Jolly Jog

So I ain't posted anything of any substance in a while.  Truth is I can't be bothered.  The three people who read this are more than capable of entertaining themselves.  But in recent weeks peeps be given' me their money for damaged children and, at the very least, deserve something in return.  Here that be.

Last weekend I did this run thing.  So I, like, ran 13.1 miles in aid of, like, this children's hospice, like, no big deal.  Some people have been throwing the word "hero" around, but you can make up your own minds.

Here is just some of the things what happened on the day I made the world shine for countless children 'cross the south of England.  Seriously...  Hero.

Before the race even started I was stood in line waiting to go pee when something made me angry.  There was this man in the line behind me who was joined by his bitch and her spawn.  I was so chilled at this point that I didn't even mind that they totally weren't allowed to be there, and that MY application money was paying for these damn toilets. Then the unthinkable happened.  The child toddled up behind me and poked me in the leg.  It.poked.me.in.the.LEG!  If I was a horse, and in some ways I'm very similar, I would have been well within my rights to buck his little head in.  People know better than to spook horses.   Children should know better than to touch me.  It's just not smart.

Then we were told, approximately 30 seconds before we started, that personal stereos were strictly forbidden and that I was condemned to spend the next two hours of my life listening to nothing but the sound of my own wheezing broken up by the noise of the woman I couldn't accelerate away from complaining endlessly to me about "all these damn hills!  Why didn't they tell us about all these hills?"  I'm sorry, miss.  Were you expecting salt-flats as we ran through the Woodfod Valley.  Woodford Valley!  I'm surprise she managed to make it to the end with all that stupidity she was dragging around with her.  It's ok though.  She was kinda old and flagged at 10 miles, which led to me utterly annihilate her time.

I finished.  Nothing much else to report with the race.  Except that I didn't get a medal.  When I was nine I completed a 3 mile fun-run and I got a fucking medal.  All I have to show for running 13.1 miles was a Mars Bar, a pulled calf muscle and a flyer for a 10k race next week.  You're welcome, assholes.

That evening I was supposed to get an early night.  Instead I got hammered drunk, had to get my mother to pick me up from a place that sold fried chicken, and then I filled up her dashboard with food before telling her that she was going 12 fries an hour and for the love of God needed to slow down.   I hadn't had a drink for the last fortnight while I was training, so I think I was due some nonsense.

Thanks to all those who sponsored me and that.  After I'm done kicking St. Peter's head in, I can guarantee you all a place in heaven.