I had to settle for a rain-soaked 6k at lunchtime today. I was running late and figured with the knee playing up, it wouldn’t be wise to do more. That was my excuse anyway. After last night’s gig, I was surfing online for an hour or so looking for some knee-strengthening exercises, to no avail, until I remembered that in my first year running, when my knee was playing up the last time, I’d found a good video that helped. Sure enough, I looked in my email, found the link and was back watching it before the lunchtime run.
After my run, I popped into the optician’s to tighten my reading glasses and blagged myself a new (inferior) case, before heading to see my aunt and uncle. My uncle is having another of his difficult days, which sadly is going to be the case now.
They’d just returned from Brixton where my aunt was being fitted for her hearing aid, or that was the plan. My aunt though, completely closed to any change, refused to take the hearing aid with her after just a couple of minutes trying it out. She returned home adamant she would live out the rest of her life without the hearing aids.
“There’s nothing else I want to hear from anyone now bad enough to make me wear them,” she said by way of explanation for her walkout. She said she was overwhelmed by the noise and the echoey nature of the aid.
“You haven’t even given it a try,” my exasperated uncle told her.
“Put your teeth in if you want to speak to me,” my aunt shot back.
I then had to check my aunt’s Nectar Points for her which currently stand at 12,000, pretty low by her standards. I think that’s around £15, which I could probably retire on.
On my way to THE café, I floated the possibility that given the dramatic rise in price of their coffees last week, it would be understandable if I was to stop tipping from now on. My aunt and uncle thought that was a poor idea if I’m spending hours in here. The pre-2014 me wouldn’t have cared but a too-generous ex, the last to come here with me, used to be lavish with the tipping. I always knew when we broke up, it would give me problems. If I dropped the tipping dramatically after the break-up, they would know she was largely behind the tipping (she was), so I had to try and keep it at a reasonable level. I just can’t get my head around the fact that every writing session in this place will now cost me an extra £1, which one I’m being as unproductive as I have been this year, is a luxury I can ill afford.
I arrived in THE café just after 1500 hrs to find The Beard in great spirits after his beloved Sporting Lisbon turfed out (the) Arsenal in last night’s Europa League tie in London, a surprise result. And for only the second time ever, he addressed me by my name. I always wondered if he knew my name after we exchanged names, finally, after the lockdown era. It took last week’s laptop catastrophe for him to finally use my name. I wouldn’t say it’s made the destruction of the second laptop worth it, but it’s salved the wound a little.
Meantime Nepal has had a haircut, almost a short back and sides, clipping the mullet, but leaving the tiny man bun atop. It’s almost a three-haircuts-in-one scenario.
I feel okay today. Last night’s Stockwell show was enjoyable. It’s always weird doing any show in your old neighbourhood. The memories of the old life almost overwhelm you at times, and definitely felt like a Stockwell show where anything could happen at any time.
Lastly, another promoter (not last night’s promoter) put out some photos of a gig featuring, if not quite a disastrous picture of me, another picture that demonstrated I’m just not very photogenic (not this one by the way). A few years ago this would’ve bothered me a little more, but hey, we’re all a little bit vain, aren’t we?
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