The last Saturday night Club
session before the swimming pool Christmas break for Trinity Triathlon and
Master Swimming Club was a jolly affair with cards and Christmas presents etc.
There was one new man who had taken the Kings Shilling and been press ganged
into swimming with us. He was dragged along kicking and screaming by one of our
members, Caroline Morton who is a paramedic, we also have a GP in the group so
we are safe enough to exert ourselves fully whilst training. Caroline told
Steve that the new man should be pushed because he would not do his best
otherwise. The guy was in earshot at this remark, so I piped up and said that
he should know that Steve has a poolside shirt and a cap that both bear the
phrase ‘Shut up and Swim’. He replied that he had forgotten why he had come along
and maybe it was a mistake. But he appeared to enjoy every moment of the
session and said he would return for more torture in the New Year.
Lane 1
Warm up +
8 x 50 @ .50
4 x 100 @ 2.00
2 x 200 @ 3.30
1 x 400 @ 6.30
2 x 200 @ 3.30
4 x 100 @ 1.45
8 x 50 @ .50
Our lane (that was only
Birgit and myself this week)
Warm up +
8 X 50 @ 1.10
4 x 100 @ 2.20
2 x 200 @ 4.30
1 x 400 @ 9.00
I ducked out at that stage
into another lane and did 300 back stroke.
After swimming we rushed
home to watch the final of Strictly Come Dancing
and had I put my bet on
Danny Mac, as I had said I would after the very first week, I would have lost
my money because Ore
won with his partner Joanne, who had turned a total non dancer into somebody
who deserved to be in the final. So even though Danny and his partner Oti did
not win as I had hoped, it was a good vote because he started with nothing
dance wise, where as Danny was always wonderful and should be in a West End
dance show. Danny and Oti’s Show Dance was exquisite, breath takingly
beautiful.
I had changed our bedding
before we left the house for our Sunday run this morning and we had left from
the automatic garage door at the rear and were walking up the road to where
Steve had parked the van before I looked at him and asked why he was carrying
our duvet cover under one arm….. And he tells me I am always in a dream!
This morning was another
misty one with a thick sea fret again. Steve and I set off for my first 10 km
run since I tweeked my knee a several of weeks ago. I had walked the last two I
think. Where we parked the car, a tiny Robin hopped around us and asked if we
had any sandwiches or at least some crumbs please. He was very close and quite
cheeky.
After about half a mile,
Steve said “If I was a cat, I would be looking around here to see where the
family of three deer were that I saw last week as I ran by this point”. With
which, a family of four deer ran through the woods to our right and bounded and
leaped off into the distance as we watched. A little further along Monarchs Way, they
same group of four hurried across our path into the woodland on the other side
of us. Shortly after that we spotted the big white one that we had not seen for
a very long time, which is always a thrill, since in our little world of mystery
and imagination the white one is mystic! Later in the run we saw a huge red
kite above the remains of the Saxon village
of Barpham and about
twenty minutes later we saw two more big Kites.
I do love it when I speak to
somebody gifted with the same degree of imagination as myself and at the
highest point of our run we met a lone lady rider coming toward us out of the
thick mist and to pass the time of day I said, “The rest of the world has
disappeared in the fret” to which she responded “Oh I hope it doesn’t suddenly
end and I fall off the edge!” To which I assured her that is she stayed in the
misty bit she would be ok.
There were also a guzillion
pheasants….. So although they are lovely creatures they are just raised in
captivity and when mature enough are tipped out in the woods and still fed
regularly so that they stay roughly where they can be shoo-ed into the line of
fire by casual working beaters for the winter shooting season.
I have nothing against
proper hunting like the do in America and Canada where hunters go regularly to
a shooting range and learn to shoot accurately, then go off with their gun into
vast wilderness forests, where they risk being eaten by a bear or jumped upon
by a wild cat of some sort or stepping on something that bites whilst they hunt
for a deer for dinner. Seems fair enough to me.
These Pheasant shoots, I am
not comfortable with. Just a bunch of rich toffs with far too much money. If
they can pay what they do (a lot) for the chance to aim roughly in the
direction of a bunch or birds that were raised in captivity, and shoot with a
gun that spreads pellets out two metres wide so there is an outside chance they
will hit one.
Rant over.
Then, off for tea and cake
in Arundel as usual, this time in Osteria; it was Birgit’s turn to pay.
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