Gym

Lauren in the house

Run

short, still feel like shit

Rambl

He used to sit, or was that stand ,just by or as he remembers it below the aged piece of brown heavy furniture, on which the TV sat and whose draws he had often frisked  through, looking for secrets or more likely just something to do or fiddle with or steal.. He can’t remember what was in them now, possibly napkins, old batteries, glue sticks, liquid paper. It comes back to him that they might have been packed tightly so to get right in there you would have had to lift something out.  That was too risky. It would be too difficult to recover if the door swung open and one of his parents walked in. He must have only looked around the edges then.

It’s a summer’s day in the holidays and he’s waiting to see if  two friends were cmng around to play. There was no planning around this, they either came or they didn’t. He badly needed the company.

It might not be summer now, but he was in the same room above the shop where his parents worked at avoiding each other as much as possible. At meal times  they would bury their respective heads in a newspaper each and we’d eat in silence. My father who was up to get the papers in at 5 or 6am would have a nap in the lounge after lunch. There would be more quiet until he resumed his shift into the evening. 

It was morning , before or after breakfast, probably winter. He was playing a carpet top football game, possibly with his brother. They weren’t that close. One of his earliest memories was of his father hitting his mother.  So he was used to arguing in the house, moods, silence, mummy undermining his father in front of customers in the shop. It all made him feel really lost, terrified to move or to decide anything.  So when there was a loud crash, he might have paused for a moment from his game where he might have been trying to surprise himself by being  goalkeeper and  striker at the same time. This was the sound of parents not loving each other and the crash was like a clap of thunder arisng from the tension in the air. 

Predictable when the air gets too close.  

Across the road from the shop , right on the corner  up a small hill was a small grocers. A diary van was parked outside the shop, or Fields as we knew it. That morning the driver had either forgotten to button up his hand brake or otherwise he had and it was faulty. While he was inside passing a crate of milk  to Mr or Mrs Field the van had tipped  backwards and rolled down the hill. The sound of the simmering argument between his parents erupting was the rear of the milk wagon crashing through the front of the shop right underneath my imaginary football game.     

It was cold. The winters were really cold, right by the sea. He walked to school whatever the weather. He can’t remember the exact route he took. It might well have been via the gym at Dry grounds, probably because crossing the main road was safer there. It was nothing to do with him but one day someone drowned the school by turning on all taps in all bathrooms and putting  the taps in. The smell of those damp carpets in the teachers room stay with you. The snorkel parka coat, the purple and black rugby kit that occasioning missed a wash between classes,  the hard ground , the welsh PE teacher shouting at you addressing you by your sir name, dancing queen at a Friday disco you sunk away from; all those things stay with you.    

Gloomy Sunday

Some of the books on the shelf behind  me and certainly some of the records tight in the cupboards to my left were around to see this . The red and white striped towel hanging in the bathroom that could outlive all of us if we let  it was there too. The kids give a it a wide birth even when it's the only clean one left.

For a day so remembered  what he realises is how little remains. Just the turning on the heel, back down the path , back towards the nondescript  cold gloomy Sunday. After that probaly alcohol

Ideas

SM gloomy Sunday
Something set in  BHT, maybe about murder
Memories about all the not allowed places

Gym

Light , still have cold thing. Yuk

Kids were brilliant at the d and b show yesterday.

Run

short

Felt like shit 

Random

Having a  2000w light bulb in the room above your bedroom , tracking around and around ,  Spilling its light in all directions can make it difficult to sleep. But you get used to it. The whirring of the mechanism that keeps it spinning rocks  you to sleep, unless of course the weather outside has other ideas.

She'd been here with her father for six months and now The lighthouse was being upgraded so that no more little families would be needed to keep in working. That meant she would be the last ever little girl to sleep under the spinning lamp right at the top of the structure.


Her room was full of old dark brown furniture , built so that it fitted snugly into the the curve of the walls, apart from her bed that was right in the middle of the room . From it she could see out of two windows , both unsurprisingly had sea views. The walls were thick and the window glass was thick as well and not always clean , this meant you had to be purposeful about looking out of them , neither accommodated casual glances. She was looking forward to having a bedroom where is as possible to have a less intense relationship with the  windows.

Men refitting the light house were replacing the light , the mechanism , some other things that were spoken about over the phone long distance a lot and the Heath Robison, apparently that's who makes them, arrangement of  small mirrors  and buzzers that managed to wake daddy if the light went out.  We could always look out of the complicated windows of course and this the engineers weren't proposing to change except of course , soon, there would be no one here to look.

Food came packed in a cardboard box, delivered fresh every  couple of weeks or so. Fuel for heating came on alternate weeks  and school was delivered  the same way.  School was administered by her father , as he like to put it, for three hours every week after breakfast. The idea was that they covered the same ground  as the  kids in the local school. Local in as much as it was on the only landmass  visible on the horizon on a clear day.

Her father had terrible taste in music . His record collection had required two additional trips by the boatmen who  first brought them over.  He had thousands of them and played them  through a elaborate series of boxes and cables that took up most of the space on the ground floor. One of the refit engineers also loved music and all the  boxes that it came with and him her father would listen to jazz and drink  special whisky from the mainland.

Having a  2000w light bulb in the room above your bedroom , tracking around and around ,  Spilling its light in all directions can make it difficult to sleep. But you get used to it. The whirring of the mechanism that keeps it spinning rocks  you to sleep, unless of course the weather outside has other ideas.

She'd been here with her father for six months and now The lighthouse was being upgraded so that no more little families would be needed to keep in working. That meant she would be the last ever little girl to sleep under the spinning lamp right at the top of the structure.


