Stayed up way too late yesterday watching Quadrophenia, even if today was a bank holiday in Sweden (I now have an insatiable itch to buy a moped, plus Parka and a tailored Italian Suit). By 7.30 this morning I'm already up and about waiting for the neighbour to knock on the door, signalling the start of our 5K run. I feel surprisingly perky to say I finished off a bottle of wine by myself only a few hours earlier. At 8.30 I run to the bank to pay off the builder who has re-built a wall for us and at 9.00 I drive Samuel to football and watch his team crush the opposition 2-0 (a fact about which I get absurdly excited, hopping about on the touch line like it's made of hot coals). By 10.00 I'm home and I feel like I've already done a full day's work. But no. It's off into the garden my son to digg up the patio. What joys! This takes the best part of the day, give or take the snooze I squeeze in after lunch. I'm now feeling physically wrecked and tired, with the back of a 90-year old. If it wasn't for the Alsace Riesling currently lubricating my inner parts, I'd be as stiff as a board.
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