Sex, Alcohol & Cake

On bus today, so I have to drag myself out of bed early. As I head for the shower I look longingly at the naked girl that I leave behind.

Despite the early start I still end up running for the bus. I don't have the required £5 for the bus fare and have to pay with a £10 note. Thankfully they don't operate one of those ridiculous exact price systems that wind up all the customers but make nice profits for the bus companies. Even so the driver cannot change my tenner.

Why do the drivers never carry enough change? I have witnessed this problem on numerous occasions, when it has happened to other people, but have only been unlucky enough to have a problem with it on one previous occasion, because normally I manage to have the correct money.

The driver had no £5 notes; it also appears that he didn't even have any £1 or 50p coins either, as he paid me in mainly 20p's and 10p's, the majority of which were 10p's. I was tempted to refuse the change, get off his bus, and wait for the next one but for some reason I don't. I didn't have time to count the vast pile of change as the other passengers were already glaring at us for the delay. When I got to work I did count it, £4.80. So I've been short changed by 20p as well, charming.

I will be saving the pile of change so that the next time I travel with that same driver I can pay him back with it. Somehow I think he'll be just as unhappy as I was to receive it.

The Swimfit website tells me that I burnt 1319 calories cycling to work yesterday, each way! Which sounds a lot to me! It says I only burnt 168 swimming on Monday, although it didn’t take into account all my flailing around. Our 3-mile run burnt 339. So the conclusion is if you want to burn calories get on your bike.

Pub today, Steak & Kidney pie and Salamander Stout. All excellent.

L's on her bike today, hoping to get cast iron thighs like mine, so she says. However it's now so windy I don't think she'll be biking down the hill to home. I shall look forward to showing her another way to get cast iron thighs tonight.

Daughter is making our Christmas cake today and I get home to see that she has already been soaking the fruit in rum. I'm not sure she knows what a reasonable soaking of rum is, so we could be in for a very merry Xmas.

Took Doggo for a walk. We get accosted by Santa and his sleigh rattling a collection tin. I thought Santa was all about giving gifts, hard times affect us all it seems.

Get a phone call from the Motor Neurone Disease society, apparently in one of my rasher moments I bought a raffle ticket from them. I am told I have won a pair of Winnie The Pooh nose clips, at least I think that's what they said. They're going to pop it through my door. This is quite an achievement because I never win any prize draws, ever.

Squash tonight. We intend to try and keep the game down to a reasonable length this week and not the hour and 15 we played for last week. My opponent will just have to learn to accept it when he loses the last game of the match and not keep demanding to play another one. Then he might be able to walk the next day. In the end we are chucked off court by another match after only 45 minutes, just as he was tiring and I was getting warmed up. Unfortunately I had lost all five games to that point. Most of them were close though.

Get a text from L, she's stressed and says she needs sex, alcohol and cake as soon as possible although not necessarily in that order. That's not an offer a boy like me can refuse. Luckily we have plenty of alcohol in the house and naturally I am more than willing to give her as much sex as she wants, anyhow she wants it, but I'm not sure we have any cake. I hope this fact doesn't scupper the whole deal.

Despite the urgency of the message she assumes I'll be off to the pub first, so in the meantime she's cooking spam curry. Huh, well in that case I will pop for a quickie (of beer) before coming home and giving her the benefit of something much slower. So I have a very nice swift pint of Grantham Stout.

I text her to ask if it's food or sex first. She opts for the sex first but only after she and Daughter have finished watching Bleak House. Huh and I get accused of putting the pub first. I could have had time for another pint.

Post Bleak House I finally get my girl where I want her or, as she seems so wonderfully up for it tonight, perhaps she gets me where she wants me, which appears to be behind her, inside her and with my finger between her legs. It's all very messy and all very wonderful as we round things off with her on all fours. (L, I hope that isn't too explicitly put) The session is accompanied by Old Peculiar and with curry to follow. It doesn't get any better than that.