I wouldn’t say I excelled myself, but I trundled round the Crick 10 mile cross country race at Rugby in a respectable enough hour and twenty one minutes ending up with a few blisters and a “cricked” ( if ever there was a lame joke ) back from clambering over some 25 styles along the way. Disappointingly I lost my title as first parent home. Not that it matters much, but it was to a lady. Probably a relative of Georgette Lenoir. I did beat Bob so that was some consolation. I passed him at the 6 mile mark as we made our way along a footpath by the Oxford Canal. We didn’t say much to each other. But it wasn’t for lack of puff or any animosity. I got the sense he was quite frustrated about the fact that having pocketed a handful of jelly babies they had fallen through a hole and were trapped in the lining of his shorts frustratingly out of reach.
This morning he flew to Barcelona on a school Geography trip. Like you I wondered what part of the A level geography syllabus particularly required a visit to Spain, and how many students would head off on such a jolly with a collapsible trout rod and a head torch amongst their possessions. Bob explained that he was making some significant concessions in taking just these two particular items. One, he was accepting that the only free time he would get would be after dark; secondly that he suspected the trout rod would be too flimsy for the job he had in mind. He’s after grey mullet apparently; and third he would really have liked to have packed a gaff.
OK. I know I’m a bit subdued. That slightly chastened, sick feeling when you’ve broken a New Years Resolution?? Well, ashamed to say I had fish and chips at my desk today. A client didn’t reply to my urgent 12 noon Bloomberg message quickly enough. You know who you are…..thanks a bunch. Spoilt it for everyone.
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