Yes. I know I’m supposed to go for a run after work today, but I don’t want to.
Excuse the grump, but I’m hot and sweaty as it is. And it’s Monday. And bleurgh.
And we came fourth in the pub quiz last night – continuing our steady downward trend. We bloody won a few months ago. But last night an entire half-round was devoted to the Ashes. I don’t know that much about cricket. Although this Thursday should be quite exciting.
Anyway. We’re sure the winners cheated. And we’re sure we sound bitter about it.
Have discovered this brill website that lets you search for other blogs by the nearest tube station.
Wow. We Londoners are cynical fiends – but it’s nice to know I’m not the only one regretting signing up for the 10k.
Although I do feel a bit better after heading out with flatmates and friends on Saturday night (an odd evening after a beautiful day – dark and strangely misty. Very Stephen King does south London.) and working out that 10k is around six miles.
Six miles. I can picture that. I may not want to run it, but at least I can picture how far it is.
Still chuckling away at the Dorothy Parker biography. A telegram to a friend in Hollywood reads:
WE ARE IN JULESBERG, COLORADO, IN OPEN 1929 FLIVVER WITH TWO BEDLINGTON TERRIERS. PLEASE ADVISE.
Mmmm. I know how she feels.