Well, OK. More like 12km. Buyt more on that later.
On Friday I dragged Karen to a rock night. Shock number 1 for her was when she saw I had painted my nails. Shock number 2 was when she got there and they were playing thrash metal. She kept complaining all night untill she a) got drunk, b) the music mellowed out and c) she realised it was too late to go anywhere else.
Much drunken fun followed involving: a guy from Manhattan who Karen kept calling Elvis, me being told to tell Karen I love her when I kiss her goodnight, a bath at 5AM (Karens idea) and squirty cream.
Saturday we were woken at 9:30 with Karens dad delivering a bed for her. We spent all of the morning sleeping and relaxing in bed. I got home at about 3:20 to watch the football.
You know, I thought that my mum was joking when she told me the score, then she changed channel to check. 2 – 0 to the Faroe Isles?
I would borrow Ken Fitlike’s “headless chickens” quote to describe how Scotland played, but such a comparison would be unfair to the chickens. The person who scored the Faroes twa goals is a teacher. Guess he took Scotland to school.
So onto Sunday. And the Walkathon. There are various lengths of walk you can do. Myself, Karen, Dlyan and Karen’s mum were going to do the longest distance. 12km.
We got down to where we were due to start and at 12 we were off. Over the Broadhill and around the inside of Pitoddrie. (No, Ken, I did not go onto the hallowed turf. Though I was sorely tempted.) Along the Beach Esplanade, up to Seaton Park. Through the Walled Gardens, up to Balgowine bridge, down to Donmouth and back along the esplanade to the park across the road from the Ballroom. We managed it in around 4 hours.
The real star was Dylan who managed a large chunk of the walk himself at the age of two. He also gave us an “aww, bless,” moment when he was told to say goodbye to a balloon which was floating away, and he told it to take care.
And we all got medals. Yay!
And that was my weekend.
Toodles!
Will
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