Author: jogblog

After being outed on MY OWN BLOG by Shaun (aka my future ex-boyfriend) on my previous post for being really stupid, I go to work with vengeance in my heart and the overwhelming desire to Get. Shaun. Back. For. Outing. Me. On. MY. OWN. BLOG. For. Being. Really. Stupid.  So I get to work and before settling down to do work type stuff I read EVERY SINGLE PAGE ON THE INTERNET until I find one that agrees with me and, more importantly, proves him wrong.

But I don’t find one.

Not about the peanut thing anyway.  Fuck, I spent 38 years and 10 months and 28 days thinking that peanuts were nuts.  And the one day I decide to be sarky about peanut butter labelling and post on my blog for all the internet people to read “peanuts are what, peas?”, I find out that, yes, they are actually.

Duh.

But, my future ex-boyfriend also said when he outed me for being really stupid, that bananas aren’t fruit, so I re-read EVERY SINGLE PAGE ON THE INTERNET until I found one that agreed with me, and found this page that says “A banana … is undoubtedly a fruit …“.

Ner.

Stats:
Future ex-boyfriends: 1
Pages read on the internet: all of them
Revelations that peanuts are peas and not nuts: 1
Revelations that bananas are not fruit: 0
Women that are probably too old to be writing things like “duh” and “ner” on blogs: 1

I’m no good at this NaBloPoMo thing as I don’t have anything to blog about today and I have more important things to do like go downstairs and make some hot chocolate and watch IACGMOOH but fear not, as tomorrow I shall blog, as tomorrow I shall do one of those running home from work things that I love oh so much.  Almost as much as I love pizza, oh yes.

I planned to go the gym yesterday after work but at 5pm Tracey emails me and says do you want to meet up for a quick drink? and I say aaaaarrrrrrrgggggghhhhhhh tempting, but I’ve promised myself that I’m going to the gym after work and I wasn’t going to drink today and even if we only have one drink I’ll end up going home via the offy and she emails back and says but you won’t see me for two weeks as I’m going away on Monday, are you sure I can’t persuade you? and I say but it’s usually more than two weeks in between seeing you anyway and I’m logging off in a couple of minutes so you haven’t got long to persuade me and she emails back says it’s Friday? so I email back and say ok, when and where? and we meet up and have a glass of wine then go to meet her mate and her mate’s sister in another pub and we have two more glasses of wine then Tracey buys a bottle of champagne to celebrate getting her compensation money for the scar that no one can see and I manage to leave before every one else before I’m tempted to drink more wine and end up in hospital and get the train home and realise I’m a bit pissed as the pages of my book are all blurry and I get home and realise I’m supposed to blog and I look at the clock and I’ve got 35 minutes ’til it’s midnight and I’m wondering what my fingers/keyboard coordination would be like and I think rubbish probably and I go to bed and I wake up hungover although I only had three glasses of wine and half a glass of champagne but we didn’t eat due to a veggie sausage and mash based fiasco and I’m too knackered to go out for a run and I don’t get to try out my new running shoes

and I’ll have to force myself to do a running commute on Tuesday and try them out then.

A late post.  I would have posted when I got in last night but a) it was after midnight and therefore not strictly speaking yesterday and; b) I wasn’t sober enough for any finger/keyboard coordination, and I would cheat and pretend I posted this yesterday but I made a drunken confession on Facebook and Warriorwoman’s been up early stalking me again and has discovered my tardiness.

But the pancakes, cherry & honey vodka, cranberry vodka, wine and lager were very nice although my head this morning is telling me maybe such overindulgence on a school night might not have been the good idea that it seemed at the time.

Because Shaun is insisting that I don’t live near a forest, an assumption he comes to purely because he hasn’t seen it, even when I point out the photographic evidence on this here blog, I make the rash promise of a) getting up early (i.e. some time when it’s still the a.m. bit) on Sunday to take him to said forest; and b) agreeing to take the mountain bikes there and somehow I manage to ride to the station without a) doing the whole journey via the pavement; b) killing the old man on a bike that I nearly crash into; and c) falling under a bus.  Woo, go me.

We get to the forest and after about five minutes I start moaning about the amount of mud and wanting to get back home to my sofa and the big bag of Cheshire Cheese & Chutney flavour Kettle Chips but it has to be said that the trees are a pretty Autumnal colour

and I agree to have an action shot taken

and if I look like I’m wobbling and have absolutely no control over the two wheeled thing, that’s because I am and I haven’t but I manage not to fall off and we eventually leave the forest and Shaun wonders how I manage not to fall off into the mud and decides he quite likes Chingford and we go and look at house porn in estate agent’s windows and decide to buy a house there, although probably not the one for £1.8 million.

Stats:
Sunday mornings: 1
Old men nearly crashed into: 1
Mud: Loads
Times fallen off bike: 0
Houses for £1.8 million: 1