6071/19000
It’s not often that you get to celebrate your 19000th day on earth TWICE. But here’s my second go, due to a maths malfunction earlier in the year. Hooray. I am 19,000 days old. Probably. I also thought today was my 200th day without booze or chocolate, but turns out that was actually yesterday, I’d have had a drink to celebrate, but you can’t do that on the 201st day, so I will have to wait til day 300 now.
A few celebrations and meals out seem to have set my diet back a little bit though and I havre put on a bit over a kilo this month. But still very much within the parameters of what I was hoping for, And hopefully lots of walking in Edinburgh next month should keep me fit. I can’t imagine that exhaustion will have me eating too much tablet and deep fried lard.
Me2 will have to wait to take on the Park Run (though we might all try and attempt the Edinburgh one - and by we, I mean all the Mes). After only four hours sleep I decided it would be foolish to attempt it today, correctly so as it was a struggle to get through the day.
I was still haunted by my House of Games errors (I found it hard to sleep tonight as I replayed some of them in my mind) - it is such a high pressure day and you have to buzz in so fast that you hope you’ve formulated the answers and just go for it and this time round my brain could not keep up with my fingers. But it’s not the cringing errors that hurt the most (though they do a bit), it’s the realisation that my brain is no longer as sharp as it once was and the fear that it’s all the start of some terrible degenerative illness. I love my brain and in many ways it is where I live and the idea of no longer knowing who I am or what the Sacre Coeur is called terrifies me. I have to say that I think I am some distance away from that much of my numb brain was down to parental tiredness and the pressure of recording five shows in a day (I mean week) and knowing I was up against people who would buzz in quickly if I didn’t preempt them, but the sluggish way in which I failed to be able to work out the name of someone I know’s mum (with plenty of time) or recognise a pretzel is slightly troubling. I did get lots of stuff right too, some of it very impressive, though there were a couple of very tangential questions that I can very close to cracking and I would have left a lot happier if I had got both of them.
I continue to take trivial pursuits much too seriously (and remain calm in the face of real crisis), but trivial pursuits are my life. They are serious to me.
This afternoon we went to a barbecue with the parents of one of the kids who will be in Phoebe’s class at big school. They have a beautiful home with a massive garden and the dad has a quad bike and invited me to take a spin. I have never ridden a quad bike - I don’t think I’ve even driven a motorbike before - and felt nervous about my first attempt, mainly because a quad bike almost killed my comedy hero Rik Mayall (and surely contributed to his ultimate tragic demise) but also because it’s pretty embarrassing learning to do something in front of other people. And I am not the kind of manly man who seeks out this kind of stuff. He was a kind and patient teacher though and didn’t laugh openly at my stuttering attempts and my near crashes with bushes and hedges. I did manage to eventually build up a little speed and keep the throttle in the same place so the ride was consistent, but he then took over and raced round the meadow, flying over bumps without fear.
Later as we left in my car, which I should be able to control a little better, but in which I still feel self-conscious under observation, I struggled to reverse and turn the vehicle around as they are having work done and the driveway had some piles of debris in various corners. I thought I’d seen a good place to drive into to give me room, but didn’t spot that the base for some temporary fencing and managed to drive on to it, shaking the fence and causing some planks to veer up in front of us. I am happy to be the Beta male in all situations fortunately, but it was an embarrassing exit.
