Friday, April 22, 2005

Born To Run 

Flat as a pancake. That’s the terrain around here, and not my bosoms, sadly.
Yesterday I went for my first run in months, and my, erm, breasts were spinning round like a pair of Zanussis at a Northern Soul night. Seriously - they hurt. Can’t something be done about it?

But thank goodness for jogging babes, hey? A honey in a Brazil shirt smiled at me by the flagpole, forcing me to adjust my stride while I waited for things to settle down again, but I still managed 7.2 miles in 1 hour 4 minutes 32 seconds, and that will do. I reckon I can shave a couple of seconds off that when I’m back at my best. I didn’t see her again and this morning I can hardly walk.

Creepy Keith has blu-tacked a large map of the British Isles to his wall, with red dots marking the location of those customers which have dumped us in the last year.
He said he was trying to spot a trend.
I suggested he might want to reconsider lime green corduroy cargo pants as a good look for 2005 and made my excuses.

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