Whatever that means
It would have been a more pleasant ride to the shops with Ellen if it hadn’t also been a reminder of what an obstacle course it is riding to the shops with Ellen. All the things that you soak up as an adult, relatively experienced cyclist are thrown into relief by being on a tandem with a seven-year old, travelling at about 8-9 mph. Segregated cycle paths would be lovely but even dropped kerbs, footpaths that were at least as smooth as the roads, reasonably safe routes that didn’t involve detours of 2-300 yards to cross a road. That sort of thing. But it was still pleasant enough (and it kept the 100% track record going) apart from the biting wind on the way back that also partially scuppered Mandy and Ewan’s kayaking in the Forth.
But the shopping meant a huge pot of minestrone soup for tea (and next week’s lunches) and Ewan and Ellen making pizza. It was Ewan’s plan and Ellen muscled in on it. And with a little help they both felt that they had made tea. Meat feast as an homage to what Ewan says is the finest pizza in the world, which is, I’m disheartened to say, Tesco’s finest meat feast.
In between the shopping and the eating Ellen watched and wailed to her Singalong Frozen DVD. Her singing was so dreadful and enthusiastic that you had to love her for it even though she was sometimes keeping me awake.
Back to work tomorrow. Boo. Boo hoo.