My Inner Voice Of Reason

On the bike again, this time surviving by the skin of my teeth what was a rather odd situation when I was confronted by an electric wheelchair coming the wrong way up the road, in the cycle lane and they say cyclists are inconsiderate. Its occupant, a gentleman considerably heavier than nature intended him to be, didn’t seem to see what the problem was as I was faced with either veering into the traffic or onto the pavement where a queue of schoolchildren were waiting for their bus.

L tells me she’s a Teeline girl. Turns out she’s talking about shorthand. I’m not sure if that’s when you do it one handed with a mug of tea in the other.



The rain is hammering down by the time I come to cycle home but it rather nicely stops just after I start my journey and stays stopped. At least until I get home, when it restarts. So then I can't get the dogs to go out into the garden but suppose you can’t have everything.

My inner voice of reason, L, asks whether I’m really really sure that squash is a wise thing to do this evening. She’s probably right but I intend to take it steady and not do too much dashing around. The Physio told me not to stop exercising and subject to what people think, squash isn’t supposed to involve loads of manic running around. You’re supposed to control the game from the centre of the court, taking strides from that position to play the ball and keep the running to a minimum. That is if you’re good at the game. I’m not.

We play just two games, which I lose obviously but they are very close, 15-13 and 16-14. Then I feel my calf tightening, so we just play one more at walking pace as a warm down before retiring to the pub.