Thursday, 22 December 2011

The shortest day

Yesterday, I woke up to Armageddon. The sky was black. Admittedly, it was very early, but still, this rarely happens in London because of the light pollution. I immediately rolled out of bed and went for a run. And so it was that before the sparrows had even showered, I was racing around the streets of Hampstead. And that's when I discovered where all the bin men go in the winter. To NW3. There must have been at least three lorries to every street*. There were loads of them. Like doozers making sure the expensive roads were clean. I also suspect they were taking the wealthy residents breakfast in bed. I live in Camden too! Where's my breakfast in bed? After fighting the urge to become a communist, I ran home for a hot lemon and porridge with a side-order of smug. I then fell asleep on the train because the early morning smugness had worn me out. How on earth do people do this kind of thing every day?

(Stats: 4.34 miles; 44.12 minutes; 10.11 minute/mile.)

(*Possibly a small exaggeration, but only a small one.)

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