I went for a jog this morning. I know, I know. What the hell was wrong with me? Turns it out its my health. My health is hugely wrong which is why after going all the way round Finsbury Park once at the sort of pace a sloth would overtake whilst sleeping, I had to go home and have a good long sit down. I've now had some chocolaty cereal, and not moved from the sofa for two hours. This is also partly to do with my legs seizing up. Frankly, I may never move off the sofa again. It wasn't actually as bad as I thought it might be. I think the biggest hurdle was the massive gate I had to jump over. Arf. Actually it was leaving my house in shorts. I wasn't sure how the world would deal with the t-legs on show, and as soon as I left the door, a few ladies did indeed swoon. Swoon is a word that is not used often enough as far as I'm concerned, so I was pleased these ladies swooned. Or at least they would have done, if they'd been around. As it was, not many people were around and those that were thought nothing of a man in shorts, partly because many people in this area jog in shorts and partly because its Finsbury Park and I could have run along with my cock out and no one would have paid much attention. Its sort of expected round here.
So now the trick is keeping it up I guess. Problem is, it wasn't that fun. How to make jogging fun? I'm not sure. I will try jogging to podcasts or good music. Think that should help. Or if it doesn't, I may have to pretend, much like in yesterday's blog, that I am chasing someone or something. Or maybe running away from zombies. Although that could be bad as at the end of the jog I'd like to go home again, but if I get it in my head that zombies are there I will never return and instead shack up somewhere with lots of stairs that I can block off using furniture and hide there for 6 months till the army clean up the situation. What might be better is getting hooked on feeling smug about jogging. I definitely feel some of that right now. So smug, that I might tell lots of people about it. Most of them will already jog and therefore, not really care. But that's fine, I will still tell them and they will just not want to talk to me and so I will go and tell other people. Eventually people will get so annoyed with me telling them that they will run away when I am near and I will have to run after them to tell them. Thus giving us both exercise and making us both very smug. Aces.
Some more things:
- Doctor Who was properly scary this weekend. I watched it on the iPlayer so Graham Norton didn't interrupt, which I was rather pleased with. Well done Moffat as it was actually all a bit scary and I really can't wait for next week's show. I am now very scared of all statues ever and will not be able to turn my back on Eros next time I'm in Picadilly Circus just in case.
- Apparently in the marathon yesterday, the record was broken for fastest superhero. I find this a little demeaning to Superman who is faster than a speeding bullet and the Flash who's faster than 99.9% of germs.
- At my gig in Cambridge last night, a woman worked on the training program for NIMROD. I was very torn between my hate for warmongering BAE systems, and asking her nicely to use NIMROD to search for the socks I'd ever lost.
- Most important! I am doing my solo show in Brighton next week, on two different nights! Yes! Two! Why? Don't know! Hooray! So please come. One of the nights is election night, so come along and then we'll all go and watch the telly and shout at David Cameron together. It shall be fun. Here's the FB event page with ticket links on it:
BRIGHTON SOLO SHOW