As is the modern way the spare tyre is a weedy little thing which you are advised to get swapped off the vehicle pronto. So yesterday morning I went down to National Tyres at Mere Green whose praises some of you may recall I have sung before. Once again, good as gold, sound advice and swift fitting. Tidy.
All of which left me well disposed towards the tawdry business of earning a living, so much so that I worked until after eight to make up the time lost to fixing the car. I ate well but not too lavishly, took early to my bed and read Waugh's A Handful of Dust. Cracking.
I slept well and was up in good time to dress for my pre-exercise health check at the gym. I passed with surprisingly flying colours, in particular excelling in my lung capacity. Buoyed by this news I swam twenty-five lengths rather splashily and then took to the sauna. The only casualty of all this was my watch which has steamed up. Waterproof my arse.
Feeling on a bit of a roll and ignoring the snow now falling I headed to the Belfry where I thrashed not entirely unconvincingly at ninety golf balls. Perhaps this is the year when The Overgraduate finally masters golf. Is it bollocks.
So all in all I'm feeling rather chipper. Which is nice
This is that time of year when I usually inflict upon you my predictions for the Six Nations rugby but, you know what, I'm uncommonly light on opinions this time. It would be nice to think that England will excel but in the absence of the injured Corbisiero I harbour doubts about the front row. I still cling to the notion that France should be better and that Wales aren't as good as their more blinkered fans would have us believe. Yes I know they provided the nucleus of last summer's victorious Lions but one has to remember that the Australia they beat were, in technical terms, absolute pants. Ireland have a very sound new coach and would be my idea of a decent outside bet, but what do I know.
Back to the gym tomorrow morning to be given my personal workout programme. Viva Iron Dave.