"Of course, we've technically got today off," said d, laying in our bed this morning.
I was already on the page with her - I'd set a 7am alarm to go do the Trail this morning, and turned it off at 6.50.
"That means," she said, swinging an idle leg lazily and turning my thoughts to drool and gibberish in my head, "it's still technically the weekend..."
"Yes," I said, watching the swinging knee like someone who's about to walk like a chicken or sing like Elvis. "Yes, it does..."
"So...I mean, really, there's no point going back on the wagon today...as such...is there? I mean, tomorrow's the day really...isn't it?"
I wiped the drool off my chin, as the knee did that peculiar thing that women's knees do, that hitches their skirts or nighties just a fraction of a milimetre and burns the world of men to the ground. In my private brain-world, Im fairly sure Salome had knees that did that. Delilah too...Goooood knees...
"Let's go to Cardiff for breakfast then," said d brightly, swinging lithely out of bed.
"Wa-huh?" I said, watching the knees disappear...
So we headed to the city, and had a day of just being groovy together and reconnecting, and then a bit of time where d had her hair done and I repaired to Starbucks, St Mary's St, without my coputer, and so with nothing to do but chill...which was fab. I've kind of forgotten what that feels like. Feels good.
Today therefore has been an extension of the weekend, and an extension of my period off the wagon. Back on it tomorrow at 6.30 am though, for an appointment with the Trail, and a week of salads and biking and hard bloomin' work. Looking forward to that actually: all this lazing about and eating nice things without neurosis is starting to get to me.
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