back I go to square one.
Hello, pleased to meet you. I want to get fit, stop smoking, move to London and meet a doe-eyed, shark-toothed, pen-hearted woman who loves me for who I am.
Who's with me?
Ah. I see I'm alone. So be it.
Have a pleasant weekend.
12 comments:
As your physician, I recommend you stop with all the crazy giving-up-the-herb talk. You'll come undone like a box of springs. Stop it.
I'm so pleased you like your bike though!
Penile problems aside, let's be jolly and look ahead to your party in September!
Walker Evans and the Picture Postcard, by Jeff L Rosenheim
The Big Book of 1930s Jigsaws
The Big Book of 1930s Postcards
The Big Book of 1930s Posters
The Big Book of 1930s Greetings Cards
The Day Tarzan Took His Armadillo to Meet the King
Mid 1930's Postcard - The Monospar S.T.18 "Croydon by Howard Leigh
A Social History of Britain in Postcards 1870-1930
God, this really was procrastination at its finest.
You realise all this stomach pain is psychosomatic don't you?
It will be harder to bike in London unless you cultivate a well hard attitude. A few spots on the penis could well contribute to that.
The squirrel appears to have given my answer to the quiz, and everybody else's too. Spoil sport.
I have never once had any clue about your photo scan contests. No prize shall ever be mine. Hurrah for the new bike.
More than six years without the herb and I still miss it. No good news there, I'm afraid.
But NK, I need to exercise some control over my life. And I don’t know any dealers up here. It’ll do me good, shush.
I love it, Kirses.
Hmmm, AD, yes. Let’s be jolly.
BS, no. Sorry.
Stripey, but it’s been going on for a year now. I don’t think it is. I think it’s cancer. Frankly. I’m having some exploratory bowel thing on the 24th. Hopefully that will throw some light on it. Oh, and the squirrel is wrong.
Oh, PG, don’t say that. That makes me want to shake you until you babble incoherently.
My other half has been smoking it since he was young and he's one of the sanest people I know. Although every now and then he gets unaccountably grumpy and unreasonable and I get all confused, and then I realise there's a drought on. But there are worse things you could be addicted to. Then again he did have to give up a career as an international champion prizewinning sportsman when they brought in drugs testing.
I'm not actually joking.
PS Sorry for being a spoilsport, I was suffering from Friday-afternoon-itis and wanted to win a free CD. I even cheated and asked an interweb forum thingy, but they were bloody useless and just kept wittering on about Mia Farrow and Germany. But then I didn't find the right answer, so I don't think any sport was spoiled. It's either Bloody Difficult or I'm rubbish at Google/guessing book titles. It may well be the latter.
Martin Murray's The Story of Cigarette Cards.
Nope.
As a total outsider, I'm not even going to make an attempt at guessing the title of your book. Well, not your book, but the book. The clues are funny and you are a clever man.
Don't give up too many things at once. Too much effort and you will fail at everything and start using all of it again. I'd keep smoking the regular cigarettes if I were you. They are the least healthy, but will keep you the most sane.
Bike riding will be hard in London, you need a killer attitude and a suicidal instinct, while all the while fighting for your life. Buses and taxis seem to be especially dangerous.
I hope you soon meet the woman that you continue to dream off and take showers for. She can't be far away if you're hunkering after her so much.
Irene
No, Irene, no. The cigarettes are vile. They taste horrible. I really don't like them. Bleurgh. Yeah, bike-riding in London is a bit of a chore I know. But I'm going to find the tracks. There will be tracks.
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