Fifteen tons of black shite

Is what I cleaned from Goldie Lookin' Car today. I couldn't deal with looking at the witty graffiti that's been scrawled in it any longer. Amazing to see that there actually IS a car under all that grime. Allowed the machine at the Shell station to do the deed; my radio aerial is so soundly secured that I couldn't shift it beforehand, but none the less it survived; I can't face washing it at home, I'd be hosing coal dust off my garden until next christmas. Plus, I really really can't be arsed... Actually, quite amusing... I know I've been mean with petrol supplies in the last day or so, but I actually ran out of gas fifty yards from the petrol station. Of course, being Mr SuperOrganised, I have an empty petrol can and a high vis jacket stowed in the car at all times, along with most tools and extra oils, so it's a minor inconvenience rather than a crisis these days. And I've got the heart fix fitted, so running across a dual carriageway isn't quite the heavy chore it used to be last time the engine went Phut...

Speaking of the heart fix, today was my second appointment with the health nazi's at my "beast your way back to fitness" session, or as I used to call it in days of blunter wit, "pain class". OK, let it not be said that I am selling up into the hands of the nay-pie-sayers and the sanctimonious health mentalists. BUT. The stats do not fib, I am definately in a far better condition than this time last week. Felt it too. Seems the old pump has indeed benefitted from the surgeon's prodding, and it might have needed it for a while. At this moment in time, just for once, I actually feel good. Amazin'. It also would appear that my horrible lardy frame has remained in good enough condition from my previous flirtations with exercise that it's dropping back into form remarkably well. There may well be something positive to be made of this. Oh well, I'd better go and slaughter it with beer before it gets too smug....