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I had to run for the train this morning. Nothing too unusual. The route from car to station is a 400 yard, down hill sprint that involves keeping my hat on and hurdling over green horse muck. The type of muck that knows if it is to survive, it has to blend in with the leaves. I’ve got it down to about 5 minutes if there’s no fresh poo. However this morning I was not alone. There was also a running man. As the Gods of Social Awkwardness would have it… Here we both were, doing the morning flail a few metres apart. He wasn’t as good at hurdling as myself (even though I wear a backpack that anti-hurdles) but he was brave. He tried to overtake me twice but my unpredictable arms would not allow. So we ended up running side-by-side along the slippery pavement like two athletes for Team Alarm Clock Snooze. Ever the anti-socialist, I ignored him ‘til the end and was perfectly happy to file this under “Nope”. Until he sat next to me on the train. So here we are. Me and coach. Both trying to normalise our breathing patterns and ignore that he cut me up on the station stairs. UPDATE KLAXON 14/11/12: It happened again.
And the plot thickens. We were not alone.
There was a Running Woman! Just as I was getting used to the idea of having a running partner to flail with… wham. A woman gets involved (like they always do) and changes the entire set up. And this Running Woman had no shame… she overtook me like the two-bit Olympian hooker that she is. I missed the bloody train and watched them two train off into the sunset. Tomorrow: running shoes. 
I once stuck a piece of gaffa tape over my laptop webcam to stop the government watching me. Then I wanted to take pictures of myself wearing lipstick but the gluey tape residue had ruined my macbook forever. I’m sure a bit of water colour paint on the iPhone camera lens wouldn’t do any harm… 
Leaky Roof Shia Labeouf #NewStreet (Taken with Instagram at Birmingham New Street Railway Station (BHM)) Today is a sad, sad day. We only have eleven minutes left with our super intern, Miss Rachael Alice Bloomfield. in an Australian accent) and we will also, reluctantly, miss her repeatedly singing songs from the 90’s (accent and pitch unknown).
It will be a relief not to have somebody barge into the office wailing: “I’VE JUST BEEN THE VICTIM OF A WALKING HIT AND RUN”, however we will certainly miss her creative input, innovative (and insane) ideas and general enthusiasm for every single task we gave her. London is very lucky to have you and we know you’re going to have a very successful career in the media ahead of you. Hurry up and finish your degree and come back to us. Lots of love, Hanna Lee Tidd and Rachael Giaramita XXX |
