The Day Of The Blackened Toe

Orienteering again and local again, in Nottingham this time. So only time for an edited highlights package of Saturday morning's lie-in.

I'm not mentioning the cricket.

Once up and in the car, the black clouds seem to be in the distance and not overhead. This would be a good sign if it wasn't for the fact that they seem to be hovering over where we are heading. There are few things worse that having a bad day orienteering; but one of those is having a bad WET day orienteering.

Lots of horses and horse trails in the forest where we are. At one point I start to climb up a heavily brambled bank so as the dog would not disturb the horses. Doggo won't follow me though and takes the logical route up the trail I was trying to avoid, threading his way through the horses as he goes. He stands at the top of the hill looking extremely pleased with himself, while staring down at the silly fool coming up the hard way.

In the end, it doesn't rain and orienteering goes very well. In fact my partner (Doggo) and I come 16th out of 40+ entries. We are even inside the recommended time which is a rarity. The course is very easy, although the map is a bit dodgy and way too small. So it's a good job the course is straightforward.

Coffee, soup and a debrief back at the car. L's course went well too. So well in fact that there are once again chinks of sunlight through the black clouds.

At 4pm we go out for Sunday lunch with some friends, to our local Hardy's and Hanson's pub. This will probably be our last trip there before the brewery is closed and therefore we are forced to boycott it.

Excitement before we go as Son flashes us a grotesquely blackened toe as he wonders round bare foot, hunting for socks. This is as he starts to get ready ten minutes after the rest of us are ready to leave. Apparently a mishap on the football field has produced this unsightly injury. Daughter promptly faints at the hideous sight. At first I think she is fooling but when she bangs her head on the banisters I'm convinced. Doggo is quick to administer first aid with his tongue.

At the pub the Greene King influence is already well evident, all the better H&H beers removed and replaced with GK rubbish. I have a H&H Olde Trippe, a normally forgettable beer which tastes better than usual, perhaps because I know it's the last time I'll drink it. The pub is dead, so looks like we're not the only customers who have voted with their feet.

My miserable weekend in the fantasy is complete as Stefanovic limps off injured, although things improve slightly as Saha scores. Somehow I limp to 34 points, 20 points off the pace.

39 units for the week, shockingly bad.