I had to go to Exeter for work stuff. I conscientiously packed my running shoes, having run outdoors the other day for 20 lovely minutes and felt perfectly fit and strong during the run, too.
So what happens? I get locked out of my fucking hotel by the manager – words were exchanged, but you'll be delighted to know I waited until the next morning, instead of what I had initially had in mind when he opened the door*. It meant I was angry at bedtime, which meant no sleep for a while, which meant I overslept the next morning; I often find unless I run first thing, it doesn't happen. Even for long runs, I don't like eating before I go out. It's not nice.
So that went out of the window.
And because I had such a shite night's sleep, I overslept the next morning, too, and almost missed my train. In the meantime, I had an evening of lager, and another of wine. Nothing excessive, but I had enough to get me drunk. Oh, I suppose that is a bit excessive.
When I got up this morning, I felt a bit foggy, which I put down to still feeling tired. When I blew my nose, I reconsidered. Seems I have a cold, and I can't help but wonder if being stranded outside a locked hotel while it absolutely fucking pissed it down may have contributed to that. I have a cold. Gah.
All this, and I had the most ridiculous dessert while away, as I knew I would be putting in some miles this week and felt like a silly treat. For someone who hardly has a sweet tooth, a toffee fudge sundae still seems an odd choice to me...
*I was tempted to pull him outside and lock the door behind me, to see how he might enjoy it. I had a door key, but he had dropped the latch, I think the expression is, so the key wouldn't work. Fucking idiot.