The strife with Steve’s foot means I didn’t do anything I can pass off as exercise today. The closest I get is thus:

Being a bit late getting to Alder Hey, so having to park at the far end of the car park. + 50m.

Being locked out of the office, so having to go downstairs (again) to get the key. + 50m and a stair climb.

Collecting the children from school. +100m, -1 can of cherry cola (I *could* explain, but doing so would be _far_ less interesting)

Tomorrow I plan to pretty much shoot my (exercising) load. Stand by your beds…

Sorry. Steve just coined the phrase “thighs of polystyrene”. I just thought you should know. We’re reaching new areas in conversations I never thought I’d have.