A drink free Saturday meant that Sunday was a day of opportunities. At least in theory of course, the reality was I was still half dead. I woke up much later than normal (11 I think) and only the prospect of watching such twats as Louise Redknapp and Tim Lovejoy made me amble out of bed. I went to the gym, gave it hell for leather on the cross trainer whilst listening to folk music. Such an ironic juxtaposition. I've downloaded 'Jeff Wayne's War of the Worlds' for my next work out.
Sunday afternoon heralded a trip out for tea. Dear christ what an awful experience that was. "The Talbot" in Atherton is perhaps the worst place to eat in my neighbourhood. Even Patrick thought it was a waste of money.
If a 9 year old can appropriately judge the merits of a restaurant then there is something clearly askew.
After escaping with our bowels intact, Angela and I had a few games of darts. Darts is hard work in our house, as there is lots of stuff just to the left of where we throw from. That is my excuse and I'm sticking to it.
Darts is bloody hard work. I love it, but my word I'm terrible at it.
Act 2 rehersal was boring. I'm hardly in act two so I took down a copy of 'Yes Man' and sat reading that for the most part.
Joy of Joy, Act 2 again Monday night.
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