Holidays 16.3 - The Birds

I was out running this morning - yes I know I had said that I wasn't going to do it anymore but I have brought the old (very old) mountain bike to reside here at the country seat and when I took it out for a spin the other day I came to a grinding halt at the first hill of any substance. The superior gearing on the Precious Cannondale has made a wimp of me and I can't move the bloody old machine. So, ill-advisedly, I ventured forth to shuffle the mean streets of Benllech. You've guessed it - as I  approached the three mile mark (this it seeems is my watershed) the left calf gave its telltale twinge. Bollocks. Still I did stop at the first sign of damage so hopefully this afternoon's planned beach walk will be alright. Getting old is a pig.

Runner's enemy

Before my injury trauma I had been attacked by a flock of seagulls. Honestly - the bastards kept dive-bombing me. It was like Hitchcock's The Birds. Well, I exaggerate, but it was mildly disturbing. Do they react to the colour red? Answers on a postcard to etc.

Barbecue tonight. Sod any diet.