I’ve got a half-marathon coming up in a couple of weeks, my third ‘official’ half marathon where you get a medal and a t-shirt and a bag of wanky snacks at the end. It means I’ve had to put a bit of effort in to training but it’s no biggie these days. Whether it’s pissing down, or blowing a gale, I’ll be out there. 10 kilometers, three times a week, forever and ever and ever until I DIE. Continue reading
Month: November 2017
The Scribbler
Before moving to Milton Keynes I spent around 5 years working in Manchester city centre, which – despite the long travelling times – I really enjoyed. It was the buzz of the whole place which I liked to get caught up in, and even my daily walk down Whitworth Street from Piccadilly Train Station felt like a stroll through the centre of the universe. I still think Manchester pips London as my favourite UK city, and we even went back up there for our joint stag/hen do earlier this year. Continue reading
Sobriety-Induced Karmic Fuckery
A few years ago – quite a lot of years ago in fact – I carried out a spate of petrol station robberies.
Picture the scene: It’s night-time, lashing with rain, and a twenty-something lad sits in his car on a petrol station forecourt. He whispers to himself as he intently watches the customers come and go. “One out. Two in. One in. One out. Two out”. He sucks on a Marlboro to help him concentrate as he counts. He has intensely blue eyes, which flicker left and right as he closely observes the scene through the drenched windscreen, his focus interrupted every few seconds by the wipers as they squeal back and forth. He has short scruffy stubble, and the jawline of an Adonis. His phone rings and he flips it open with one hand, cooly bringing it to his ear.
SoberPunks 