Well you could call it that. I don’t see what’s that good about it…
It was the day that they crucified the Jesus fella which is just not that sporting.
I have been crucified too. Dragged around south Manchester on a ten mile run that turned into twelve. This was our last longish run before the marathon next Sunday. My compatriots said that we were having a nice little stroll but Set off at breakneck speed
I wheezed and coughed the whole way whilst we had some of our very bizarre conversations.
We covered a multitude of topics but the ones that we laughed at the most were about when you see men at the side of the road laid down, screaming in agony because they’ve got cramp during a marathon. We all concluded that a woman wouldn’t make such a fuss, even if her leg dropped off. We also thought that men who have blood dripping down their t shirts because they’ve forgotten to put Vaseline on their nipples are very unworthy of any sort of sympathy.
It was made slightly better by the hospitality offered at the end. We had scrambled eggs at a fellow runners house and cooed at their gorgeous baby.
Unfortunately I was left unsupervised with the food so some people didn’t get any whilst I had thirds. My strap line has always been “Never knowingly under eaten”
When i got back to Totes Towers, I decided to start on all the shit jobs that spring unfortunately brings about. The neighbours had mentioned only last week that my bush was out of control. They don’t seem to mind offering unwelcome advice. So, I got out the necessary tools and proceeded to trim it. I always take a little off to start with and then decide to be more brutal. The underside was the hardest to reach so that’s a bit scraggy.
At least that’s one thing out of the way.
I have taken to hoeing too. It’s hard work but rewarding.
Dangerous was in charge of the little shits this morning for quite some time. By teatime, I realised that none of them had brushed their teeth or washed themselves today. Dangerous found a large turd in the loo that hadn’t been flushed with but with no accompanying loo roll. This evenings entertainment will include sniffing bums at bed time to find out “who dunnit” as nobody would confess to the crime.
Good Friday was not so good but tomorrow is worse still. It’s swimming at nine a.m and gymnastics from one until three.
I might have to get some retail therapy this weekend and I need to drink a bucket of wine to make up for my run today.
Good Friday, chin chin up yer bum.