The light at the end ...

of Melville Street.

Dark. All the way. After nearly two weeks off the bike, between training and wean-wrangling, it was a rude awakening getting up at 6am in the pitch dark. Work was, well, quite good. Not exactly a combustion of creativity but not a torture of tendering.

Helped Ewan fashion a block of wood into some kind of dragster shaped thing to be raced at Cubs on Wednesday - saw, surform, rasp, coarse, medium, smooth. He'd run out of patience by the time we got to coarse and, to be honest, so had I. At least no skin or tempers were lost.