It hurts your backside the first few times you try it, but the pleasure eventually comes if you persist with it.
Cycling. Today was supposed to be a rest day but I thought a spot of two-wheeled cross training might be a good way of squeezing those faggots through my intestines. For the benefit of American readers, I should explain that a faggot in Britain is different from an American one. Here’s a recipe from the BBC.
Yes, faggots and mash. Far too stodgy for a run, but nothing that a 10 mile bike ride can’t cope with. It was a great evening for a leisurely meander round the local lanes and bridleways, checking out a few possible running routes, and feeling generally bucolic. I wish I knew the names of more birds and trees and plants. I’d love to describe it better than saying that there was a lot of chirping coming from the trees, and a lot of green stuff growing beneath the hedgerows along the lanes.
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