Hot Motor Madness

While my "other half" appears to have gone feral and has been running around semi-naked in the long grasses in an ecstasy of love for all the little live things*, I have spent a hot week trying to shore up the mental health of the nation. It has not been an easy task and I don't know if I've done that great a job.

I don't usually work on a Monday anymore but I swapped around my shifts to help cover for all the people that are off on holiday. Nearly everyone I saw that had been doing a bit better towards the end of the week seemed quite a lot worse after a hot weekend. Maybe something was going around. I heard a few people had Murray Fever. My participation in Murray Fever was forgetting that the match was on and so the first I knew about it Andy Murray had already won Wimbledon. It was much easier on the nerves than actually caring about the game.

One of the major challenges of the week has been driving around in a hot Corsa (no, not stolen). On Tuesday afternoon I had to cross town several times to get where I needed to go. I had both windows all the way down and the fan on at full. It was blowing hot desert air past my parched face. People were crossing the road without even bothering to look in some sun-induced trance of their own so I had to keep my wits about me.

Meanwhile, in running news, yesterday I managed to run my Arthur's Seat hilly 10 miler quicker than I did 2 days before my operation. It was a minor triumph. Maybe more can be attempted now. Maybe it's time for some speed training again? My delight was a little bit tempered by some silly numbers on my HRM that I never noticed when I was actually running. Hurry slowly as the sherpas (are supposed to) say.

Today's trepidation is that I'm taking the car for its MOT. I'm praying for only a few minor faults...I had hoped to clean the seagull shit and the hard-baked dust and cobwebs off the car before I put it in - to give some thin veneer of respectability, but I have had no luck with the car washes around town. The one at Seafield is broken and the one in Morningside is not working properly so taller vehicles can't use it. I saw another one out near the Pentlands the other day but I didn't have any money. Living three flights up, thinking about it now, I could have put in some serious hill training carrying buckets of water up and down the stairs and cleaning the car myself in the street. I'm actually quite glad I didn't think of that...

*This could be in part due to his daily imbibing of some strange substance that appeared in the house one day. King Billy's Orange Marching Wine.