Nothing all week. What kind of blogger am I? But this is no time for existential questions. Should be much more analytical really. I am reading The Blank Slate by Steven Pinker. It is hardly PD James but then that's not a surprise. The Blank Slate is something to do with the nature/nurture debate. It is well written but I have to admit I am having difficulty holding the learning within.
Maybe I should be making notes in the book but as it is not my book that wouldn't be very good.
I have been out celebrating the fact that there is no match on Saturday. Went out with an old mate of mine who I met nigh on 26 years ago here in Paris while I was a student at the British Institute.
I just reminded her that it was at her party in London that I met the missus. Wow. Connections.
Despite not playing tomorrow I went to the relaxation class. It seemed a bit redundant really as I am relatively calm as there is no family here to make my blood boil as Mr Angry would have said it once ago on Steve Wright's show.
But the class was good I was stretched and pulled to such an extent that I almost fell asleep in the restaurant while waiting for Caroline to come along. She'd been out watching a film while I was communing with my inner peacefulness. She'd wanted to go and see Mamma Mia but it was sold out.
She ended up seeing Vicky Cristina Barcelona which I saw on Thursday. I'm a big fan of Woody Allen but even I'm starting to think that I've heard the script before. It seemed funnier with Diane Keaton and Allen himself on screen.
Nevertheless Allen 2008 is still quite amusing but the man himself on screen and his gawky delivery was joyous.
Equally joyous will be a Saturday morning without an early rise. In anticipation of that I played tennis on Thursday and promptly retwisted the right ankle that was crocked when I landed badly last Saturday.
For the past few seasons I've been worried about pulled hamstrings and calf muscles. They seem to be much stronger - I guess thanks to the yoga - but you can't legislate for landing badly.
Oh the life of a weekend stroller.