EXNE column 2.

Evening Strumpets, The following piece was written early last year as I was once again attempting to go jogging on a regular basis. Moves Like Jogger Warning: The following piece contains admissions of taste which may cause you to take deep inhalations, and pull a face resembling a constipated Aled Jones hitting a High C. Ever since I was born I`ve been in a gang of one. I think Return of the Jedi is a better film than The Empire Strikes Back. I prefer AC/DC with Brian Johnson than Bon Scott, who in my opinion sounded like Ray Alan`s sidekick Lord Charles. Unlike everyone else in this Sceptred Isle, I`ve never understood the dependence upon tea which the Colonial masses hold, I`d rather have a lovely cold glass of water to quench my thirst or cool me down. Don`t give me that twaddle about how tea is the best drink to lower your temperature “They drink it in India don`t you know”. They might do, but when I have a cuppa on a hot day within minutes I`m sweating like Fred West taping Rose through a hole in the wall, whilst wearing a gimp suit. I sometimes think that I have a PA system attached to the back of my head which regularly announces these appalling beliefs whilst I`m out jogging, because there must be a reason why people in cars, on bikes, or even just walking past me in a gang, feel the need to bellow obscenities at me. The bile and venom aimed at my admittedly, well preserved, cachet must be the result of having riled these anonymous dissidents and their cackling flocks. As a person of girth who wishes to reduce his waistline, I have finally come to understand an age old truth. If I want to lose weight, I have to eat less and move more. Sounds easy doesn`t it? Have you any idea of the effort it took to step through the door for the first time in my jogging attire. It took so much guts, which is ironic because that`s exactly what I have and the main reason I was putting myself through the arduous task in hand. Whilst out jogging, or my version of jogging anyhow, I found it difficult to decide which faecal matter was more difficult to avoid. The literal type in the form of Dog`s eggs which adorn the pavements making them resemble Bobby Sands` cell walls following a force fed Vindaloo, or the metaphorical type in the form of vile heartfelt utterances and yells thrown by the good old British Public, which clung to me like a Pit Bull to a sausage roll holding toddler. As I continued my casual scamper I mused upon why people would feel the need to lean out of windows of vehicles, placing themselves and others at great risk to inform me that I should “Get my legs up” before completing the sentence with a description of my bulk and illegitimacy, at least that`s what the polite ones did. I arrived home spent in so many ways. I`ve been out a few more times since, and it continues to happen, but I`ll let you into a secret. These braying shallow humourless thoughtless judgmental felchers, have started motivating me. Because if they`re shouting at me, it means that I’m out there being shouted at, and not sat on a sofa sticking pies into my head. Ultimately, they lose. Right I`m off to go and watch Open all Hours, I find it so much funnier than Porridge….Only joking! Till the next one, go on, go off and learn something new,