Somewhat rash

This morning, after another slightly less than optimal sleep, I went for a run with a friend from work. My calves were sore from the MacRitchie run, but I figured an easy run might be the thing to work out the pains. Of course, because we’re undisciplined idiots, we ended up sprinting half the time we were out there, and I returned home exhausted.

My shorts must have been chafing, because I noticed this afternoon that I had a patch of heat rash, inconveniently sited just at the top of my inner thigh. It’s about the size of two thumbprints, a small, prickly patch of reddened skin. Heat rash is never fun to have, but located where it is right now it means constant chafing when I walk, and I can hardly expose it to air in polite company. So I spent the afternoon on the sofa, frozen peas in a dishcloth, watching my child scuttle around the apartment.

Ah, the glamour of running in hot weather.

This evening we went out to visit friends for a barbecue. Our taxidriver was new, just two weeks on the job, and we had to guide him all the way. As an inexperienced taxi driver, he didn’t know he was meant to drive like a maniac, so we did at least have a smooth ride, rather than the deathwish inclined bloke who’s tapping Morse code on the accelerator pedal that we usually seem to get. I wonder where all these new drivers are coming from, and why they haven’t been taught where things are. But they do at least drive carefully, just as the GPS keeps telling them.

They have a two-and-a-bit year old son, and initially he and Felicity were quite wary of one another, in the way small children and animals can be, concerned to protect their finite resources. After a few hours they warmed up, and he was happy to have Felicity scuttling across the floor after him. Felicity was happy to get hold of a magazine and try to eat it; after spending the afternoon banging her head on various shelves and bits of hard floor, chewing on celebrities without crying seemed to be the least worst option.

Of course, when it was time to go home Felicity was exhausted and filthy from crawling about outside, and went into spectacular meltdown mode, howling all the way home and then passing out just as the taxi stopped. That peaceful state lasted until we tried to put her into her sleep clothes, at which point rage ensued once more, until she had another 150ml of warm milk in her and another chapter of Declare. And so, back to the sofa with frozen peas once more.

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