At 5am I had a
five-minute break from work and had a look-see on-line. One of my
friends was preparing to go on a fifteen mile long run and was saying
he didn't much fancy it; it was too cold. Someone else had commented
about how he could look forward to a hot shower after the run.
I've never understood the
attraction of running. It is in a field of its own when evading
tigers or getting to departing buses. But it speaks volumes that
those who advocate running as a pastime all say how good it is when
you stop. There is *never* anything else to be said about the
activity other than the enjoyment of when it is all over.
Each to their own I
suppose.
As I drove home I had the
Sunday morning church service playing on the radio. There was talk of
some monk who had spent forty years continually talking to God whilst
working all hours in a monastery kitchen. Apparently such constant
communion with tthe Almighty had enabled him to acheive a state of
near-perfect serenity.
There's no denying that
I could do with acheiving a state of near-perfect serenity. However
I just get cross when I argue with the voices in my head.
Once home "er
indoors TM" leapt into action. We popped
the lead onto "Furry Face TM" and
took him for a little walk up and down Appledore High Street.
Perhaps not the first place which springs to mind when taking a
Patagonian Tripe-Hound for a walk. But it was a geo-calendar day for
both of us, and there was a geo-target not too far from there. And
logging a geocache this weekend gave up both an e-souvenir too.
And with e-souvenir
obtained we came home where I had a quite bit of brekkie and took
myself off to bed for most of the day. I slept soundly and wokke
shortly after 5pm to the clanging of next door's piano.
A brief bit of scoff
whilst watching "Dad's Army" on the SkyPlus box, and
I'm off to the night shift now...
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