to the power

A bit of poking on the internet to see if there was any explanation for this seeing as a radix is generally the thing raised to the power of something else rather than a forgotten-looking building revealed a few half-references to RADIX Training, though only as a listing on a couple of directories rather than as a site in itself (unlike many other things calling themselves RADIX, though based nowhere near Ayr). The sign looks oddly bright, clean and noticeable considering the general knackeredness of most of the building it decorates and the brokenness of a number of its windows

We'd popped to the shop to get a few drinks for the evening and to pick up a newspaper for Nicky's dad, which was carried face-down at the bottom of the basket in case anyone saw. I usually get his paper when in Ayr at weekends but usually also get a proper newspaper at the same time to mitigate the purchase of the garbage he insists on reading, though today our newspaper had already been purchased along with some petrol from a petrol-station in the west of Edinburgh (where our wing mirror was almost taken off by an arsehole speeding through the forecourt in a white Citroën van (registration R821 CSU if you want to avoid him) who (after loping angrily into and back out of the shop to pay for his angrily-filled petrol) asked through the locked door and closed window if I had some sort of problem, evidently having caught me glowering at him when he steamed past on the way in. His perception did not extend to noticing that it was he who had problems, not me.)

Nicky remarked with surprise at how short a distance it was from her parents' house to the shop, worryingly implying that it's not something she's often walked before. Her parents hardly ever walk anywhere and always make comments regarding the risk of being eaten and washed away by the wind and rain whenever I make clear my intention to walk somewhere when we visit, especially when it's something like a shop to which they always drive even if they're only getting a few small things and which is slightly less than a mere mile from their house by my pedometer's reckoning. Due to the current snot-issues I hadn't been for a run since Monday, hadn't been walking that far in addition to walking to and from work, had been sitting in a car for most of the morning and would be expected to eat a large meal in the evening so popped out for another walk after returning Nicky to the house, though was still barely hungry half an hour later. The people we were visiting were only about a mile and an half away but we'd apparently be driving there and back too.

I hopefully didn't give any germs to anyone, particularly not the eight-months-pregnant Joanne nor anyone who subsequently went through to the Stuart/Fiona-hosts' child's room to watch it sleeping. I didn't listen to what was in the food in case I heard too many things I don't like (almonds and apricots came through but weren't noticeably present in large enough numbers to matter) but it was spicy enough to unblock my nose for the remainder of the evening. My ears were still too bunged to pick up anyone mentioning what the pudding was but it turned out to be mostly chocolate-based and entirely edible, though skipping the heated syrup-gloop topping being passed round in a wee jug looked to have been a wise decision. Later in the evening we learnt that linseeds have laxative effects, the factlet that in Montreal chips are served with gravy (gleaned from Away We Go) is true and that there's a patch of oil or something on the Monkton roundabout which can cause people driving sensibly and slowly to pull accidental 180° spins.