all weekends should be 3 days long

Having daggers of pain searing my forearms was not enough. No no, I had to extend the pain further south. All through Sunday, most of Monday, and mercifully, little of today, my thigh muscles were womiting (much nicer than vomiting, don't you think?) chunky bits of pain... The reason? My insistence that Timmy and I climb Skeleton Gorge (2 hour ascent), trek across that mountain all the way to the cable cars (another hour), then painlessly take the blessed transportation device down to our car, parked a mere 10 metres away. Except, the cable cars don't run when a gale is blowing (unlike my nose, which chose to run the whole time when I overexerted myself in the peak throes of a cold!). So, we took the precipituous Platteklip Gorge route down (another blindingly painful hour), then went to drown our sorrows in beer and pizza, and a dvd (if you're an avid King Arthur & the knights of the round table/Avalon with its wizards and witches fan, absolutely do not watch the wildly inaccurate movie King Arthur unless it's purely to perve over the dude who plays Arthur or Kiera Knightley). Sunday started ok, except I drank a mammoth winetasting route through the Stellenbosch vineyards, during which my thigh pain grew increasingly as we farm-hopped (do overspent muscles not like booze?). Of course, on Monday it was time to repeat Sunday's activities in the Constantia winelands, though it was a decidedly calmer outing. The day was topped off with me finally learning a decent recipe for butternut soup (winter, you can now throw your worst at me. I'm prepared - careful, I have a soup ladle and I'm not afraid to use it). Some good news and potentially fucking awful news for the week ahead: the V&A winetasting festival occurs this week (bottoms up, dearies!) and strip/fuck may have ended. Slit my wrists now, please.