Something I’ve noticed this week in my lodge is that the bed, for some unfathomable reason, lights up.
Why does the bed light up?
Perhaps I am in the honeymoon suite.
I’ve joined a gym this week after discovering that running outside in Northampton is simply unworkable. Every runner out there is familiar with the concept of the Tramp Join, and for any that aren’t, it is just a matter of time. This is of course, when a tramp, so amused by the concept of running voluntarily, and not away from the police or towards an unaccompanied can of special brew, runs along side you for a while to let you know how contemptuously ridiculous your activity is. Sometimes the old fellas keep it up for an astounding amount of time, considering they’ve made abuse of their bodies a full time occupation. I once had one join me for at least half a mile, although that was in London where they breed ‘em tough.
Anyway, the Tramp Join seems to be particularly rife in Northampton, so I have decided to abandon running in case one of my colleagues sees me and thinks my best friend and running partner has an enormous beard, a jumper some dogs have pissed on, and tescos carrier bags instead of shoes.
