Calories burned: 373
Blisters gained: 2
Bramble scratches: 1
Time taken to return to stop looking like a tomato: about an hour
Weight: 74 kg
Today I did what I've been saying I'd do for months: I went for a run. Those 40 odd minutes weren't quite as bad as I'd expected, which I can only put down to the pre-season hockey fitness sessions I've been to in the last couple of weeks. I took my ipod loaded with 'running songs' bought from good old Amazon for pennies, and put the 'Map My Run' app to use on my phone, which is strangely feel-good. Sure, I did a bit of power-walking on the last stretches of the route, but I came back alive. I was rather horrified to see the tomato-red shade my face had turned, a stark comparison to my Caspar-esque pale legs (which, on reflection, were well overdue a shave). No wonder I'd gotten strange looks from dog walkers when I ran along the old railway.
Following on from my run and fitness campaign, I've just finished my last glass of wine for a while. Wish me luck; I'm going to need it.
Sunday heralded my date with Plenty of Fish Man #3. I'd had hopes for this one, and we planned to have a country walk with the black Labrador I looked after at the weekend, followed by a pub lunch. But alas, I realised within the first few seconds of meeting that I just wasn't attracted to him. Whether this was to do with his tinny South-African accent, or his physical features, I'll never be quite sure, but I did my best to chat while we fed bread to the rainbow trout in the river. As we walked back to the pub for lunch, he described how in his spare time he was currently programming Microsoft Excel to play the board game Mastermind against his mother. Admittedly very, very clever. But a notch too high on the geek scale for me. Anyway, he was kind to the dog, keen to chat (to me as well as the dog), and was overall a nice chap, but that's as far as it went.
HOWEVER. Along came Tuesday evening, and with it, a spontaneous casual drink with Plenty of Fish Man #4. He lives just in the next village, which is a miracle in itself, and so we have a few mutual friends. We met at one of our favourite country pubs, and I didn't need to have sunk half a 7.2% cider to see how smiley and good looking he was, with good conversation too. Anyway, for once I had a really nice evening and we've plans for the weekend: blackberry picking. Random, but why not?!
And finally, hooray! The Great Bake-Off is back! What a good first week, with Mr Hollywood's eyes as blue and glinting as ever and some epic bakes straight-off. Mum's hooked for the first time ever. My odds are on the satellite-inventor guy, who's clearly realised how much of a science baking is. I haven't, however, really warmed to any of the contestants yet this year, in the same way that I did to dear old student John or even stuck-in-a-time-warp Brendan. And as for the Essex girl with the curls, if she's going to cry in the first week, she's toast.
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