Rushing I was, to get down to Granton - a dry weather window seemed promised. Cycling like a madman, or Insto even, and only stopping to blip the wildlife. Unfortunately, I arrived there to find I'd left my paint roller and tray back up Shandon way. Gagh. I popped into the nearby Poundstretcher and got one for £1.40. It lasted all of 15 minutes. A piece of crap. Colin leant me one after that, so I got down to it. After a while, Willy next to me turned up and turned up his radio. I didn't realise Tony bloody Blackburn is still spinning platters for the Beeb. Actually it was mostly OK.
Time is running out for the sailing boys - 7 days to go. Willy's boat will be plopped into the water with no working engine, while Ian's engine is still sitting on a table beside his boat.
Right enough of this idleness. Back to the papers. Who is The Guardian's Secret Footballer?