The Suicide Motor Club

I couldn’t sleep, or rather, I fell asleep at 10:30 and then woke at 3, wide awake but exhausted, so with no other alternatives I read The Suicide Motor Club, a book about vampires driving muscle cars in the 1960s. When I then complain that the ending is riddled with too many coincidences to maintain the suspension of disbelief, you may quite fairly wonder how I has suppressed my scepticism for the previous two hours.
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La Serpiente was sick again this evening, after being clingy and sluggish for several hours. She asked to go to bed before 7pm, an unheard of development. I was kind of glad of this, for I feel crummy too, a generalised malaise where I’m devoid of energy and excitement, and just want to go to sleep. Which is strange, given how well we all slept last night.
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Don’t rage against the dying of the light

La Serpiente stopped being sick some time around 3 or 4 this morning, having made sure we changed sheets, substituted Toffee Puppy’s doppelpuppy for its stained counterpart, and been through more pyjamas than I believed we had. She slept fitfully until about 6, when she lay down and passed out cold despite the lights being on and the sun coming up. That was when I had to start getting myself ready; I had a phone call at 8 and then hauled myself to the office, feeling deathly. This was one of those days where I didn’t feel I was justifying the oxygen I inhaled, and perhaps I’d picked up some of La Serpiente’s bug as I was queasy most of the afternoon. Continue reading “Don’t rage against the dying of the light”

Pony Scouts: At The Show

In addition to the vomit-inducing Backhoe Joe, La Serpiente has been making me read Pony Scouts: At The Show, a level 2 reading book ("High-interest stories for developing readers" according to the blurb.) While I’m allergic to horses, we can be fairly confident that the book isn’t making my daughter sick, as she made me read it on Sunday night without any ill-effects.
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Backhoe Joe

Somewhat gratifyingly, La Serpiente wept bitterly last night at bedtime, wishing both her parents were there to put her to bed, rather than one of them gallivanting around a running track. When she was clingy tonight and refused to get off the toilet and into the bath for ten minutes, we assumed that was the hangover from the previous evening. Eventually I got to read her Backhoe Joe, and shortly afterwards she began vomiting. Say what you like, but that’s clear and lucid literary criticism, delivered like clockwork every ten minutes for two hours.
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Starting to speed up again

Tonight was another track session, and I was worried that after the weekend’s exertions, I’d be in trouble. I made sure I had as much compression clothing on as possible and went off to Evans Road. The pace today was meant to be about 5-7 seconds faster than on a Wednesday, which meant I should be putting in 1:38s. Tonight it was 3x1100m, with 6:45 to do them and recover for the next, followed by 3×800, with 5 minutes per set. I have aesthetic issues with this kind of session, because I hate incomplete laps, but who knows how much benefit those missing 300m gave me?
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Strava and trying too hard

For some damnfool reason, I’ve signed up for a challenge on Strava where you win a badge on your profile (so slightly lamer than a new Pokemon) by running a marathon’s worth of miles in 4 days. Since I was mostly running 5ks (and only sporadically) lately, stepping up to an average of more than 10k every day is a bit …challenging.
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