It's lovely today. It was lovely yesterday. Too lovely for March, maybe.
Yesterday we went for a walk at Trosley Country Park. It's been spruced up since we were last there a few years ago - new toilets, a new cafe. The cafe was busier than the walking trails.
"Come on, let's off-road," I said. And we took the "B" route, all the way down the hill, through several fields, not knowing whether the route was two miles or nine. After about an hour and a half we seemed to be heading back towards the car park. Up, up, up, then across.
"We've reached the woods now," I said. "I'm glad those trees are there because I wouldn't fancy walking on the side of this steep hill with nothing to stop my fall."
We came to a clearing with nothing to stop our fall. Eyes down at the path, not left to the less than gentle slope. Past a braver young couple sitting on the slope with their even braver dog chasing his tail.
I'm such a wuss with heights. My legs turn to jelly, I can't go on, I can't go on, I can't go on.
I went on and we made it. A lovely day with a bit of nervous excitement added.
Today is a lovely day. We go to the dentist's. The receptionist is wearing sexy boots and her cleavage is overspilling. An old man comes out of the torture room and after picking up his cap from under one of the chairs, pays his £50 in cash. There goes his pension for this week.
"Can I use the facilities?" he asks the receptionist.
"Of course you can," she says.
He goes into the toilet and clatters about a bit. I hear running water. He comes out and leaves without another word.
I bury myself in my Sherlock Holmes in case the receptionist thinks I'm looking at her tits. I hear the drill start up.
"Filling for Betty," I think. "That means one for me too."
Our dentist enjoys filling teeth. It's good to see someone taking pleasure in their work.
Me, I take pleasure in my days off.
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