Dave is still very poorly this morning and unable to leave his sick bed. I'm left with no choice but to join the throngs on the jogging track in Victoria Park to work off my Christmas Day excesses.
There are strict rules about how to behave on the jogging track, mainly one way only and no walking or obstructing of joggers. I'm the only westerner on the track and look like Paula Radcliffe compared to how slow some people are "jogging', some are blatantly flouting the rules by walking. I lose count on how many laps of 600 metres I've done but it's at least four, OK for not having done any exercise for goodness knows how many months.
After a lunch of Philadelphia cheese and bread it's off to mooch round the shopping area close to our hotel. Busy, noisy, not much English spoken and I don't spend a bean.
Dave meanwhile hasn't even noticed that I've been in and out, the poor love is in a sorry state and if there's no improvement tomorrow we'll call in a doctor. If only to allay his fears that he may have Dengue Fever. (Regular blog readers may remember his brief brush with Dengue in the Philippines.) To make matters worse he's found a bar round the corner that will be showing the match. At least we're able to listen to Five Live on the internet as we have a connection in our room.
We're both a little miserable and pining for Green Lanes.
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