I knew it was worth coming back home...

Not only has Amelie taken part in an Olympic Sports Day (one week late, and three days after it finished), but according to her, she won every event. Admittedly, she waited until we were out of earshot of all her friends before she told me, but I have no reason to doubt her claims. I'm particularly impressed, because they had a bicycle race, and she's never even ridden one. That girl has innate abilities we don't even know about.

On the downside, despite outperforming Sir Chris Hoy and Michael Phelps in a single afternoon, Amelie's only reward was a cardboard medal decorated with glitter. And all her friends seemed to have one too. Which was odd, as they were all losers. She seemed pretty happy with it though.

Sadly, however, my own chances of Olympic glory have suffered a major setback, as I've sustained a serious shopping-related injury. I drove Amelie down to Asda after nursery yesterday, which was a bit of a waste as she could probably run there in about ten seconds flat (it's just over half a mile). Once there, we bumped into our good friend Andrew, which was slightly embarrassing, as I looked like a fat tramp, and was so tired I could barely grunt at him in my tea-stained shirt and five-day-old beard.

But the main problem occurred when we got home. My lack of energy meant that I was determined not to have to make two trips up to the flat from the car, but despite Amelie's proven athletic ability, she decided she couldn't be bothered to carry any of the bags. As a result, I chose to haul the entire load of shopping upstairs in one go. And I succeeded. In hurting my back.

I've asked Lisa to give me a massage, but she claims she's got better things to do, so I've been forced to suffer in silence. In between moaning about it. Every cloud has a silver lining though: it takes me so long to get up off the sofa, I'm making far fewer trips to the fridge.