Bouncing back – In the name of Thiago – Day 174


 

After yesterday’s shamozzle, I’m back on it today. Now it’s not very often that I have a meaningful conversation with someone before 7am, but that was the case today. I have a friend, Fiona, who, as well as being a tremendous laugh, is one of those people, who always seems to know the right thing to say for any given situation.

 

It’s something that I have a lot of respect for her over, as I’m one of those people that instinctively seems to say exactly the wrong thing in any given situation. If there’s ever anywhere inappropriate for my big size nines, then rest assured I’ll plonk the fuckers there.

 

Fiona read yesterday’s blog and identified closely with my personal experiences, as they are quite similar to what a friend of hers has very sadly gone through. Of course, I know that there’s nothing that I’m doing that is particularly unusual for someone in my extremely unfortunate position, but hearing someone else talking about it was reassuring anyway. And sometimes it is just a kind voice that makes the difference. It did today.

 


 

The big man is back and this time he’s cooking fish pie. I’ve just asked him for a photo as he’s sitting comfortably in the garden. He asked me what sort of look I was after, so I asked him to go for the 100 yard stare. It’s a tricky one to pull off, but at least he’s not wearing socks with his Derek Randalls today. Progress.

 

It’s one of my two-part blog specials today. You know the ones, it’s where I start mixing my tenses up and generally creating a literary mess . And that’s because I’ve stupidly agreed to enter the Draycott members’ club tennis championship. This evening, in this still what I would describe as slightly too hot heat, I’m taking on a young lad called Jamie. He’s a teenager, so clearly he’ll be hitting the ball harder, running faster and sweating and swearing less.

 


 

He done me 6-7, 6-0 10-8 and he's only 13 - that's two years older than Elisa. Good luck to him, the little bugger. At least I won’t have to mail in the result, only the winner has to do that. There’s always a bright side! It’s time for some serious downtime for me. I’ve got a week’s annual leave so at around half eight as it is now, I’m tucking into my first beer courtesy of the old man – the annoying bastard is alright really.

 


 

And here’s the fruit of Dad’s early evening labours. Smoked haddock, prawns, mussels and sea bass fillets poached in milk. He might truly annoy the hell out of me for most of his waking days but fuck a duck, can this man cook. He loves it and actually just having him sat out in the garden chatting away with me earlier this afternoon while Angélica was hunting for raspberries, was a lovely way to while away an hour as I churned out this shite.

 

Right it’s beer time everyone, so without further ado, here’s the link to the fundraiser, you know what to do folks. Make a fat man happy!



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