November

[Sweder]

Not sure why but an odd, disinterested plod this morning.
It wasn't the weather. High cloud yielded to watery winter sun, residual flood waters winking from the distant fields. The ancient downland wore her work-day drab, all washed-out winter colours; off-white, scuffed green, sticky brown, all speckled with the dirty fallen leaves. The ubiquitous mafiosa rooks cast wary glances at our fouteen-legged entourage as we thudded past, squawking and wheeling off the old racecourse fence to regroup further down, rejoined in their sinister hooded parliament.

I suspect my mood had more to do with last night's all-too-late bout of televisual indulgence. A Dragon's Den special follwed by episode one of McEwan and Boorman's great adventure Long Way Down, follow-up to the excellent Long Way Round; gripping tales of long-distance motorcycle travel well-told. I've found my candle is no longer double-wick'd; I must choose between late nights and early morning lopes. They make uncomfortable bedfellows.

Bleary-eyed I cursed myself for not hitting the 'record' button. There again my digibox is stuffed with unwatched unmissables. A number of Jools Hollands nestle next to three hours of Neil Young. The Pink Floyd Story sits just above part two of Alan Yentob's History of the Guitar, and languishing on the plush sofa right at the back of the box are Donnie Darko, Blood Simple and no end of episodes of Heroes - Series Two. They'll stay there too, until or unless someone manages to slip an extra 24 hours into my week.

Rest day tomorrow, 5K time trial on Saturday and the Brighton 10K on Sunday. A nett week-on-week distance loss of some 10K, but at least Sunday should be (relatively) fast - my annual gaspathon - followed by a couple of hours of banter with good friends. Reminds me - must book Alfrescos.