My quads were not in the best of shape this morning - they are not in the best of shape now, either. We got out for a short run along a section of the Pennine Way with the meddlesome Mr Peddles [Pedwar] and the Super Dog [Brown Dog]. We headed out around the back of the Pike - Dufton Pike, shaken not stirred, and back into town - a 45 minuter. Then it was breky in the local tea room before heading home. The drive home wasn't great - but then when is a five hour drive ever great? Come to think of it, when is a five hour drive even half decent? - Answers on a post card.
Oh, and one more thing, Helen spoke to Ricks brother, Mick, on Saturday. I'm pretty sure he's the M50 Gold medalist in both the English and the British. It is most unnerving seeing him. I can't help expecting him to be Rick.
Oh, and just another one more thing - these northern folk don't talk gert proper, like - when I complained I couldn't understand this chap at the bar they had the cheek to claim they couldn't understand me!
Thought for the day: I'm not a complete idiot --Some parts are missing.
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