The Wellies Are In The Spare Bedroom

Got in the car this morning, opened up the latest audio book that L had got for me and got ready to slip the first disc into the CD player, only to find that there was no disc one. The absence of which would kind of make it difficult to get into the book, so I opt for music instead.

I needed a good book as a distraction as I get stuck in a queue because they've gone and shut the A52 on me again. They were still doing the resurfacing that was supposed to be done overnight. The road was due to reopen at 6am but they overran and it's now past 8am. Just as I reach the road closure, they start moving the cones and reopen it. At least something is going my way.

Daughter has a job interview today in a shoe department, which would be so her if she gets it. I ask L if she's nervous. Yes she says, Daughter said she was. I was actually asking whether L was nervous, I am, it's just like the exams all over again.

Back home, Daughter comes in pointing to her nose. Oh no, she's not been fighting again has she... no, she's had her nose pierced. I just hope she had that done AFTER the job interview.

I actually quite like nose piercing. In my younger days, I went out with a couple of girls who had such piercings and thought myself quite radical for doing so. I was easily impressed in those days; well actually I was 27 when I was seeing the last one, so I wasn't even that young. Such things of course, were a lot less common those days, now it seems you're the oddball if you abstain. Both of those girlfriends turned out to be totally barking mad, but that probably says more about me than their attitude to facial jewellery.

Our final, final crack at tennis is looking doubtful. It's drizzling with rain here. I tell my opponent to bring his squeegee and, as the drizzle starts to get a hell of a lot heavier, perhaps a snorkel. L says she'll look out for the pair of us from the nice dry gym and oh by the way, the wellies are in the spare bedroom.

Surprisingly the ensuing freak monsoon causes us to call the game off. We can't even play in the covered-over courts, the ones with the 'bubble' over them. The bubble has oddly disappeared; it was there the other week. With this being Nottingham, somebody has probably nicked it, either that or it's blown away in the barbecue summer.

On reflection, I think the game and the weather are trying to tell us something and my opponent says we are DEFINITELY sticking with squash from now on. You heard it here first.

I walk the dogs to meet L from the gym instead, keeping our paws dry by staying away from the wet park, which is of course now bizarrely bathed in beautiful sunshine. On the way MD annoys a pair of Guide dogs, who appear to be in training. They didn't apparently want to play chase. To their credit, they were very good and didn't take the bait. True professionals.