Of Paris and Pain

I haven't seen as much of the Olympics as I would have liked to. Yet again, working full-time and having a young family has scuppered my chances of losing myself in a viewing orgy of sporting excellence. I'm not complaining though - I like being busy at work (despite moaning about it every time it starts ramping up) and spending time with my sons in the evening is just a joy. But I do miss that feeling that comes, once every four years, from suddenly being captivated by a judo match between unknown people from Belgium and Ghana, or from watching a sport I don't understand being played by people in weird outfits and then finding myself arbitrarily rooting for one of them.  It's such fun to get temporarily obsessed about something you would normally not even acknowledge the existence of and then learn lots of the key terms needed to sound conversant in it and then forget about it completely days later. It really is one of the delights of The Games.

In other news I seem to be escaping the latest wave of Covid, but I do have an unpleasant pain in an unspecified part of my right shoulder. It only seems to affect me when I'm turning to look behind me, so it's not a huge issue but has made reversing in the car quite interesting. Probably best if I don't drive for a while until it settles down. Probably...

Sorry the whole 'Poem Every Day Until The End Of July' thing didn't pan out, but I imagine you're more than used to me disappointing you by promising something in this blogspace and then not delivering on it. I'm nothing if not reliable in my unreliability.

RC 31-7-24