Her room was full of old dark brown furniture , built so that it fitted snugly into the the curve of the walls, apart from her bed that was right in the middle of the room . From it she could see out of two windows , both unsurprisingly had sea views. The walls were thick and the window glass was thick as well and not always clean , this meant you had to be purposeful about looking out of them , neither accommodated casual glances. She was looking forward to having a bedroom where is as possible to have a less intense relationship with the  windows.

Men refitting the light house were replacing the light , the mechanism , some other things that were spoken about over the phone long distance a lot and the Heath Robison, apparently that's who makes them, arrangement of  small mirrors  and buzzers that managed to wake daddy if the light went out.  We could always look out of the complicated windows of course and this the engineers weren't proposing to change except of course , soon, there would be no one here to look.

Food came packed in a cardboard box, delivered fresh every  couple of weeks or so. Fuel for heating came on alternate weeks  and school was delivered  the same way.  School was administered by her father , as he like to put it, for three hours every week after breakfast. The idea was that they covered the same ground  as the  kids in the local school. Local in as much as it was on the only landmass  visible on the horizon on a clear day.

Her father had terrible taste in music . His record collection had required two additional trips by the boatmen who  first brought them over.  He had thousands of them and played them  through a elaborate series of boxes and cables that took up most of the space on the ground floor. One of the refit engineers also loved music and all the  boxes that it came with and him her father would listen to jazz and drink  special whisky from the mainland.

Gym

Sweat the fucker out , partially worked

Chest infection

Feeling rough

No training , not much more work

Need to write some thing happy for Jules. Going to be about a light house , and what  goes on inside

Run

probably shouldn't have done. Short quick

Gym

still have bad cold. Light session . Nearly gave up as  soon as I had begun. The afternoon shift team was in

Run

have a cold , probably shouldn't have.

He used to sit, or was that stand ,just by or as he remembers it below the aged piece of brown heavy furniture, on which the TV sat and whose draws he had often frisked  through, looking for secrets or more likely just something to do or fiddle with or steal.. He can’t remember what was in them now, possibly napkins, old batteries, glue sticks, liquid paper. It comes back to him that they might have been packed tightly so to get right in there you would have had to lift something out.  That was too risky. It would be too difficult to recover if the door swung open and one of his parents walked in. He must have only looked around the edges then.

It’s a summer’s day in the holidays and he’s waiting to see if  two friends were cmng around to play. There was no planning around this, they either came or they didn’t. He badly needed the company.

It might not be summer now, but he was in the same room above the shop where his parents worked at avoiding each other as much as possible. At meal times  they would bury their respective heads in a newspaper each and we’d eat in silence. My father who was up to get the papers in at 5 or 6am would have a nap in the lounge after lunch. There would be more quiet until he resumed his shift into the evening. 

It was morning , before or after breakfast, probably winter. He was playing a carpet top football game, possibly with his brother. They weren’t that close. One of his earliest memories was of his father hitting his mother.  So he was used to arguing in the house, moods, silence, mummy undermining his father in front of customers in the shop. It all made him feel really lost, terrified to move or to decide anything.  So when there was a loud crash, he might have paused for a moment from his game where he might have been trying to surprise himself by being  goalkeeper and  striker at the same time. This was the sound of parents not loving each other and the crash was like a clap of thunder arisng from the tension in the air. 

Predictable when the air gets too close.  

Across the road from the shop , right on the corner  up a small hill was a small grocers. A diary van was parked outside the shop, or Fields as we knew it. That morning the driver had either forgotten to button up his hand brake or otherwise he had and it was faulty. While he was inside passing a crate of milk  to Mr or Mrs Field the van had tipped  backwards and rolled down the hill. The sound of the simmering argument between his parents erupting was the rear of the milk wagon crashing through the front of the shop right underneath my imaginary football game.     

It was cold. The winters were really cold, right by the sea. He walked to school whatever the weather. He can’t remember the exact route he took. It might well have been via the gym at Dry grounds, probably because crossing the main road was safer there. It was nothing to do with him but one day someone drowned the school by turning on all taps in all bathrooms and putting  the taps in. The smell of those damp carpets in the teachers room stay with you. The snorkel parka coat, the purple and black rugby kit that occasioning missed a wash between classes,  the hard ground , the welsh PE teacher shouting at you addressing you by your sir name, dancing queen at a Friday disco you sunk away from; all those things stay with you.    

Short story

gym

Light as cold is here

Amp pack is. Back

No training yesterday as feeling shitvand preoccupied with waiting frondelivery bloke

Have to write a short story for Jules at the weekend

Run

flat 5 miles

Ok for me , felt quite fast

My amp pack is back tommorow

Fed up with work tbh . Need new trainers badly

Gym

Gym

Ok

Rowing

Etc


Warming to gngj

Run

Nitin here

Crazy goings on with s

Gym

Lauren in, passed out on treadmill .


Xxx

Intervals

5m stint, sprint, walk , jog sprint ...repeat

Gym

Went at it.

Break

Thursday Friday this week. Crazy at work, especially rumple of the bailey .

Run

short ok

I was tired before I started. Wore rain top for the first tiime since the summer

Run

stomach upside down
Very short but quite quick

0bs

gym

Picked up contract from cwcl .

Fucking annoyed how shut this app is

App changes

Blogger on iOS has been very unstable . Apparently few people using it . Now have to use chrome gateway. Not sure I like this ,

Intervals

 2.5 tempo
2.5 k sprints

Intervals

Run

Lovely 

Gym

Light 

Run

Ok , fast 

Run

Ok

Gym

Ok 

Gym

Tiring