Yesterday was just going ot be one of those days from the very beginning. Got up, got dressed (snazzy walking outfit - Sixth Doctor costume T-shirt, gym shorts (floppy, not lycra - I'm not that mad again yet!), clumpy walking boots, and made to head down the Trail.
Except...
d had a late shift yesterday, so she wasn't heading straight to work. I happened to mention that McDonalds was on the way to the Trail, and we went and shared breakfast (plain porridge and a frappe, since you're asking...Nope, still haven't dumped the frapps...).
"What do you call that?" said d.
"It's a frappe, innit?"
"No I mean, it's clearly not just a coffee...and it's not exactly a shake, is it? I suppose normally you'd call it a Shoffee? Or a cake, of course."
"Yes dear. Shush now, need to suck until my ears bleed."
To her credit, she didn't actually dignify that comment with the retort it deserved, but I fancy I saw a look in her eye...
When we were done, she said "It's 8.30 now. You'll be two hours late for work if you go down the Trail at this point."
"Holy buggering fuck!" I mentioned, casually. "Where the hell did the time go?"
"You were having a suckfest dear," said d, deadpan.
"It continues," I said, realising that she was right. Again.
"I'm on late shift, honey," she reminded me. You can do your day and walk at five."
Well...Right! Then...then, I will!" I said, having worked myself to a good solid grump and now no longer sure what to do with it. "That's...what I'll do then..." I said.
She went to work. I went to Starbucks. Came back in time to go walking. There was an email from d.
"I'm gonna need you to book me a cab to come home," she said. "Messed up arrangements or something..."
Now I know what every male reader (yes, I rather like to kid myself there are men out there who read this. I do however at least know I'm kidding myself) - "Who cut off your dialling fingers then, eh?"
It's modern corporate culture - we all know for instant that gmail in the US feeds private email contents to the NSA. And in the age when corporations are people too, they can monitor and discipline you for phone calls that dare to steal half-pennies per year off their massive bonus payments. And they do. So phoning from work wasn't an option.
I called a cab company, gave the address of d's office. "Where's that then?" the voice on the other end of the line asked, as though I was asking him to pick up from Phnom Penh. I tried again. "Nah, sorry mate, dunno where that is."
Bear in mind here that I am one of the world's great navigational fuckwits. And I... almost... know where it is. This was a taxi driver.
I called another firm. They didn't know where the hell I was talking about either, but figured a booking was a booking and they had two hours to work it out. I emailed d back. "They'll be coming for you at 7," I said, looking at the clock on my computer. "It's 5.30 now. No time to walk, I'll just bike instead."
"Walk!" she replied almost instantly. "Sounds like you need to hit some small children on the way."
She wasn't wrong. I hit the Trail. I saw an odd-looking pathway cut across the grass, and decided this was the day to Be Adventurous. I took the path, expending my fury on cutting what might reliably be described as a swathe through grasses and brackens.
I stopped when I came eyeball to eyeball with the horse.
Now, I've since been told that horses aren't territorial. If that's the case (and I have no reason to doubt the wisdom of random people on Facebook), then all I can tell you is that the horse looked to be having a worse day than me. We stood, eye to eye for about half a minute. Then I turned around and yomped most assuredly back up the pathway to relative civilisation. Went down the official Trail a little more, then realised d would be back soon, and I really didn't have the time to do the Trail as planned. I turned back and headed for home, muttering dread curses on cabbies, horses, stupid fucking pathways into fields, barbed wire (long story short, I'd had to climb over some. In shorts. Don't recommend it) and the day in general.
There's a dangerous precedent in our life, which is that when d works a late shift we get fried fish (and in my case chips) from the local chippy. She got it and brought it home. I ate some of it.
So all in all - yesterday, my angels of good intent were shot straight out of the sky like a Monty Python intro.
This morning, we woke up at 5.30, and didn't go back to sleep. At about 6.20, I got off the couch (Yeah, we sleep on couches now. Because we do, that's why) and got dressed for the walk again, but this time succeeded in leaving the house.
The Trail took a couple of hours, cos I'm hugely out of practice, but according to the Gestapo Phone, it took me over 13,000 steps, and burned some 842 calories. Which was all the Phone required of me to lose weight on any given day - assuming I didn't then consume more than 3000 calories, which I don't think I've done.
Resurrection of the Angels - yes!
Tomorrow, hopefully back down the Trail, back down to Starbucks and out for 'd's payday dinner'.
At least, that's the plan. Knowing my form this week, a cabbie on horseback will probably mow me down and steal the Gestapo Phone the minute I step outside...but let's see, shall we?
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