“It’s a suffocating performance from Andy Murray,” the commentator says. I’m watching the Davis Cup with the parentals. Andy is pulverising the American Donald Young: he’s just taken the first two sets in thirty minutes or so. Andy’s looking fit, tough and untroubled by his back or his opponent. Which is good. It’s a riotous atmosphere in Glasgow: air horns sounding, cheering, clapping. Somehow Dad is sleeping through it and Mum is multitasking: one eye on the tennis and the other on The Times crossword.
Am Exhausted from two long bike rides – 70 minutes yesterday and 60 minutes today; two scans; one gym session; a play date with Emily, Lily and their little boys and a curry with the parentals last night.
“Have some good news,” I text Seb last night.
“Do you want me to call?” He replies.
“Try the parentals,” I say.
The phone rings. “Hello,” I say.
“Hello,” Seb says.
“So, um, first: are you coming on Sunday?” I say, suddenly afraid that he’ll cancel.
“Yes, and I always say this but I’ll really try to make it up there early,” he says.
“Great,” I say.
“So, what’s the good news?” He says.
“Well, I can come and see you in Brighton,” I say. “A couple of my cousins are coming with.” He knows these ones and has got on very well with them on a couple of occasions.
“Wonderful,” he says. “Brighton will be so lovely in the Spring.”
So: have something to look forward to. It’s Spring today here: on our ride up to the mill today there were lots of crocuses out. And ducks:
Happy Friday everyone!
Argh in the time it’s taken to write this, Young has taken the third set. Come on Andy!
*crime novel set in Glasgow by Denise Mina
Scars, Tears and Training Bras 