Books, Bicycle's and Pools

My capacity to read and enjoy crap never ceases to astound me. I hit Borders 3 for 2 not for a piece of good literature (indeed as soon as someone mentions the word prize with the exception of the Carnegie Medal - it's kids lit so has to be readable - I avoid it like the plague. Likewise I have a current aversion to anything mentioning the Knight's Templar). So not a great book prompting this but a Jack Higgins which I don't think I've read (you can never tell with Higgins and I often think it's all one story but at least it's one I enjoy!) 'The Valhalla Exchange', 'The Last King of Scotland' (because I vaguely recall the horror of Idi Amin - and therefore want to read the thing... go figure!) comes in at number two and 'Schools Out' that goes in as the third book because the blurb has the magic words 'Black Comedy' on it.

Morning begins with the Sunday ritual dip at Garston Pool, where once again I challenge Callum to swim two more lengths that last weekend so 14 is the target and he copes with it admirably. I actually suspect he's swum about 17 given the amount of jinking about that is required because the pool is busier than usual. This is good for the pair of us because I end up swimming the distance too. Why so busy? Seems to be linked to the bike sale that is happening at Garston today - too late for us then!

Home and we munch our way through the pizza purchased earlier, put up the latest picture in the shrine of Callum (actually I shouldn't mock because this is a sort of tissue paper collage affair on canvas that Hazel at Monst's work has done after a photo of the boy New Zealand and it really is quite good) and then back to the bicycle lessons. Apart from a complete lack of understanding that the brakes and not lamp posts were put on the planet to stop cyclists as required, the boy is really getting the hang of the thing. He even manges to start from a standing start without assistance, which is progress on yesterday. OK on the downside, he runs a couple with a pushchair off the path, investigates the underside of a couple of bushes and rides flat out at the odd lamp post, falls off sufficiently close to some dog shit to be concerned, but these are all necessary lessons. Thank nonexistent deities the little bugger ain't at an age where he can get behind the wheel of the car! And lest you want to know, the return of the bloody Queen song has happened.

Roast a chicken at Cal's request, complete a load of washing and the day's a good'un!

The Stoopid Thing is I Can't Get the Bloody Queen Song Out My Head

Cal has a birthday looming, he has been promised a bike if he learns to ride the old one. Consequently we take him to the path that runs close to our house and run around, hand clasping the back of his saddle only to release him and see him cope with cycling until he realises what he's doing. All this to a mental Feddie Mercury soundtrack. Anyway the boy shows enough form to convince us that while not quite at the total solo stage he's close enough to warrant a purchase. So off we go to Halfords at the No Mercy. There we encounter Mr. Disinterested and his colleagues Mr. Bugger Off and the Saturday Boy. Still eventually in a purchase that involved all three in the space of half an hour at various points but with a universal lack of commitment to flogging bikes we buy Cal the thing. Hope them boys ain't on commission because it'll be lean times at Halfords if they are!

The rest of the day has been a mix of sleep, cooking and sleep. I wake up by evening and begin the washing (not that there is much of it, Monst's been busy with it through the week), but there is an incentive, fresh clean sheets tonight!

Listen to the footie along the way, Robbie Savage, shame on you, no wonder Gilberto fancied kicking you! Very pleasing win.