Number of post-work cocktails at Neighbourhood on Friday afternoon: two, plus a few of their legendary curly fries. It seems after five o'clock on Friday all resistance crumbles. And I'm totally okay with that.
Number of trips to the airport: zero. Now that Boyfriend is moving up in the world his company has a shuttle service ferry him from flight to flight, which means I'm going to be spending a whole lot less time lurking in stop 'n' drops. Headed home for a quiet movie night after a long week.
Number of sweating cyclists who zoomed past as we sat on the side of the road in the shade drinking: thousands. I've never watched the Argus before, so was kind of a novelty worth getting out of bed before 9 am for. Everyone kept talking about entering next year, that it's 'just one of those things you have to do at least once'. To which I reply, really? Really? Who says?
Number of gin & tonics consumed at Peddlar's after watching the cycle race: two. Look at that self-discipline. And only one at the Brass bell after that (though tackling Boyes Drive in the dark was still rather scary #nervousdriverwhennotcruisingaboutintown)
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