I had an awful nightmare last night. Something so utterly terrifying that when I woke up my heart was racing and I was repelled by what my subconscious had dredged up. No, it was NOT a threesome with Cruise and Snooze, but a frightfully realistic dream in which I had been entered to take part in the London Marathon.
Now, as anyone who knows me is aware, the very idea of running anywhere at all is complete anathema to me. I don't even run for the bus or train, after all, that
is what an iPod was invented for surely? Filling those gaps waiting for people/things.
I won't even run after pretty boys, any energy relating to attractive people should, in my opinion, be saved for the bedroom. I didn't spend 5 years in charm school and 4 working with wild Canadian trappers and hunters just to CHASE men. No, I want to sit back with a whisky and ginger and wait for them to come to me!
Anyway, luckily despite the disturbing start, my subconscious obviously decided to spare me too much misery and after beginning the race I soon veered off with a jogger in obscenely short shorts and went for a meal in a cozy little restaurant hidden down a back alley. We then rejoined the race about 10 minutes before the finish line and no-one was any the wiser that we had cheated (At the race AND on his boyfriend).
So, all's well that ends well...