At the time of writing, I am not in the finest of fettles. I am in a word, exhausted. For me weekends are important not because they allow me to not be at work, but because they allow me to do nothing. They let me recharge the leaky, poor quality batteries that sustain my crude and imperfect meat-vessel of a body. This weekend has not seen much time for rest and relaxation. I have been “doing things” and this has left me worse for wear. Saturday saw me heading on a very important quest. I headed out to Reading. My noble and perilous goal? A combination of some early Christmas shopping and buying some sorely needed new jeans for work. A sojourn that I give the slightly inappropriate name of #EpicRockStarAdventure. The jeans were a matter of some urgency. My current work jeans are full of holes, the fly on one pair finally gave up the ghost and died and to cap it all off I am not as thin as I once was. Having to move up to a 32″ waist has given me a new understanding into the mindset of those who constantly bemoan their behemoth like girth when they are in fact slim and trim. It’s all a matter of perspective I suppose. If you’ve spent the vast majority of your life slipping into a 28″ waist you’re going to really notice it when you start to put on a bit of weight and cease to be quite so svelte and hideously skeletal. And then there’s the ever looming spectre of trying to find somewhere to live.