Feels like an eternity

since the start of this week - I made notes of what I did each night and I can barely remember anything before the weekend. Slightly worrying!

Dom and I took the bus out to Murrayfield on Monday night after work, and ran the route of next weekend's 10k. I was a few minutes slower than last year, and given that my training this year has consisted mostly of going to the pub, I don't expect I'll be much faster on the day. Dom, on the other hand, had never run the full 10k distance before, and I was mightily impressed with his time.

Tuesday was Dom's birthday, so Dave, Michelle and I met up with him and his cronies for a rather nice meal in Maison Bleue. I politely declined to come to Medina afterwards; I was still dog tired from the previous weekend's shenanigans and then the run, so I begged off and collapsed into bed at 1 or so. An early night by the standards of the preceding week...

On Wednesday, Jen and I went out for a few drinks for the first time in ages. It was a good night - suffice it to say that I found myself in Dario's on Lothian Road at 1 am, eating dinner for the second time that night with a litre of wine on the table between me and a clearly plastered lady. Good times.

On Thursday (I remember thinking at this point: "Christ, when will it all end?") the flatmates plus Michelle and Samina went along to a beginners' swing dance lesson. I haven't done anything like this for about fifteen years (ceilidh dancing at school, I think. Good god, the cringing I did then...), and to put it bluntly, I was bricking it.

Fortunately A) it was easy and B) we rocked. Mostly. There were actually two lessons: the first was the lindyhop, and the teachers were mercifully gentle with us. I think I'd expected something far more upbeat, but this suited me down to the ground and we all managed relatively well. It remains to be seen just how swinging we'll be for the next Vegas though - Michelle has promised to teach me how to jive as well, so that may see more use there if we get round to it.

The second lesson was a 'stroll', an unpartnered dance that reminded me of line-dancing. And not in a particularly good way. The teacher this time had a slightly evangelical, manic glint in his eye and a style of instructing owing more to dancing skill than enthusiasm for teaching.

Still, I struggled through and I'm actually rather looking forward to next week's class. Mad.

Friday: there is no Friday. I made a conscious decision to stay in and slob out. I watched Sunset Boulevard (hmm. The Third Man felt more modern, despite being shot the year before, and Sunset Boulevard just didn't quite gel for me), read and slept.

[More on the weekend later.]