Taking the advice of a colleague, we dined at Panarottis this evening.
Apparently, the chain does great pizza and it is brilliant for kids.
The Claremont restaurant that we attended was the dirtiest place I have ever eaten. If I survive this week alive, it probably means that I’m actually immortal. There was dirt. A lot of dirt. And there was a smell too. It wasn’t nice.
The food was cheap and less than average. The service, poor. The kids stuff was frankly rubbish. Mrs 6000’s wine was crap.
The best bits for me were the Black Label and the exit.
We won’t be going there again and neither should you.
I went to gym today for the first time in ages. Not literally ages, as in Mesolithic, Jurassic, Paleolithic etc. That would just be silly. Blokes fought off velociraptors and dragged women around by their hair for exercise back in those days: there was no need for gym. Oh – and men had beards and said “Ug!” a lot.
Thus, those were obviously good days.
Back to the present.
I don’t like gym and, generally speaking, I don’t like the sort of people who do like gym. Therefore, I’ve had many, many reasons for this hiatus. Some have been good, some appallingly bad, several were brilliantly made up on the spur of the moment.
Many have been related to my children and at least fourteen had some form of alcohol as their foundation stone. But I’ve finally run out of excuses and it was time to face my fears at Virgin Active in Claremont.
For some reason, I decided that a nice gentle easing of my body back in to fitness would be a 25km cycle ride without going anywhere while watching Manchester United and Blackburn, neither of whom were going anywhere either.
At least the bike kept my heart rate up. At least the scoreline made me smile.
Can you see how utterly desperate I am for something positive?
After that, I incomprehensibly headed for the incomprehensible torture weights machines and lifted more than I should have rightfully been able to in order to break myself some more. If you are passing Chez 6000, I would very much like you to pop in and touch me on my studio please, because I cannot currently bend down far enough to do it myself.
Sadly, I fear tomorrow may bring with it a new dimension of musculoskeletal agony and there’s precisely bugger all I can do about it.
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It’s been a peaceful weekend.
This morning, we headed out to the conveniently local Arderne Gardens in the beautiful autumn sunshine to throw some bread at the ducks; this afternoon, we mainly played with a broken Hoover Aquavac 2200. As you do.
I didn’t bother taking any pictures of the vacuum cleaner (and who can blame me?), but I did get a few of the ducks. My particular favourite is this one:
…which, on closer examination, doesn’t actually feature any ducks at all.
Anyway, even if you don’t like that, then you still might want to try clicking here to see the rest of the set, which is generally less “arty” and more “colourful” and does feature several varieties of “duck”. I promise.
A tenuous churchy theme running through today, I note.
From the letters page of the Southern Suburbs Tatler, the local freebie that they continue to insist on delivering, despite my many threats of violence. Perhaps I’m threatening the wrong people.
The subject being discussed is the rights and wrongs of church bells being rung early in the morning in a residential area. I didn’t see the original story, but this correspondence leapt out at me.
I read with some concern that the church bells were causing annoyance.
I was so thrilled to hear the beautiful clarion calls and bells at Christmas, and also hoped they would continue.
It is lovely to hear the bells at 5:45am, at six in the morning and the evening and at noon – nice to have a reminder of the time.
Joan Wurr, Claremont
Yes, at 5:45am, Joan likes to have a reminder of the time. And not just for her, but for the thousands of others who live in the area, too. Heaven forbid (npi) that she and they should sleep through that most important of times: a quarter to six in the morning. Although, it’s nice to know that if you somehow manage to continue your slumbers undisturbed past 5:45, then the local clergy have instituted something akin to a snooze function 15 minutes later.
Joan – if it’s “nice to have a reminder of the time” how about buying a clock with an alarm function? They’re all the rage these days, you know?
For the record, I have nothing against church bells ringing at noon or six in the evening. Not even at a reasonable hour in the morning like 9 o’clock.
But no, there’s no such thing as a nice reminder of the time at quarter to six in the morning.
If people want to know when it’s 5:45am, then they should do what I did and have kids.
Extra marks to me for getting all the way through this post without using the word “ungodly”.