December 2012

[Sweder]

Weirdo.

It's a fair cop

Anyone seen my mojo? Seems to have sneaked off this week, possibly hopped on a cheap flight in search of warmer climes. I was tempted to join Antonio for the mad Pechina dash but the flights didnt work out - at least, 164 quid just for the outbound on Saturday seemed a little steep. There's something about the on-rushing Yuletide that fills me with dread. That cussed Black Dog takes up residence at my slippered feet of an evening and I silently wish it would all be done with in the blink of a dispassionate eye.

Running-wise I'm still getting out there every day, Sunday aside when I singularly failed by means of a series of prevarications and distractions. Yesterday saw a truncated effort that included 8 x 30 second sprints with 30 second recoveries. The first four are OK, it's the last four that kick your arse. My weight has stayed steadfastly below 90 kilos - 88.4 this morning - that in spite of a definite lapse in careful eating, if not a full-blown return to gluttony. I had a beer yesterday. Out to lunch with a customer at Fifteen, Jamie Oliver's celebrated London eatery where scoundrels and reprobates are given a chance to shine, my eye was snared by their 'beer of the week', an impossibly dark rum porter. It tasted divine and I was sorely tempted to try another in case I'd just got lucky. Somewhere way down inside an alarm sounded, so I went onto sparkling water with a saucy slice of lime.

About to head out now. The sun is doing its best to cheer up the winter landscape, jousting with hesitant cloud for pole position. I've woken up in Eeyore mode, my own personal raincloud hovering like a soggy sword of Damocles. Here's hoping it is, as MLCMMan says, the gloom before a good 'un. I somehow doubt it, yet out I shall go. Just as soon as I've stopped tapping away at this.

Oh.