Time For Bed

L's hand is busy again this morning. Her efforts to lighten my load, welcome though they are, are wasted as regards cycling, as I bottle out today. It is raining and has been most of the night.

Oh my God. England collapse from 59-1 to 127 all out on the last day of the second test and go on to lose. Miracles don't happen after all.

Driving to work the roads are flooded, even parts of the A52. It is also very windy. So at first it seems a correct, if frustrating decision, not to cycle. However, the journey is so painfully slow by car; I wonder whether it might have been better to risk it. It would almost have been my own mini triathlon, a bit of a swim, probably a bit of a run and all while still on the bike. Forecast says tomorrow should be dry, so will cycle tomorrow no matter what.

We thought we'd cracked it with Swimfit but now the website won't let us sign back in without a membership number. A membership number which it seems to have omitted to give us. The system just keeps saying, "To enjoy continued access to the site you'll need to become a member of Swimfit". We have. We have.

Finally after reregistering three times, I finally spot the membership number halfway down the fifth screen that I select off the main menu. Nice handy place to put it. So it's all systems go, for now.

Swimfit offers you a swimming target to achieve 'virtually'. L opts to swim the entire length of the Thames. She has 337km to go. She's just showing off, I’m only swimming the channel, but that should keep me going until I retire! Currently I'm still wading out from the beach at Dover.

Back home and we debate whether to run or swim. First we have to wait for Riccado to turn up with the shopping (that's Ocado to you). He's booked for 7pm but last time he turned up at 5.30. Typical of him to be on time and make us wait this time.

While we're waiting L requests something 'hot'. Regrettably she means food, so I whip up a spicy curry for the four of us.

Finally the delivery comes and at around 7.45pm we opt for the run. Although it's 8pm by the time we've fitted all the lights and reflectors to Doggo's running coat. We kit him out in all kinds of paraphernalia so that he can be seen.

Run is good. I haven't run for a while and my legs feel very strong. The cycling must be doing me some good.

L's hamstring is playing up and I heat up some oil to massage it for her. We have four types of oil: - 'Time to unwind', 'Time to relax', 'time for bed', 'time for passion'. I opt for 'time for bed', for no apparent reason. L won't let me use 'time for passion' in case it has hidden powers.

I give L's hamstring a good pummelling. After which she takes over the massaging and deals with my aches. We finish the day more or less as we started it but with added lubricant.

Shifting The Cloud

We get up to do the papers this morning as Son is still in Derby.

After that we fall back into bed. We ought to be up and on the park with Doggo, going for a swim or to the Gym but lie-ins are such a rare and precious thing. Instead we spend the next three hours in bed but not sleeping obviously. It is a man's duty to try and do what he can to shift his woman's black cloud. Three hours, minus some time out for a couple of coffee breaks, later, there is definitely much more sunshine and blue sky.

Regrettably once we finally get up I sense the sky clouding over again as the lack of physical activity (of the none sexual kind) tops it up again. Daughter not getting off the bus at the right stop and ending up in the centre of town doesn't seem to help.

The cricket has taken a turn for the worst.

My afternoon is spent watching Derby win again, 1-0 over Leicester. The result is ground out in a not very attractive style, so I have still seen no evidence of their wonderful play they save for away games. A win is a win they say. Hmmm. Can we have some football please lads?

On to the really serious stuff and I have a total nightmare in the fantasy. Henry, my captain, is rule out with a bad neck! Everyone seems to know this apart from me. Johnson pulls his hamstring pre-match. Things get worse when they kick off. One of my defenders brings down the striker from my rivals team. My defender is sent off, while his striker gets up and scores the penalty. My chap scores -2.

By 5pm I only have 2 points, everyone else seems to have 30+. In the late match Faye scores for Bolton, I consider pointing the car towards Bolton, running on the pitch and kissing the guy. That would liven up the Sky commentary. In the end I head for home, I have a dog to exercise and a black cloud to try and disperse.

The kids are back, well temporarily, Sons gone off to war and Daughter has gone to a birthday sleepover. We walk the three miles to the Victoria again. Where the Bramble Stout is wonderful.

We return home, avoiding all takeaways, and have L's beans and frankfurter dish that is designed to soak up the alcohol. I can certainly say that it works. Haven't had hangovers in months.