Today after a morning of uni I undertook my first lunchtime London walk, setting off at 1pm, with sun shining, birds singing, and mercifully all the delightful little children at school (although walking past playgrounds full of kids on their dinner break is like walking past the monkey house at a zoo) The streets were empty and I felt like I owned the Isle of Dogs, until the offices of Canary Wharf opened for lunch and the commuters I had scooted past days before came pouring out. I was battling the tide of sark suits and my momentum dropped, however luckily they all trickled off into pret-a-mangers and starbucks quickly enough and the streets were mine again. To the tune of monkeys chattering, sorry I mean children playing, I stomped on. If this was a chick-lit novel (which will obviously become a best seller after the blockbuster starring Scarlett Johanssen/Jo Brand as me, following the failure of the proposal of the Madam Tomato childrens TV series) by now, three weeks in, I'd have discovered my inner love for walking (and probably have been getting the eye from some chiselled but shy male jogger that I pass every day but niether of us have the courage - or in my case the puff - to speak to each other, until one day I trip and he catches me, and we gaze into each others eyes and the rest is history... but I'm getting off topic) Anyway, after three weeks, I should have discovered my inner love for walking and every step should be like dancing over clouds. It's not like that. I suspect it never will be like that. I haven't magically dropped to a size 8 and there are no Orlando Bloom look alikes making eye contact with me as we pound the pavement together, but it is all getting a bit easier. I completed my efforts in 45 minutes again today so everything is progressing smoothly.
Dads training had been sporadic but successful in my absence in its own way, he veers from 4 miles in an hour to a couple of days of with the occasional 6 miler thrown in. Today was 6 miles in an hour and a half, so a good show by the old duffer (he is 51 you know!) I'm sure Ed is sprinting round South Sheilds faster than cars nowadays (smug long legged giant git) so everyones doing well.
Now I'm off to Waitrose for some quaills eggs for me Mam, because they have right posh stuff in that London the likes of which we up north can barely comprehend. Got a rugby match tomorrow so this is a bit of cliffhanger until Thursday for a double bill on our endevours, so look forward to that.