. . . and stretch!
If pain at the back of the legs indicates dedication to cycling, then I am dedicated. I am beginning to think that all this much-vaunted belief in the positive power of exercise is much over rated.
My knee joints, it must be admitted are not the finest articulating things in the world, but they did work without feeling as though someone has wrapped clumsy weights around them. Now, after a week of cycling, this is not the case. The pain, such as it is, is a ‘surround’ discomfort and I am working on the basis that this is merely muscle, rather like the alien I have just been watching in a most unsatisfactory film, suddenly called into action after a considerable time being quiescent.
Having been called into more stringent duty that they had heretofore been expected to complete, my muscles are rebelling. And something must be done.
I have therefore decided to revert to what I always (usually) [sometimes] did before playing squash or badminton – I will stretch my muscles before I put foot to pedal. This will be, I am sure, the panacea and all manner of things will be well.
And anyway, there are only a few more weeks to go and I will be able to sink behind the wheel once more! At least just before and after I have my swim!
There are some things you do because you have always done them. Unthinkingly and with a sense that this is how life should be led. They are the basics which make up the ethos that propels you through life. Things that you can sink back on in times of trouble and feel that this, at least, is right.
So it is troubling, to say the least, that I find myself – after a lifetime – going back on something which I have never even had cause to question.
As far back as I can remember – and this I know because somewhere I still have evidence of my childish faith in books which I slavishly kept – I drank PG Tips. It was the tea of choice, there was no other.
In Spain, one of the first things that I did was search out a place where this need could find the raw material to be satisfied. And I found it – albeit in a French supermarket chain, but I found a supply of tea bags with the requisite trademark.
It has taken me some time, but I now realise that I have been denying the truth, the truth that I actually prefer Ty-phoo tea. How can this have happened?
I have rationalised it of course, it must, I have told myself be something to do with the quality of water. I am used to the softness of Welsh water, whereas here in Catalonia, as I am fond of saying, I don’t know how something so full of calcium actually makes it out of the taps. To say our water is hard is . . . and fit in simile or image of your choice . . . and to be frank it is the same for Ty-phoo as it is from PG Tips, but, there it is, after all these years a change of taste.
Something I will have to learn to live with as I spit my traitorous cuppa!
The writing of the pro forma for the outline of the work that I intend to do for the end of course module which takes the place of the examination in the Open University for my art course is proving to be a damn sight more tricky that I thought it would be.
Some things, like my bibliography, seem to have taken on a monstrous life of their own, but the actual title and the fiddly little details are tantalizingly out of reach.
They will have to come to reach in the next 24 hours as the thing has to be handed in and I have to go to Barcelona on Wednesday. So, the whip is being metaphorically applied and, as usual, in spite of moaning, I will probably manage to get something winging its electronic way.
This is a real opportunity for my tutor to come up trumps. She does know much more than I, and she can make or break my long essay by her suggestions. She seems to be ‘fairly’ on board at the moment and I only hope that the sense of fellow travelling will extend itself to fairly concrete suggestions for the ‘bits’ in my proposal that I have somewhat glossed over!
In a strange sort of way I am looking forward to this project becoming reality and words actually making it to the screen, because I am interested to see what the end result will be. Because I don’t have a clear idea at the moment. And that, I think, is a good thing. I hope.
I am at the stage in my book where I am thinking of the order in which the poems should be published. Thinking is not doing, and I am justifying my laziness by telling myself that I have more pressing academic problems. How easy it is to write about problems rather than doing something about them. It was ever thus and, as I have made that a way of life, don’t knock it!