Managed the run last night in 1hr1min19sec and I am going to credit myself with an hour because of time taken waiting for lights to change and suchlike. So if that was 8miles I was running an average pace of 8mph and with my skanky-but-improving foot I am happy with that. And I arrived only a few minutes behind Sal who drove. A quick shower and then off to the Clovelly Hotel for a rather nice duck, sausage and bean dinner. Sal had the calamari, Mike and Maureen both had the roo steak and they were all damn fine.
But it nearly all didn't happen. Sal left for work in a hurry and left her keys on the kitchen bench. I spotted them, grabbed my mobile and called her...to hear her mobile ring from it's spot alongside the keys on the bench. Bugger. So we now have a new hiding place for a key. In the cave. And having to come home and collect the keys meant Sal had to pop home and give Rumpole some lovin'.
Quick look at the news from the old dart and I see that the Italian police - at least those looking after travelling English football fans - are still wankers. I remember a world cup qualifier I went to in Rome in 1997. Police were tossers. Walking over flags, allowing the Italians to pelt us with missiles and generally being fuckers. Still, we needed a point, got it and qualified. A rare moment of sporting bliss. So there. World Cup Fance 98. Argentina in the round of 16. Penalties. That was Batty's year that one.
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