Saturday, August 04, 2012

Raining on my parade

I went running this morning and went much faster than I expected; perhaps that was due to the fat-loading (last night's pizza overdose) or maybe getting more sleep (I struggled out of my pit at 7, an hour later than usual), or this being an easy week and so reaping the benefit of lower training load, or indeed just that I didn't run up any bridges today. Whatever the reason, I felt good, got home, hung out the laundry to dry, then went to the office to work on my novel. (Three screens are wonderful when you're doing a redraft.)

About midday it got chilly, and then it got dark, and as I was stumbling around looking for the lightswitches, the rain came crashing down and I began to rage at the heavens, and at my own foolhardiness for leaving the washing out.

I considered rushing home, but the ten minutes that would take would still leave everything soaking wet, so I waited until the rain abated, and then rushed home anyway when I realised the extra weight of the waterlogged clothes might make the bamboo poles they hung from snap. There was no such laundry disaster but as I dragged the washing in, I noticed the flat smelt a bit strange, like mildew crossed with spicy beef. I shut the windows to stop more water blowing in, then rushed off to Paya Leban to buy some plants.

Unfortunately, you can't buy plants in Paya Leban. You can buy incredibly convincing plastic plants, but I didn't want plastic, I wanted a rubber plant. We retreated in rage and disappointment, and returned to the flat. Which now was suffused with the smell of damp spicy beef. It smelt like we were living in a bad Chinese restaurant's dehumidifier. I opened all the windows and put the fans on to try to clear the smell out, but it was no good - we had to clear out and go to the shops, the smell was so bad.

To take a positive, if we hadn't gone to the mall, we wouldn't have seen a demonstration of an electrical wobbling machine, which you stand on to get fit. Or stand on to be laughed at by people, as the wobbling machine pulsates your flabby body. As soon as I can afford one, I'll ditch my running gear and wobble full time. What could possibly go wrong?

Three hours later, the smell is dissipating. Or I scared it out by playing the DVD of Edge Of Darkness. Who can say?


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