A Kick in the Balls

I have an interview with a recruitment agency tomorrow. The ball is rolling. A couple of people have mailed me to ask if I'm alright. The answer is yes, but slightly stressed and bemused by things. The atmosphere here at work is polite and professional. Yesterday I used my rights under the Data Protection Act to access my personnel file, and low and behold discovered that I am officially being paid under the market rate for my job -- something my managers have insisted wasn't the case for 18 months...

With a job change imminent, I'm taking the opportunity to channel the winds of change in the direction of my fitness too. I went for a run last night and managed to complete the moderate course without dying. Due to an endless cycle of chest infections and complaints, it was the first proper exercise I've done in almost two years. Although the lungs stood up to the test, there was an unsurprising lack of power in my legs. Every time I tried to pick up the pace to something kin to our Paula, there was no response. Bottom of the thighs and backs of the calves are a little tender today: An indication of just how unfit I've become.

After my run I shared India's bath. India got out first and whilst she was towelled down, Vic asked her the fateful question:

"Where's Daddy's balls?"

To which India correctly pointed at them and replied:

"Kick! Kick!"

Talk about storing up trouble.