April Fuel

[Sweder]

. . . I resolved that, come rain or shine, I would take to the riverside at some stage today to at least show some resistance.

Ah the best laid plans of mice and lardy, weak-willed men :o

I did manage that plod, but a full 24 hours later. Yesterday I was somewhat overtaken by events. First a post-show drinks soirée, two hours supping wine and chatting with exhibitors and organisers, followed by a short cab ride to Bar Budda and yet more footie watching/ Guinness drinking before slipping next door to the wonderful Café Andaluz, home of quality tapas and fine Rioja. Several hours later I found myself in the bar at the Thistle Hotel locked in a battle of wills with the bar staff. Every time they moved to close the shutters one or another of our by now quite raucous party would call up another round. I finally hit the hay just before 3 am, not a sweaty running vest in sight.

Penance was duly paid this lunchtime with a sweaty flog along the banks of the Clyde. The sun popped out to add a little warmth, poor, cruel timing if you ask me. A shade shy of six miles and fifty minutes later I cursed every last glass of wine and pint of ale as, lobster pink, bent double outside the hotel, I tried to inhale through my toes. Not a vintage run but it was just about better than nothing. With my duties here not finished until late on Sunday and an early Monday flight home it'll be a modest start to the month. I'll have to get my finger out next week.