Or, why is it that big baldy sweaty men will say hello to you, but dainty little things with bouncy ponytails stare straight ahead and blank you.

I digress. We are having some pointing done. We knew that this would happen at some point, but found out yesterday that it had started yesterday when himself got home and found a man up some scaffolding in the back garden. I hate pointing. I also hate sports bras, and I decided that my hatred is for pretty much the same reasons. I won’t deny that they’re both essential and both are essential to maintain structural integrity, however both are bloody expensive, if they’re doing a good job then you don’t know they’re there and neither is glamorous enough to show off to people. I shall be bitter when we hand over the cheque for the pointing and I shall be bitter when I am brave enough to go to M&S to update my personal scaffolding.

Given that I’d opted out of a longer run last night, I felt obliged to do a bit tonight and everything felt ok. Ended up doing 6 miles, through the next village and back whilst listening to Dracula. Luckily no one was near enough to hear me when I decided to join in with it – red-faced and sweaty is scary enough;  red-faced, sweaty and yelling “we need BLAD!” (it’s what Van Helsing called blood what with his comedy accent and all) is perhaps too much.

Over a third of the way there AND it’s the weekend! Hurrah!