Saturday, August 27, 2005
Here’s A Little Agit For The Never Believer, Here's A Little Ghost For The Offering.
My shoulders ache and a drowsy numbness pains my arms. But at least I still haven’t fallen into the canal yet, so I’m not complaining.
We’ve fallen into a happy little routine, Canoeing Instructor and me. We dash over to her place from our respective offices, get changed, strap canoes to her roof rack, and hot tail it to the canal. Then she shoves me into the water and we paddle off into the grey drizzle for a couple of hours.
Darkness is falling by the time we make it back to the car, then it’s strap canoes on, back to hers, take canoes inside, change out of soggy clothing and head to the pub for something hot and greasy.
I phone Girlfriend who is consistently excited and thrilled to hear of my progress - I’ve even stopped calling them “oars” now, which is very good, apparently - while Canoeing Instructor sends texts and grins sheepishly.
Finally it’s back to hers again for Man On The Moon lessons.
She can play D at the moment, which is obviously a better start than not being able to play D, but if she wants to impress her mates this Christmas she’ll have to get her skates on.
In the morning she laughs apologetically and says it’s good that my shoulders ache. It means my paddling technique is improving. I’ll remind her of that when she’s suffering from B minor and attendant blistered fingers.
I spend the day emailing Girlfriend about how knackered I am, and Canoeing Instructor prints off spoof certificates - at least I think they’re spoofs - for Girlfriend to bring home for me. I promise to frame them and hang them on the wall but I haven’t got round to it yet.
We’ve fallen into a happy little routine, Canoeing Instructor and me. We dash over to her place from our respective offices, get changed, strap canoes to her roof rack, and hot tail it to the canal. Then she shoves me into the water and we paddle off into the grey drizzle for a couple of hours.
Darkness is falling by the time we make it back to the car, then it’s strap canoes on, back to hers, take canoes inside, change out of soggy clothing and head to the pub for something hot and greasy.
I phone Girlfriend who is consistently excited and thrilled to hear of my progress - I’ve even stopped calling them “oars” now, which is very good, apparently - while Canoeing Instructor sends texts and grins sheepishly.
Finally it’s back to hers again for Man On The Moon lessons.
She can play D at the moment, which is obviously a better start than not being able to play D, but if she wants to impress her mates this Christmas she’ll have to get her skates on.
In the morning she laughs apologetically and says it’s good that my shoulders ache. It means my paddling technique is improving. I’ll remind her of that when she’s suffering from B minor and attendant blistered fingers.
I spend the day emailing Girlfriend about how knackered I am, and Canoeing Instructor prints off spoof certificates - at least I think they’re spoofs - for Girlfriend to bring home for me. I promise to frame them and hang them on the wall but I haven’t got round to it yet.

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