The Boxer

Took three of my 'reduced' pills yesterday, rather than two, and blood this morning was 4.9.

Now we've got that out of the way, I know what you're all breathless to know - what the hell was the big-ass boxful of boxes for yesterday, right?

Bottom line, we have a smallish apartment (or flat, for my fellow Brits), and waaaaaay too much stuff. It's threatening to become the subject of a disturbing documentary about the hoarder-people of Olde London Towne...
Hence the boxes. Plus, in case I haven't mentioned this before, we're hoping to get the hell out of our current place before this time next year.

Our current place is sbout a mile away from the arenas that'll be on all your TV screens this time next year, as the London Olympics takes over the wooooooorld. It's pretty much taken over our world for quite some time now, with tube restructuring meaning you have to treat every weekend as if a bomb's gone off somewhere in the city, and plot alternative routes, and then alternatives to your alternatives, and roadworks...well, pretty much looking as if a bomb's gone off somewhere in the city. From tomorrow, they tear down and re-surface our local bus station, which sucks the ass out of most local transport plans and makes me glad I got the new walking shoes last week.

For complicated reasons, I've interviewed the chief poo-bah of Transport for London involved with planning for 2012, and the numbers of extra human beings that'll be tramping through both the city and specifically our home turf just don't add up to 'good times for Tony and d'. So, again, hence the boxes. And yes of course, technically it's a little pre-emptory to box up all our possessions in the hope of moving out without, in fact, having anywhere to move to. But if I can refer you to the documentary film crew sleeping on our doorstep, at the very least it looks a little less deranged.

So today (after finally getting back to a normal amount of biking), we've been boxing up, throwing out, sorting for sale, discovering lost objects long thought stolen by vicious yet literate east end rats, and basically instilling in ourselves a sense of positivity and progress. So even though no, technically, I still haven't got out the weights, it pretty much feels like I have, as the burn of gentle but unaccustomed exercise thrums through my forearms.

Now it's time to get my ass out into our garden for chess and Monopoly and possibly cards.

Yeah, yeah, I've heard of sex and drugs and rock and roll, honestly I have. Hey - I've taken drugs and listened to rock and roll already today, leave me to my own peccadilloes, alright!