The Ancient Chamber Pot of Azerbaijan

The girls only have a dozen or so DVDs here and they are growing bored with the same old stuff. In fact they've recently been branching out into my own collection - the majority are unsuitable and referred to as daddy's scary movies but Indiana Jones, Star Wars, Back to the Future etc, are coming within range. Today I plundered the local Library catalogue and reserved the first three Harry Potter films for them, not my cup of tea, but I'll do my usual trick with 'DVD Shrink' and 'DVD Decrypter' and copy them so the girls can watch them forever and ever, amen.

 

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Here is why men shouldn't buy bedding unsupervised. My favourite fitted Queen sheet needed a deputy, so I measured the bed, definitely Queen, 60" x 80" (that would be King in the UK; King in North America is sprawling, never mind the impressive acreage called Super King and California King!!) and I set off to do the rounds of Sears, Winners, Bed Bath and Beyond, and Wal-Mart. I handpicked a fitted cotton sheet for twenty dollars and two pillow cases for eight, chocolate brown, mmm.

 

So far so good. At home I discovered the new Queen pillow cases were a flapping seven inches too long for my puny Standard pillows. Several outings later I resigned myself to the fact there are no Standard pillow cases to be had these days. Bigheads abound I assume. So... I invested in two new Queen pillows. Later I ditched the girls' worn out Standard pillows and upgraded their entitlement to my serviceable cast-offs. What a palaver.

 

I don't have a duvet, just a comforter (known in the UK as a quilt). It's quite thin and akin to throwing an opened-up sleeping bag over you, but it's great for me even in winter (despite my lifelong habit of sleeping au naturel)! Well, I picked up a new comforter too and relegated the original to occasional duties. No problem on the size front and a snip at seventeen dollars!

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I slipped over in the bath. To be precise I toppled from nearly standing to slung over the side of the bath tub. My ribcage took the full impact before I could break my fall. Initially I was shocked and winded, every ounce of breath gone. Surely I had punctured a lung or at least speared my spleen. After gingerly feeling for protruding organs I took a slow deep breath and realised I would probably live. That was two weeks ago and ever since I have winced and grunted and bemoaned my stupid clumsiness.

This week I tried a couple of longish runs, 10k and 15k. At first the bruised ribs grumbled but after a few minutes my natural endorphins started flowing and it was easier. I start marathon training in July and should be in fair shape by then.