Saturday, September 22, 2012

Not so lazy Saturday
I was lazy today and didn't get out of bed until well past 7am. I had a 15 mile run on the schedule, and I was highly dubious about it: after all these days of missing runs or short mileage, I wasn't sure about my legs. Plus with my favourite route around Marina Bay blocked off for the Formula 1, finding a pleasant route was going to be tough.

In the end I ran along the canal to Queenstown, which is boring and very flat, and then ran back, doubling back on myself at every bridge or road to try to fit the right number of miles in. This meant I kept passing the same vaguely bewildered dog walkers - they were probably wondering how I was managing to get so lost on a straight path.

Because of the continued haze in the air, it wasn't as hot out as I'd feared, and I managed to do the full 15 miles, although the last few were pretty hard and I ended up running back and forth at road junctions at the end. I got home and in a fit of industriousness did the laundry, took out the dry cleaning, processed lots of photos from last week, rehearsed my set for the Hong Kong comedy competition, did some grocery shopping and all the washing up.

Then it was time for lunch, and the realisation that I'd forgotten to buy any butter, and I was reduced to spreading mustard on my bread. What sort of life is this?

Probably a better life than that of Simon Day's, at least in his 20s. I'm reading his autobiography and it's hard going at the moment; I had a similar struggle with Arthur Smith's last year. Both spend a lot of time bemoaning the present not being as good as the past; I don't know if that's irony, or just sheer grumpiness. Still, I'm not sleeping on somebody's floor and having a wank in a sleeping bag, as Day puts it. There are always things we can be thankful for.

This evening we watched the Armando Ianucci Show (part of my consignment of DVDs) and drank strong, chilled booze from frozen glasses, which is eminently civilised. We haven't bothered with the Formula 1 race: instead, we watched Fastest, which is more efficient, as Ewan McGregor narrates an entire season of motorcycling in less than two hours. Probably passing out soon.


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