I’ve got the day off today. Frances is working, so I’m on my own. I’ve been in need of a break for a while now, but the ‘freelancers curse’ seemed to weigh heavily on me: If I’m not working, I’m not earning anything at all. Combined with working from home (which is far from the ideal situation you might think), I hadn’t had much in the way of scenery changes or pace changes in ages. A balance is very important, and somehow I’d lost that.
So a week or so back I just figured this Friday would be good. We’re also going away for a couple of nights, so it’s a nice long weekend. My first in what feels like ages.
Plans? Not very much. I’ve just got up after dozing listening to an entertaining Desert Island disks about a defecting Russian spy, and the last part of JG Ballard’s autobiography, which was interesting. I’d planned on going for a long run straight away, but discovered I was a lot hungrier than I’d expected, so didn’t think it’d make sense for the 12 miles I’m planning. So, a nice bowl of porridge, then an amble to the local shops for a coffee or two and a newspaper. A spot of lunch, then that long run - the weather here is perfect, so I intend to make the most of it, especially as I’m down in London next week, and that means I’ll miss my usual running club nights. After the run, well, a shower (!) and a cup of tea. Mmm.
As soon as Frances gets back we’re off to a nice hotel. Not very far away (the other side of East Kilbride), but it’s a nice looking place with private grounds and dinner included, so we can use their facilities and go for walks. So no long drive to get me stressed up again.
Right. My porridge is ready. The day begins. 
Can it be improved? Not for me.
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