Accompanied

It's no secret that my boss and I have had our differences but we are getting on ok now.  We are away for a meeting today.  We both drove here separately as we go our separate ways after.

As usual I have my bike in case I feel like it and my fell running kit. I have my bike rollers incase I have to rush to turbo on Thursday or in case the room and hotel are suitable for training.

For some reason,  when I arrive,  I decide to bring the turbo inside. I decide that no one will ask me about it if I just walk right in. It's only when I have checked in and squirrelled my turbo away that I realise I have not brought the bag to sneak my bike in. I will have to parade through the hotel with it before any of my colleagues arrive.  I don't want to have to explain to my boss why I have my bike,  never mind what I plan to do with it.

Unfortunately as I head back downstairs I find he has arrived and is expecting to meet me in the bar.  I can see my plan to do something tonight fading fast.

Perhaps a run but I only have 30 minutes before dinner so I lay out my stuff and go to retrieve my kit bag.  They are all at the bar and I resign myself to my destiny. Steak, red wine and not a bad dinner conversation with two others present.

I finally get to my room too bloated for any  training of any kind. I can't sleep because of the buzz of the power station out the window and it's too stuffy with the windows shut.  I fall asleep briefly only to be woken by a sick feeling.  Partly the steak,  partly the fear of having to explain myself in the morning trying to smuggle the turbo back into the car.  It's really playing on my mind. I also have no settlers tablets.  It's been a long time since I have gorged myself whilst out on a meal.

After some sizeable time spent on the loo and some next to it adjusting the size of my stomach... not actually sick but close, I decide there's nothing like fresh air.

I do briefly consider going for a ride now but decide a walk in the car park will suffice,  during which I can return my rollers to the car and never have to explain to anyone why they were in my room.

Thankfully I am right.  I write this (hopefully) cleared of my sick feeling and without guilt. Whether I wake tomorrow for my bike ride or not the secrets of what I get up to while I am away remains between us.

All I have to do now is hope the military police next door haven't cottoned on to the woman wandering around in the hotel car park carrying strange objects and wearing pyjamas.

It is an exciting life I lead.