Now I have no issues with being a weekend motorbike widow. In fact, not only do I love the fact that he is so into his hobby, I encourage it.
Quite a few of his mates have been know to comment "Jeez, your missus is bloody good about letting you ride all weekend".
If only they knew the truth. I love having him out of the house in the weekend, because it gives me my own space. In fact, I've been known to wake him before 7am on the weekends with a cheery "It's a beautiful day for riding. Now get up and f**k off".
And there's no problem with him getting things done around the house. Because he's out all day he makes up for it by rushing around in the evenings, doing the washing, hanging pictures, tidying the garage, etc.
So, why the title of this post? What am I complaining about?
Well, he and some of the boys have decided to hire the racetrack at Manfield for the day. They'll tool around on their racebikes, getting in some practice, fiddling with the set-ups and just generally being blokes. Being blokes involves drinking lots of coffee, smoking lots of cigarettes and telling lots of tall tales.
Again, I have no problem with this. Except that today is Friday.
Friday is my no-exercise day. My alarm goes at 6.30am instead of 5.30am. I wander around in a leisurely way, having breakfast and getting ready for work.
But not this Friday. No. His lordship had to get up at 4.30am to get to the racetrack in time. And guess who gets to wake him up, kick him out of bed and then go downstairs to make him a thermos of coffee for the trip?