Another trip.

I'm still going with the best plan for dealing with a cold being to ignore the fact that you have one. Well, that and drinking a tonne of orange juice, green tea (which I have recently decided is the cure of all ills) and glug echinacea (tincture, always) at every opportunity. In accordance with the instructions. Under no circumstances, though, should you pander to a cold by taking time off from your hectic lifestyle. But that's a given already, right?

Well the weekend came round eventually, after four days of not (really) training - pilates counting more as an antidote to aching muscles than training per se. And what I had planned this weekend, the August bank holiday weekend, was a weekend off, where I would relax, do a bit of gardening and housework (long-overdue) and possibly pop over to Melton for my cousin's birthday celebration, advertised on Facebook as a party called "Destroy the Silence", where I am assuming his band, Pretentious, Moi? would be playing. Although in all honesty, I decided some time ago that I wasn't going to be able to do this, so I actually have no idea where the party was. In the event, it was as well I'd let him down gently at an early stage, because I ended up going back up to Edinburgh.

I know, I know, I've already been to Edinburgh - and what a great time I had! But you know, there are some friends that you'll do anything for, because when they ask, it's because they need your help, and you both know that when you need each other, that's when it's important. It kind of reinforces the friendship. It's good. Well, that happened. Emma rang. She said her plans had fallen through, and she didn't know what to do. She had to get her 8-week old daughter Dorrie, her son Jasper, and a month's worth of stuff, home from Edinburgh on the train. Her husband had to go straight to the next gig. She was by herself.

I'd like to sound like a hero here, and say I just told her straight off, "yep, I'll come". That is, of course, what happened, but the lack of heroism is because of how close I was to doing that anyway. The rational side of my brain said that I needed the weekend at home, sort self out, sort house and garden out, and most of all, sort cat out, train sensibly, get on track. The part of my brain that has taken over as dictator, however, already had a list of shows it wanted to see and had missed. It had psychologically already spent the money for the train ticket. This was simply the extra justification it needed. I'm happy(ish) to report that the majority of those shows had already sold out, so my Dictator-for-Life, Party-till-you-drop brain was foiled, but the missed shows weren't replaced by early to beds and healthy diets.

So, let's see, I had planned on coming up on Friday afternoon, but owing to feeling full of cold, I changed my plans to come up on the Saturday. I actually had a sober, and early to bed week, in a desperate attempt to clear the cold. I thought I'd better do a little more sorting of the house as well, so on Friday, I did some washing up, and generaly tidying, and also picked up about 400 rotten pears off the garden floor, and tried to disperse the drunks (made entirely of wasps, you understand), in preparation for Ian who was coming round to salvage some of the unrotten (less rotten?) pears, and I was keen that he wasn't killed in the process by my stripey, humming friends. More because he had kindly agreed to look after Frank at the same time, than out of genuine concern.

On Saturday, I continued the assault on the house, it was long-overdue, and several loads of washing were achieved. I set off for Edinburgh in the afternoon. I have to say, it still lifts my spirits every time I arrive. I walked over to the Magnets' venue, ensconsed myself at a crowded picnic table outside, and waited for the show to finish. The heavens opened, and a deluge of rain came down, doing little to diminish the crowds, but making me feel slightly smug at my umbrella-protected shelter. I later learned that the deluge had started at about five to seven each night with such precision that the backstage crew were genuinely unnerved by its regularity. The Magnets were just pissed off at the dip in sales on CDs that resulted from their crowds rushing off to seek shelter elsewhere. We made our way back to the flat in the downpour, and had some dinner, before heading out to see the Magnets guest on "The Horne Section" at 11pm, which is a great show, mixing some comedy banter with whacky games, set to some improvised musical accompaniment (including, but not restricted to, horns) and guest turns that I remember fondly from last year. However, we left the flat somewhat late, and had to run all the way to the venue, which was helpful, as it was a great way of kick-starting my belated training activities.

It wasn't the early bedtime Sally has been beseeching me to take. Somehow, it never is.