So, to set the scene, I had stopped swearing at the weights for enough time to wonder over to Peter as he sat on his throne (a.k.a. the static pec machine thing that no one uses) from where he distributes his pearls of wisdom. Namely "More weight!" or for me "Less weight!" or "Use your bloody glutes!". He looked a little zoned out, to say the least.
The sad thing is that Peter's now introduced a swear jar for the gym, so I am going to be either (a) very poor very quickly or (b) will get *really* inventive with the word "badger". It's part of his plan to do the movember thing with the Cambridge WCS group, though it seems a little unfair to me as the guys just have to put in less effort than usual by not shaving while I have to shell out a load of £££ because I like swearing more than everyone else put together. VERY UNFAIR. It does however promise to be a rather amusing month:
|The hulk hogan|
|The handlebar. He'll have to speak with an accent for this one I think|
|The grizzily. Probability of getting arrested for something increases exponentially with time.|
EDIT I've also just noticed he's now got one arm a lot shorter than the other. This will probably not happen if he grows a beard. Probably.
But anyway, the lesson of the day: look after your coaches, people. Unless they demand money out of you for swearing. Rage.
So, I've had a pretty crappy weekend (cue sad violins). Basically I've just started my Part III project (title:Pre-mainsequence stellar evolution in population synthesis and N-body models" Oh yeah.) and desperately want to do a good job of it, so I spent the weekend learning Fortran. I was initially naively full of enthusiasm and energy (though the energy was provided by coffee) and attacked it with gusto.
|I am not a programming genius.|
|Nothing like grim realisation!|
But I should probably stop procrastinating and actually do some work now :-(