Fitness Is Important

Nearly there...

998.

999.

1000.

Hells yeah. It's taken me on and off about a year now but even I have to congratulate myself on doing a thousand press-ups.  Congratulations.

I read somewhere on a cereal packet that doing a press-up is the equivalent to running a space mile so I've probably hit the moon and back a few times already.  First butcher on the moon probably.

It's not that I'm getting fat or anything, the opposite being true, I haven't weighed more than six stone in my entire life. It's partly why I'm so naturally adapted to gliding and why I always dress up as Flat Stanley on Halloween.

Hitting the big triple zero was a test of will, a battle with myself to show that I can beat myself, time and time again, and I'll be honest, finally achieving is a great feeling.

Next year I'm going to try tuck jumps.

He'll Be Thinking Twice

He's down to three lives and unless he wants another drowning I don't think Thomas will be stealing my laser pen anytime soon. Damn giraffes.

Stress As Yet Unfelt

I'm hearing that privateers have taken control of the communication network and I'm trying to rally together a band of eager do gooders to free my monthly soil publication from their hideous clutches. We need urgency comrades, edges could be getting creased as I write these words. Stay in touch, Ewan. Peace xxx

I've Got The Bunge

I couldn't possibly eat another meal.

I'm Sick Of All This

Can someone please explain to me how they get the jam into those doughnuts?  I've tried it with custard, ice cream, apples, you name it but every attempt I undertake brings me nothing but confusion and grief.  I'm starting to think that this endeavor is beyond my capacity.  Sigh.

Now I Know

Beatrice has just spilled the beans, and they have gone EVERYWHERE!

It's All Too Much

Duncan has ruined the trifle and won't refrain from beating on the Laird.

It's Too Cold

I'm very upset and do not care for horseradish preservatives.