day 1 on the wagon

2007 started with grey skies and the sort of rain that has religious men out loking for pairs of animals. It pissed down. The blockd gutters of the sunroom stepped were identified as the definite cause of the leak in that room as water overflowed, came streaming down the outside of the windows and up under to the inside. Oh dear, pass the bath towels. Oscar relinquished all in-house privileges by staying outside the back door and not under the house and therefore getting himself soaked. He smelled, as you would expect, of wet dog. My sense of humour was packing it's bags and about to leave me. On the verge of calling off lunch the rain stopped, the sun came out and it became a lovely day. Just like that. Chalk and cheese. Salads were prepared and people started arriving at 11:00. Not that we had a lot of people, but 10 adults and three kids plus dog-in-the-yard seem like a lot in our little bungalow.

Mike brought the meat. A big bag of snags (sausags in English) and the remains of one very large cow, neatly chopped into 10 T-bone steaks that covered the grill and plate of my 4-burner BBQ. It was a lot of meat. And damn it was good. The garden table and three small benches were taken up stairs from uner the sunroom into the now-completely-dry sunroom, table laid and grub was well and truely up. It was a resounding success of a first course, ten adults fitting quite easily around the tables. Sal then took it up a notch with desert, her first attempt an success with summer pudding. Like a berry sandwhich served with cream and ice-cream. Damn it was good. Mix with chating and laughing and drinking (not me, back clinging to that wagon for the start of this year) and you have the picture. Sal ran her arse off and late rconfessed she was no fan of entertaining. I suspect that is not entirely true, and rather she wants to become more slick at it to live up to the high standards she sets herself. And the chatting continued afte rlunch until everyone pissed off. And that was it. Oscar left with the parents and the house was, for a while, quiet. The worst thing o have happened was the oh-so obvious "loss" of a volleyball. Loss written "loss" because I know exactly what part of the roof it ended up on.

As Sal started to prepare for the evening - An and James were coming around for dinner - she told me should head out for a run. A good call on two fronts; if she'd not encouraged me I would have taken the easy option of slobbing on the sofa, and there is no way I would be able to cram dinner into my steak bloated stomach without burning some sort of hole for it. So run I did. And so rain did it. And so abso-fucking-lutely soaked get did I. Enjoyed it though, and damn good training. If it rains on race day you have to run, and so it should be with training. And besides, I sweat my nuts off when I run so getting a soaking does not bother me. Not as much as the people I passed on my way, huddling under trees and failing to keep dry.

I was about to shave and shower when there was a knock at the door. I grabbed a small bath mat, took a punt it would be An and James at the door and answered; they looked suitably shocked, surprised and appalled. More food and drink then I went to bed first and the day was, for me, over. I was once again bollocksed and have no idea what time the others stayed up until. I'm getting old.