EDitorial ± 13-Mar-2007
First Cut Is The Deepest
Turned out nice again. Most pleasant ride back yesterday in the setting sun, gently glowing in my cycling winter togs by the time I hit home. Even I noticed something different about the back garden: the grass had been cut (that'll be the lady that does, aka G on her day off). This was obvious from the sheer number of exposed tennis balls and footballs, never mind the odd piece of Velcro plastic food here and there. That's too long a story.
Bright start today was a good enough reason to dig out the single layer royal blue fleecy bike top. Took a lift up Vivienne Westwood Avenue, one of the many kempt thoroughfares in the UK's Cleanest Town, natch, feeling the midriff chill and regretting such a hasty change of apparel. Brrr.
Bloomin' boilin' come lunchtime footy, and only five weeks since our kickaround in the snow. Our regular opposition like to run around a lot, often giving the impression of having one more player than us. Today they had five players to our four, and it seemed that they had at least two more on their side. We were doing OK to half-time then wilted in the 1pm glare, idly watching them score again and again.