Thursday, and I wake up after what feels like a decent nights sleep. My fitness App does not agree but it says it was better than yesterday, that will do me. There is silence in the house. There is no no work chatter noise coming from the office downstairs which means my partner has gone to real drive a car to work work again. I languish in bed and check my messages and emails adn exchange a few early morning pleasantries with some people. I move onto booking a Tesco slot for Monday and filling my shopping basket. So the basics are sorted by the time I get up and wander downstairs for breakfast. I try to ring the specialist prostate nurse to chase my next scan appointment up. There was no answer, I assume that this is a biproduct of the junior doctors being on strike. I will try later or leave it till the strike is over. I sense a FUBAR coming on.

I clear the kitchen, empty Daisy the dishwasher and tidy up a bit before trying the specialist prostate nurse again more in hope than expectation. Of course there is no answer. I have options and consider training before anything else but I realise that I have acquired a strange habit, namely that I do not train until the postman has been. Whether I am living in some sort of perpetual expectation of something important or I am using it as a form of procrastination I am not sure. I know that when I am trying to plan my day and organise myself its the thought of having to change clothes again to train that is an obstacle, I just get a sense that it would be nice to go through a day in one set of clothes. Saying it out loud makes it sound odd but when I am trying to juggle a restricted number of energy spoons over a day it makes more sense. I try to be as ergonomically efficient as I can over the course of the day, experience tells me that energy expenditure tends to be like buses, turning up in bunches rather than well ordered singles at regular intervals. As it turns out I sit and start to draft the blog as I was finding that if I leave it to last thing at night I am tired and produce dour and lifeless content.

I walk down to the village shop with my eldest daughter and then onto the village café where we eat lunch and chat at length about research and PhD issues. We indulge in additional coffee cake before walking home. My Amazon goodies have arrived so I am in possession of all I need to make tiramisu. I change into my training kit and head for the garage. I can feel myself running out of spoons so I settle for a 45 minute session. Despite me feeling tired I I manage 600+ calories and the expected 9 kilometres.

The garden guy arrives as I am recovering in the lounge, fortunately my partner has returned from work and can give him coffee and money. He mows the grass, the first cut this year. It always makes a big difference to the look of the garden so tomorrow I shall give myself some Shed time, before I set about my cooking plan. I eat my evening meal and settle down to watch two football matches one after the other. Its a European night, which is no excuse, but the evening is mindless until I return to the blog. I finish for the day, take my meds and go to bed hoping for another reasonable nights sleep.