13 miles in the sun, vanity, and the joy of pornography.

Now what I did this Sunday was run down to the river Thames, cross it at London bridge, back over it at Tower bridge, and then around Victoria park. 13 miles in total.

All I thought about on the way to the river was how brilliant the sunshine was, but also how cold the wind chill was on my bare pasty white legs.

It's when I got to the park however that my head started going all over the shop.

Firstly, you don't see a lot of porn mags in bushes anymore do you? Another thing the digital revolution has ruined, the incredible feeling you'd get when you stumbled upon a discarded grot mag, hidden away in a bush in the park. It was like finding Hitler's diaries stuffed inside the holy grail, wrapped up in the Turin shroud. Or to put it another way, like finding photos of naked women when you were a 14 year old boy who'd never seen a set of bristols, let alone a flange. Amazing.

Anyway, as I lamented the passing of the printed wank mag, I passed a few people jogging in sunglasses, and I don't mean sports glasses, I mean proper 'I'm on the beach lying down getting a tan' sunglasses. At first I thought it was fine, but then it started to grate on me. It's not a fashion show, nobody should be looking good doing this, you should be covered in sweat with a pained or focused look on your face. Not bumbling along acting like you're cruising down Broadway market acting like a tit.

And then! and then! I saw someone running towards me, looking focused and determined. She was also fit, and I thought
"Yes, finally, someone's who's taking this seriously. Somebody who cares!"
And as I rounded the corner and came up alongside her I could see her mouth moving,
"Oh, self motivating herself, that's brave, but fair play to her"
And then she passed me, and I realized that she was talking into her bluetooth!

The 'focused' bint was moaning about her sister, and how she'd ruined her birthday!

I nearly stuck my leg out so that I could watch her smash her face into the floor, but I jogged on.

Next up was dogs who look like their owners, or owners who look like their dogs, and which order that comes in. Does the owner buy the thing knowing that it looks like them? And if so, is that not a bit vain on the owners part? Or does the dog slowly turn into the owner? and if that's the case, does the dog look up on the first day of ownership and think,
"Oh Christ, look at the state of them, this isn't going to work out for me down the park at all"

It's a minefield, it really is.