That's not really true. I ran over a mutilated pigeon today. It was already mutilated when I stomped my trainer into its, erm, middle? It had been smashed by a very large vehicle and now lay, intestines aplenty, in a pile on Sandringham road.
'I wouldn't want to go like that' is the only thing I could think of, other than thinking about some other ways I wouldn't like to go,
1. Whilst pushing out a really unfulfilling pooh I have an aneurysm and drop forward and die, trousers round my ankles, arse in the air, then only to wait to be found. I'd be content if I left behind a momentous log, but to leave a little pile of cat like excrement and be found like that? Then I'd feel a massive let down.
I celebrated my birthday last week, 33 years old. I have mixed feelings about being 33. On one hand I'm hugely pleased to still be healthy and happy, but on the other I am now closer to 35 than 30, and this yet again stands as a cunning reminder that I am going to die.
Luckily I was able to spend the day with some of my oldest, newest, and best friends, giving me amble opportunity to forget all about my age and accidentally fall into another uncomfortable situation with a couple of homosexual men, 2 pissed women, and nervous housemate.
2. Burning to death like the protesting monk. I can't think of anything worth protesting about enough to set myself on fire. I have lots of beliefs, and I'd fight for a lot of them, but I wouldn't pour petrol over my bald head and robes and have at it with a clipper lighter.
Sunday lunch had turned into Sunday boozing, which then turned into 'let's have one more'. Myself, Elliot the housemate, Laura the Uni pal, and Sarah her pal were fairly worse for wear by around 10:30pm when it was agreed that we'd head into the Dalston Superstore for 'one. last. drink.' For those of you who've never heard of the Superstore, it is a mostly gay, straight friendly, bar/nightclub at the end of my street. It's wildly busy with painfully cool people every weekend but on Sundays it's a little quieter.
Their are 3 male couples and one female couple in the whole place when we fall through the door, but we find a booth and have a drink. The couple at the bar are kissing passionately, occasionally stopping to rub each others faces. It's a very sweet scene. The girls are cackling loudly so the boys at the bar look over and smile at the fun we're having, the smiles also hide glimmers of amusement that some straight, drunk people have bought themselves into this gay paradise.
Laura and I get up and go to the bar, as we vacate our seats the couple engage us in conversation and it becomes apparent very, very quickly that the tall one is drunk, and quite high. The tall one gets up and sits next to Elliot. I have my back to the scene but the next thing I see is Elliot bolting out of his seat and charging down the bar. The tall one turns to me and says,
"I think I've offended your friend"
"oh, what did you say to him?"
"I didn't really say anything, I just rubbed the bottom of his back a little, and maybe his arse. He is gay though isn't he?" asks Gavin (the tall one's name is Gavin)
"no, he's not gay"
"Are you gay?" Gavin has now moved from the booth and is now standing over me. He is very tall,
"No, I'm not gay, although with the amount of luck I'm having with the girls these days, I may as well be!"
This joke doesn't really get the laugh I was hoping for. Gavin is now eyeing me up and down, reminding me slightly of the dinosaur in 'Jurassic Park' that spits out all the poison into this guys face:
Gavin has noticed that I am wearing shorts,
"you've got very good calfs. Good calfs are very nice for a gay man you know?"
"I did not know that Gavin, thank you for your kind words"
"Are they ginger hairs on your calfs?"
"yes they are"
"and are you ginger up here?" Gavin lifts his tee shirt up to his chest, revealing his stomach,
"I am yes"
"show me then"
"I"m not showing you Gavin"
"Oh come on! I know you're not gay, the barman knows you're not gay"
"you're not gay?" says the barman,
"No, he's not gay, what! you think he looks gay?" Laura has decided to pipe up,
"a little bit gay, yeah. So you're not gay, but your friends is gay?"
"No. he's not gay, and I'm not gay. The girls aren't gay, and this one's married!" I point at Laura, who is now happily laughing into her vodka, and I'm starting to wish that I'd never gone for this last drink.
"show me your chest then"
Gavin is determined to get to the bottom of the ginger hair chest mystery, I pull up my shirt to just under my chest,
"there you go Gavin, ginger too"
"how about down here?" Gavin is now pulling his jeans down, letting his pubes get an airing,
"yes, I am ginger down there too"
"show me"
"I'm not showing you"
This goes on for a while and eventually Gavin's boyfriend ushers him away. Elliot has returned from the toilet looking a little bit like Jodie Foster did in 'The Accused'. We then all decide it's time to go home.
3. Being hammer attacked by the Yorkshire Ripper. Reason 87 on my '480 reasons why I thank my lucky stars I'm not a women' list.
My runs have started getting easier, and I think I know what has helped me turn the corner,
I don't stretch before I go running anymore.
My physio (I have 2 now, and a pilates instructor on standby) told me that the run should actually be the stretch, because if you stretch your muscle to their maximum as soon as you get out of bed, the muscle will be too 'cold' to cope with it, and you'll be more likely to seize the muscle up or tear it.
So now I walk around for a while, test the legs a little, then off I go. It's incredible how different it feels, and how much quicker and supple my legs feel as I run. I recommend anyone to give it a try.
As I'm running around other little memories of my birthday weekend ping into my head. One moment comes back to me time and again,
I bumped into a friend of a friend in a bar and he announces that he's having a baby! I am so happy for him, and I wonder if I am literally the only person out of all my friends, and friends of friends, who isn't having a baby this year. I shake his hand and give him a hug, and as we separate his smiles breaks a little, and he looks me in the eye and says,
"I'm not in love though Ga, I'm having a baby but I'm not in love"
His eyes fill with a sadness and I don't know quite what to say, we are not close enough friends for me to try to say anything profound or helpful, even though I know that I've got nothing I can say to him. The idea of being in that situation and not feeling a love for the person you're in the situation with? it freaks me out, and sort of makes me understand why I'm not going to be having a baby this year, or possibly the next. I think he senses this and the conversation comes to a close, and I think we start talking about something else.
As I run out of the park and onto Victoria Park road that sentence goes around and around my head, almost in time with my steps. I run all the way home and still can't get my head around it.
I think I might go for a drink at the Superstore this week, and maybe wear some shorts.
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