You never see a happy jogger. Whether they're grimacing, perspiring or on the verge of collapsing, they're certainly never grinning, and why should they? Running alone, inhaling traffic fumes and getting splashed with muddy water every time a wide vehicle storms past. You can't 'win' at jogging - there's no finishing tape, only a scrabble for the house keys on finishing a run. At least the running machines in gyms have TVs - comedy, sport and soap operas to bring a smile to the weary athlete's face. A jogger has nothing to watch except the tarmac disappearing beneath them and stretching for miles ahead. Even dustmen are more cheerful.
I saw a girl walk out of the motorbike shop, wearing a t-shirt, tracksuit trousers and carrying two squash rackets. She was looking really confused. I thought nothing of it and continued walking down the road. She then overtook me, alongside an older man I presumed to be her Dad, and they walked into the sports shop. I was listening to my iPod and so couldn't hear what the man was saying to her, but I imagine it was along the lines of "how could you make a mistake like that?"
The numbers of goths seem to have dropped in recent years, but I saw two today. Both were kitted out in all black as you would expect, although one was wearing white trainers with fluorescent green laces. I wondered if he was trying to set a new trend or if he'd just lost his Dr Martens.
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