Dear Diary. I find myself once again running to the gym because I'm late for a gym class. All I’ve had for breakfast is six pieces of chocolate and a cup of tea. I'm running and running and beginning to feel sick. I get to the gym just on time but I'm the only one there, what the fuck. I check the gym schedule and I see that I'm not late at all, I've actually arrived an hour too early. The class doesn't start until 11 am and right now it's 10 am.

So I leave the gym and I feel sick, like I need to puke. I don't know if it's the chocolate for breakfast or the running or both. Luckily I'm in a park, so if I do have to puke, then I can puke in a bush rather than on the street. But in the end, it doesn't matter anyway because I manage to keep it down.

I head home. The weather is fucking hot and miserable again. I can't wait till it starts raining, man, I miss the rain. I'd love to be rained on right now. Instead, it's just non-stop sun, it's bloody horrible.

As I'm walking back from the gym, I start to hear people blowing whistles. At first, I think it's some kind of protest against Spain or something but then as I get closer I see it's a hen party with ten women, most of them short and fat, blowing whistles. They're just walking down the street and singing and blowing whistles and you would think that I would hate it but actually makes me smile and everyone else is smiling too. One of the women has a portable speaker which is playing music. She's pushing the speaker around on one of those things that they have in warehouses to carry around heavy loads. God knows where she got it from. And the bride to be is dressed like Little Red Riding Hood. She's wearing a short skirt and a red coat and she's the shortest and fattest of the lot.

*****

It's dinner time. 3-year-old says, "You have to tell me a story Daddy, I'm not going to eat until you tell me a story, remember?" We have this new thing where he only eats his dinner if I'm telling him a story. He's like some kind of spoiled prince. He says, "You have to tell a story while I eat, Daddy, you have to tell me a story while I eat."

It used to be that I would only tell him a story when we ate dessert. But now it's somehow changed that I have to tell him stories throughout the whole of dinner, and dessert too.

*****

When 3-year-old finally goes to bed, Girlfriend is watching a Beyonce concert on TV. I finally got some time to myself and I'm so happy that I spontaneously start dancing to Beyonce's music. And Girlfriend is cheering me on and she's saying, "That's it, that’s it!"

I get out my laptop and I'm on it until 11 pm which is about an hour after I should have gone to bed.