Up with the lark well a coffing sparrow to whip off to the crem. Checking that nannys entry in the book of remembrance is as it should be and all is well. I am nervous how people will take the epithet "I did it my way" but she did. Home then off to the gym I have to pack my bag, I confess that jean deals with most matters laundry except soilng. That's where I come in. Anyway lack of practice concentration and cack handedness conspire to cock things up. I get to the gym for a reduced length workout but I enjoy it and try to remember the +ive effects of endorphins. Then the best bit the shower I love it the warm glow feels good. Then chaos strikes I start to get dressed and curse that I have cocked up on the underwear front. Sure two pairs of socks is a bonus but not at the expense of underpants. I even try to cunningly fashion something out of the socks, first thought is a sumo nappy affair. No luck then its what JK would call a g-rope. No good, so at the tender age of 44 its "commando" for me. I don't like it at all not a jot. Having to remember to check my fly every ws millisecs is a pain. I think that my new underwear status is a publically obvious fact. It doesn't add much to the comfort factor.
Then its off to the Childe of Hales burial place where mam amuses herself lookig at graves and tossing coins on his grave. Then after half two its into the pub for a 25% off meal. We meet the Roberts family, I get me mums order wrong but the meal is good. Then its into Asda and I pick up a few essentials. Then drop mum and mary mum off top docs and me off to home and friday night at beas.
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