April, you Fool

[Sweder]

Quite a day. Strapped inside my modest home office, eyes glued to my computer screen, the only respite an occasional delve into the crazy pre-FLM world that is Running Commentary. Marathon madness finally got to me; I threw on my running vest (JDRF Team 2004 vintage), shorts & off-roaders and head for the hills.

My first post-Paris run to Blackcap with the hounds; well, two of them. Tess the hardy whippet developed a rather worrying lump on her back that over the Easter took on the size and shape of a large egg. This was finally excised by the vet yesterday leaving the sort of livid scar that gave Dr. Frankenstein a bad name. For those of a strong disposition I’ve posted a before and after montage.

A stodgy lope in surprising humidity into the early evening was just what my doctor would have ordered. As the rust fell away from my well-rested legs I blasted a few cobwebs out of my lungs, chugging steadily to the rhythm of Planet Rock. ACDC offered to walk all over me, George Thoroughgood invited me to move it on over and Rick Wakeman read out a string of old and mostly un-funny gags. One story grabbed my attention (it was the only one I’d not heard before), and to save you the tedium of an uneventful 45 minute sweaty slog I’ll share it now.

A city chap took himself off to an up-market restaurant to treat himself to a slap-up meal. As he waited for his starter he noticed a stunning redhead sitting alone at the next table. Cursing the shyness that prevented him starting a conversation the chap watched the gorgeous lady as she sipped a long drink. Suddenly the woman endured a coughing fit, during which her glass eye flew from its socket and careered towards the watching fellow. With an instinctive lunge the chap threw out an arm and caught the orb inches from the flagstone floor.

‘How can I ever thank you?’ gushed the redhead as she returned her prosthetic to its socket. ‘Please, allow me to buy you dinner!’
Not believing his good fortune the chap agreed, and the couple enjoyed a sumptuous feast. They followed this by taking in a West End play before moving on to a club to dance the night away.

‘Come back for nightcap . . . and stay for breakfast?’ asked the ravishing girl.
‘Absolutely!’
A night of unbridled passion ensued, followed by a few hours sleep.
The chap awoke to the sound of eggs and bacon sizzling in the kitchen, hardly believing his luck as he stretched out in the King size bed in what looked like a very expensive apartment.

‘So’, he said, waltzing into the kitchen, a towel hanging loosely from his hips,
‘D’you treat every guy you meet like this?’
‘Not really’, she smiled.
‘You just happened to catch my eye . . .’