I have not been to the gym.
I have not done anything except a slow amble up to the top of the fell which did not even leave me out of breath.
I am resting.
Apparently this is an important part of getting fit, and the one which might turn out to be my favourite.
In any case, the resting has been rendered necessary by a sore knee, which on examination turned out to have become pink and swollen. I was secretly pleased about this, it is rubbish when something is sore and there is nothing to show anybody. I have got a sore ankle as well, but that is invisible.
I have become very self important about my sporting injury. Mark carried the washing up the stairs for me so that I would not have to jar it too much, and I have rubbed some medical-scented gel into it and taken some drugs. We sporting types cannot be too careful of ourselves, especially just before important athletic events, like a bleepy test on Monday.
Number One Daughter has got an actual sporting event this weekend. It is something called The Open. It must be jolly important, because even the man at the gym in Kendal was going on about it. She has got to do a twenty minute work out, which is terrifying. I can manage about four minutes before I collapse and need resuscitation.
It has been an uneventful sort of day. Mark’s friend Ted has finally come back to work after having lots of not-working adventures. He came back a couple of days ago from his sailing trip in Gibraltar and then went off to London where he has been doing television interviews ever since.
This is because he is a bit famous for sporting things, only not the sort with sore knees. Ted does motor boat racing and has broken some speed records. He is going to drive the newly-restored Bluebird now that it has been dredged out of the bottom of Coniston and fixed. He is not going to try and get it to 350 miles an hour the way Donald Campbell did, but he thinks it should do 200 with ease. We might go and watch this and cheer him on.
He has come back brown and happy and well-rested, and about to be beaten up by his wife, who has been looking after three small children with some sort of hideous vomiting illness during his absence. If you notice him on the television over the next few days, and are tempted to envy, do remember that what happened to him next will have been a reconciliation with an exhausted grumpy wife covered in baby sick.
In Ted’s absence Mark has been running their not-yet-lucrative rural broadband project by himself. The picture at the top is the result of Mark’s efforts today. I have got no idea how it works, but think that he is very clever. It is a technical thing for bringing Google and Facebook to people on farms.
He has finished work now for the weekend. He is at home in bed, because of coming out to our other sort of work later. I have had my sleep for the day, and have already started our other sort of work. I am on the taxi rank.
It is quiet and I am reading an interesting, if rather sad, book about Jeremy Thorpe. I am glad that it is not still those days. People can be very horrid to one another, and the early nineteen seventies were not good times.
I am looking forward to the weekend very much. It will be nice not to have to get up early as well as go to bed late.
I shall get plenty of rest for my sporting injury.
