Feb-bluary 2012

[Sweder]

Will write this up later. I'm still traumatised; I've never felt so utterly shattered after a training run.
Yesterday I recovered via a sumptuous Sunday lunch at my favourite pub followed by some driveway clearing and a walk with the dogs. They love this mad white stuff, racing hither & thither, diving into deep drifts & eating the stuff.

During the walk I tuned in to Chelsea v ManU. At 3-0 down I was feeling miserable. United never do well at the Bridge and the thought of EBJT grinning smuggly in the Director's box was causing mental anguish. So, like the sap that I am I offered up a faustaian pledge. Not only in my head but, as if to make it more effective, published it on Twitter. Within minutes United pulled a goal back, girded their loins and threw the kitchen sink at the hosts. 3-3 it ended.

This morning, as frozen fog enwrapped the local hills, I paid up, offering photographic evidence to a trusted arbiter & friend on Twitter. Your thought for the day, therefore, as you set about your week of honest toil, is no matter how desperate the situation, how much you long to turn the world on its head, how delicious the idea of poking John Terry in the eye might be, never, ever, and certainly not in a public forum, offer to run naked in the snow should your wish be fulfilled.

I'm off for a shower ...