...way out on the corner of fucked up and evil...

Ow, dudes. Just ow.

Got back from my walk about 9pm. When I walked in the door I was absolutely fine - legs were sort of shakey and stretched-feeling, but in a good, excercisey way. However, after I got up to make a cup of tea after a watching the first few minutes of this week's Boardwalk Empire, I was suddenly the Mayor of Stifftown. Stiff as in muscles, not as in zombies or erections, I hasten to add.

Anyway, it was loads of fun - I did the coastal walk to Port Erin, and even though I wasn't wearing a pinstripe suit or carrying a Tommy gun, all the fucking cows RECOGNISED and kept their distance anyway. Then I walked up through this glen that we always used to walk as kids, and it was actually pretty easy - I remember it being an all-day thing and that we were all knackered when we got home, but it took maybe an hour to get up to the Tower.

I guess now that I'm not ten any more, my legs are a lot longer and can cope with the hills better. Also, back in the day I was usually in charge of Prawn and he never walks, he runs, jumps, climbs and bounces, so I had to keep up with him, and from an early age he clearly decided that paths were for sissies and that real men make their own trails, even if that involves gorse bushes and the occaisonal sheer rock face.

While I was in Port Erin, picked up a few things for Mothers Day - charm bracelet, card, couple of books, little trinket box with a necklace. Signed everything from all of us, because although Johnny sometimes remembers this stuff, the twins never do.

Anyway, after that I tried taking Rad Y Toor back home, but I must have gotten off the footpath too late or something because I wound up at Tom the Dippers, and from there it was easier to just head downhill to Castletown and slingshot back around the coastline to home.

Just got out of a hot bath and feeling better now - can climb the stairs at about two-thirds of my usual speed as opposed to "slower than old replacement-hips lady", which is what I was clocking when I first got back - so I'm going to take my Dresden/Constantine hybrid book and go to bed so Johnny can have the lounge to himself, either to make up with his girlfriend or seduce the latest female beast-creature he's cheating on her with. I'm just sayin', being cheated on hurts, but being cheated on with some of these mutants he brings home must hurt even worse.

So, yesterday I was introduced to a new book series with the following description:

"The main guy in it is like if Harry Dresden and Constantine met and had a baby. A snarky, ghost-busting, English baby."

If there is a more perfect strategy out there aimed at getting my undivided attention, I have yet to witness it.

However, today is the first lovely day we've had since I got Prawned on Monday, so I'm going out to tackle that coastal route in broad daylight and face down the Cow Mafia. Black-and-white four-legged bitches think they can tell me where I can and can't walk.

SANYA! Oh Sanya, I love you! I don't even care that you don't lend yourself instantly to a descriptive nickname (Micheal already took Sword Guy and the little Japanese dude is Mister Miyagi, but I don't know any Russian people except for the metal X-Men dude, Krycek and the gay Russian spy from the Stormbreaker books, and he isn't like any of them), I love you just as you are.

In other news, note to self: when deciding to walk along cliff-face footpaths that you last walked as a toddler, and which you quite possibly have imagined, please check what time the sun sets before leaving. This avoids embarrassing situations where you get caught in the fucking wilderness in the dark and have the crap scared out of you by the Cow Mafia.

Also, when the wind is strong enough to knock you several feet back as soon as you open the front door, this is maybe a sign that you should stick to the roads rather than wander off looking for dirt tracks six inches wide, with no fences and straight drops into the sea. You tard.