Sunday, but no day of rest for us. We're off to a party this evening and we have to take a plate so Marilyn has opted for a plate of sandwiches. I've already dismantled the chicken, chopped the white meat and set aside the legs for later.
I made it to the gym by 8 o'clock and set about my normal program. There were the usual familiar faces: the reluctant middle-aged man who goes through his routine without much energy, the older fellow trying to gain his youth by hammering away at the weights and the tiny woman who is like a demon on the treadmill. She often signs in just before me and her signature contains two of the letter g and, the way she writes it encroaches on the space below, where I'm trying to write my name in a legible fashion. It offends my sense of what's right.
There were two newbies this morning: two tall dark women, I imagine African, dressed in some sort of sports uniform. One was taller than me and the shorter one was about my height. I assumed they were basketball or netball players but they might have been surgeons at the hospital or new drivers for the local buses. In any case, it waa good to have a touch of the exotic to brighten up the morning.
I looked out the window while I was rowing and noticed a couple of cars at the oval opposite. I assumed there is a game on today and the ground staff is here early to set up. As I watched, a head appeared above the rim of a large wheelie bin and a fellow climbed out. Had he been sleeping there, or was he a groundsman looking for a lost handbag? I suppose I'll never know.
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