The Sharing Platter Heel

See that Achilles?

See that Achilles Heel?

I've got one of those. Only it's not technically in my heel. And of course, my name's not Achilles. Can you imagine any kid growing up in the 70s and 80s South Wales Valleys being saddled with a name like Achilles? Poor bastard would barely have made it out of nappies before being killed.

But I digress.
See, my weakness, my overriding, all-bets-are-off heel of doom is the idea that my reticence might stop other people having the good time they want to have. Which clearly means sharing platters are sent straight from the Devil to fuck with my life.

Another day, another editfest today. Got quite a lot done, and realised a delightful thing - thought I had a deadline of Christmas day for two edits which I'm doing concurrently, but actually the deadline's 29th, so that's five more days built into the schedule - hoorah. But went down to Cardiff Starbucks to crack on, only to discover that d was on the next train behind me, with payday cash in her bank account and lunch on her mind.

Had a very carb-heavy lunch, has to be said - chilli almonds to amuse the bouche, doughballs to start with and a bit of a disappointing bog-standard bolognaise for main. Then the dessert menu appeared, as if by magic, at our table.

There was a chocolate sharing platter.

I shared it. I couldn't not - I am many things, but strong enough to resist both chocolate and the idea that my wife won't have what she wants? Nnnnotsomuch. Bottom line, it was...ok.

A couple of chocolate-heavy beverages also wormed their way into my afternoon schedule, as the rails buckled somewhat under my endeavours.

But now, here I am. The blog's done, and I'm about to jump on the exercise bike, because let there be no mistake - there's no hypocrite like a Disappearing hypocrite. Tomorrow, as Scarlett O'Hara was wont to say, is another day, and dammit, it's a stay-at-home, bike-your-ass-off day. There - Achilles has spoken.
(Buggers off to put his heels to work on the bike...)