So, I braved Black Friday sales to find a new pair of running shoes yesterday. The shop was crowded, but I identified a couple of possible pairs fairly promptly, tried them on (nowadays this seems to involve summoning the shoes from an off-site warehouse in the Channel Isles, since it takes so long for the shoes to appear once you request them), tried on the first pair, tried on the second pair, decided the first were better, and fled the mercantile crush for home.
Sermon-writing went adequately, grocery shopping was all right apart from forgetting one or two vital items, and I watched Taggart while Margaret went out to socialise with other Oxford ethicists.
This morning’s run went well, I suppose. I hurried out because I slept longer than I anticipated, fell in with another runner who set a rigorous pace for me, and I must have gone much more rapidly at the start than I’d have expected, since I got home in a better time than average even though the last half of the run felt like a desperate slog.