Hello Stranger

Hello Stranger

Hello stranger. Don’t tell any of the others, but of all the people who read Born to Plod, you’re easily my favourite. Have you done something with your eyebrows? They look fab.

My posts have been a bit few and far between of late, so rather than treating you to a relentless barrage of cheerful nonsense, I’ve forced you to make do with a trickle, you poor poor soul. It must have been terrible for you, logging on every five minutes in the vain hope that there’d be fresh content to satiate your need for rambling musings that claim to be about the sport of running, but which invariably snowball into a messy series of barely-literate references to 80’s cartoons and whatever else has wandered unbidden, mid-run, into my sweat-addled brain. If I had to sum up this blog to someone who’d never read it, I’d probably go along the lines of “close your eyes for a moment and imagine that Joggy Joggerson* and a chimpanzee had made sweet sweet love, and their resultant unholy offspring had then got wired up on bad acid before shimmying down your chimney, eating all your cheese and then puking all over your computer screen”.

I think I may have nicked that last bit from an old episode of the Vicar of Dibley.

Anyway, the purpose of this post wasn’t to fill your head with images of monkey sex and cheese; I really just wanted to come and say “Howdy-Doody” and to assure you that normal service will be resumed shortly.

When I started writing this thing last year I assumed that there would be periods when things dropped off a bit, and that’s happened a couple of times so far. This time it’s purely been a case of “not enough hours in the day”, and blogging has been relegated behind family, work, training and Supergran DVD box-sets. The training’s been going really well over the last few months though, and as a result I’ve got tons of ideas to write about over the next few weeks (some of which actually verge on being about proper serious running stuff!)

So, back in a bit then. Byyyyyyye.

X

(that “X” was a cheeky kiss for any female readers, and an indicator of buried treasure for everyone else)

 

*I had to make the name up, purely because (once again) I couldn’t think of any famous dead runners, and at the same time I didn’t want to get sued by Seb Coe.