Last Wednesday, I woke up with a very sensible thought; don't cycle in - give my body a rest. I'd been pedalling to work like a 5-year-old on speed, then swimming myself clean, not to mention cycling home and hitting the gym when I got there.
A day off made sense.
But in that minor, logical break, I'd fucked myself. Nothing Man emailed me that afternoon to see if I wanted to catch up after work over a quick beer. Of course I did. My bike was at home, and I was wearing my more casual, tubed-it-in attire. It would just be the one, mind.
Next thing I know, I'm hammered and chainsmoking, and not cycling in on Thursday. I got fitted for my Best Man's suit that evening after work, and hit a pub with the Groom-to-be afterwards. The following day was Friday, so again...
It is now Tuesday, and I am still drinking, avec fags.
Brilliant. I am now paying for two gyms that I'm not actually visiting.
Back in the real world, I am gratified that by some strange universal quirk, no less than three murdering evil fuckheads, in some kind of justice Wait-Hours-For-A-Bus-Then-Five-Come-At-Once effect, are all paying for their viciously hate-filled crimes at Her Majesty's pleasure.
And furthermore, Islam, the current religion du jour, looks like it may finally be headed down the long road towards modernisation, just like Christianity did, kicking and screaming like a power-bloated maniac nearly 500 years ago, and just as my bearded Hebrew brethren did, equally reluctantly like a stubborn ginger step-child that no-one likes, a couple of hundred years later.
Because I quite like the idea of intolerants having their beliefs challenged, plus women will no longer be feared and restrained by their weak, intolerant menfolk who are blinded by theology mired in centuries old dogma.
Yet despite what I fervently believe in my liberal wishy-washy and humanitarian ways, those swarthy, tall, dark and handsome misogynists continue unabated, getting all the sex.
I still haven't shagged since I started blogging.
And yes, that was 2006.