I have observed how my man keeps forgetting that his right hand is injured. He keeps trying to use it, until the inevitable hiss of pain, and the breathed curse words come.

Recap. Mark was away this weekend. He visited his parents in Wiltshire, and as usual when he visits them, they snare him for hard manual labour carrying things or lifting things. Mark’s dad is a plumber, and has a van which he shares with a jovial Polish plumber. This weekend, Mark was recruited into helping his dad and the Pole fix something about the car. Mark’s kind heart rewarded him with an ugly gash across the palm of his hand.

Now, he has a bandage around the hand, and he keeps forgetting the injury, until he tries to use the hand. This is something I find fascinating because obviously habit is deeply ingrained in human nature. One doesn’t actually think about which hand to use. One just uses one’s hands. And if one is right-handed with an injured hands, it leads to much pained hisses and four letter words.

That is not all of our injuries though. I have been lax with running lately, and compensated today by running five miles. Apart from feeling wrung out, I stretched a muscle, so I’m hobbling around. We’re quite the pair at the moment.


Uni is easy now. I have managed to ride ahead on the wave of work, and I am coasting lazily on the wave. This will undoubtedly change as we approach Easter, when we will have a few days off to not celebrate the religious holiday. Next week will be busier, as we finish up projects and assignments. Until we clear off for those precious few free days, I don’t know if we’re going to do anything at all.

It is starting to feel like spring here now, and maybe we will go out and enjoy the countryside while we can. Although we won’t do what a mate suggested and go to his parents’ country house. Not without stocking up on Marx and Keir Hardie for Mark’s sake. Either that or allow Mark to organise a revolution among the staff at that house.


The comment section is funny. After my last post about having kids, I found no less than three comments that said that gay men having kids was, to translate it charitably, inappropriate.

While I don’t get as much comments as I used to get these days, with my minimal blog post production, it’s still fascinating to see how some people plunge to the depths of depravity over the slightest thing.

If such thoughts are the first things that occur to people when reading, anything, what does that say about them? Why does these things occur so readily? Do they spend a lot of time thinking about it?


Last evening I got proof that Mark is planning something. As if I needed proof to know that… We were in the sofa watching the telly, and he read on his phone. When he got a text, he basically snatched the phone out of my view so that I wouldn’t see the text. But I did see, because he wasn’t quick enough. Stephen texted to ask ‘if he had gotten the keys for the booking yet’. 🙂


Note to self: Remind me to rage about WordPress endless insistence that I must use the shitty new editor that strips all formatting from my posts half the time when publishing.