Why doesn’t Adam come to play any more?

I’m so sorry world. I abandon you all. And I know I have done it. I have catholic guilt about it. But you join me in 2011 as a slave to the road, to the treadmill, with a guilty feeling for every mile not reached, every breakfast where I sneak Frosties not porridge, with a detailed, colour coded plan of each session, each mile target and each day of running.

Last week I missed a day due to being ill. I’m not sure what I felt about it all, the lack of food would have made me a bit thinner, lighter, more streamlined. The lack of miles made me feel guilt, but it was not possible. I was too busy cramping like a poor poorly lamb. My appetite is coming back, and last night I used my prized Magimix to make a peri peri marinade for the chicken I was going to roast. I really could not be arsed to cook, but I could also not be go to Nandos and be surrounded by students, groups of lads about to go out in town and be generally amongst the great unwashed. But I was in a chicken mood.

It’s amazing how much more confident I have become with food, when I just make these decisions and have a dinner that is pretty impressive for an unplanned post work and gym creation. I have no time for planning, nor are Pete and I the types who usually know what we want. The food equivalent of those art morons who don’t know art but know what they like. We tend to only know what we want between the gym and home. We then have a fridge equivalent of the carrier bag moment on Ready Steady Cook and ask ourselves what can we make out of all this shite.

I never thought anyone really hit the potential of that bag moment. I wish someone would buy a Yorkie, 4 chipolatas, a leek, some star anise, and a bottle of Tabasco. Let’s see Paul Rankin make that shit into a dish that gets him a studio full of Red Tomatoes.

Today has been totally dominated by my 15 mile run with MC and her friend Helen round the woods in Wharncliffe Side, cleaning the house and overhearing some of the most vile chat by people on the way to the united match. I’m not sure why men seem to need to use words like Snatch and Flange like the men on the way to football. Such a revelation!

Right, off to get ready for a night out. I will check in before the end of the weekend. Scouts honour.

– Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

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