The past week has been busy, unfortunately not with running. I popped into the bank last Wednesday to dip my toes in the murky waters of mortgages, came out with an agreement-in-principle and then proceeded to see 13 properties in three days. I don't mess about.
We have seen one we quite like, enough to warrant a second visit anyway, which we had last night. Blimey, you notice more the second time round! I am keen on it as it has side access, a driveway, a big brick outhouse and a loft conversion (though accessed by a fixed ladder) - tonnes of storage space and room for a 'training facility' and room to cope with a couple of MiniMes. We have mainly been looking in Chingford and whilst this place isn't on the best estate in the area, ironically it is near one of the better schools (gotta be future proofed!). On the plus side (I think) it has been on the market for over six months, so we'd be unlucky for it to suddenly sell, so are going to continue looking.
I should really have run a long way at the weekend, but I didn't - my excuse is a feeling of impending injury, the shins have been niggling and I have a morbid fear shin splints. A short mileage week will prepare me for a massive run on Saturday, which will be my last long one.
In other news, I got the train home yesterday due to house viewings and I am glad I did. Jogging home from the station, the squits set in and I actually crapped my pants a little bit. Can you believe that? Don't ever say I don't share all with my dear readers. So that was me at my most mature (future property magnate) and immature (incontinent) all in one day. Shit happens.
Keep it tight and stay regular, my peoples.
Holly, or as I like to call her, The Grim Reaper, trying to change the duvet cover
(unrelated to my squitish indiscretion btw)