I stopped drinking 8 days ago, not forever or anything, god no. Just for a month; primarily to save funds and lose pounds. I don’t think it’ll do me any harm either, as apparently I ‘cannot just have one or two’ any more, so it saves me from getting grief for that. Having said that, when I do get back off the proverbial wagon I’ll no doubt just get twice as shitfaced as normal due to the month long abstenance – probably resulting in me getting a months worth of grief in one go actually. Hmm.
To coincide with this I’ve started running, for an all round health extravanganza if you like. It started off with enthusiastic pre-7am saunters round the local park, before moving onto post work ambles and then into my current phase, where a rogue blister has forced me into ‘rest mode’. You can’t be too careful with these things. The thing is, when I get going and into my stride I really enjoy it – my stride being the 30 second spell between where my limbs finally stop creaking and when I then start hyperventilating like a fat asthmatic teenager who’s just discovered porn. The smug satisfaction at the end is worth it alone as well, it’s just I more often than not can’t be arsed. Plus the time I fell over and the elderly chinese gentleman had to help me up still rankles, so I’ll give the blister a few days yet at least.
Hopefully the current autumnal weather will stick around for time being, it beats that summer malarkly hands down. Nothing like a brisk gale force wind and a load of rotting mulch in the face to cleanse the soul. It’s proper dog walking weather too, if only I had a dog. To be honest, anything to throw a stick at would do, anything to distract me from the warm and inviting interior of the alehouse as I walk past, or from the wheezing fat bastards stumbling by who make me feel bad.
Bring on October and more blisters please.