A rest day, filled with beer and crisps and lethargy. The coming weekend is a lost cause even before it starts. We have friends arriving tomorrow; we’re all off to a party in London in the evening, then Sunday is the World Cup Final and another birthday celebration. Hopeless, quite hopeless. When am I supposed to run in that lot?
If I survive, I’ll be back around Monday-ish. Let’s just call it "early July".
