Having given it the 'big' one to Saucepan and Davisss about my rowing machine prowess, naturally it all goes wrong today. Very wrong.
The machine absolutely breaks me into many small sweating and crying pieces. It's bad, but it turns out to be the highlight of my day given the quarterly vitals check up which preceded it. On the upside my resting heart rate is so low it's almost deathly. The downside is for some reason (two days of medieval curry/pizza/real ale/roast dinners perchance?), I'm 27.7% fat. Luckily for me Ogreg feels my pain, although is that necessarily a good thing?
The bad vibes clearly run in the family because the milos are struck low by dropsy or a quinsey or something, puking everywhere. An affliction only cured by an extreme bout of Meg & Mog on DVD.
Back to the point of this blog though; faced with incipient obesity I decide to cut out the booze during the week. However that witch McCarthy like a modern day Siren, lures me with a bottle of chilled vino blanco whilst I'm cooking pad thai. At least it's a good pad thai...
Food of the Milos
Having puked up his milk in the afternoon, the milos didn't really eat anything this evening but went straight to bed. Poor monkey.
sources
pad thai - Donna Hay, Modern Classics Book One, p133
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