Fame at last
At the last London Blogger’s meet up, I get interviewed by a journalist and a few days later an email from the meet up’s organiser arrives to let us know that the article’s due to appear in this morning’s Metro, but there’s none left at the station and I’m wondering if I grab one out of someone’s hands will I get a slap and I decide I probably will, so I wait until I get to Liverpool Street and grab one there and flick through it to see if it’s time for my 15 centimetres of fame and woo hoo, there I am (or at least my name is) in the middle of the paper which is the nearest I’m ever going to get to being a centrefold, then like a complete saddo I go and grab three more copies, who for I don’t know, as I won’t be giving one to my mum because then she will read my blog and then she will tell me off for drinking and swearing.
And as I’m walking to work, I’m wondering if fame will change me and how soon will it be until I’m offered interviews on late night chat shows or maybe even my own chat show and shitloads of cash and there’s a girl walking along carrying a Metro and I resist the temptation to tap her on the shoulder and say “oi, I’m in that” and I’m thinking that as I’m quoted as saying people have said I’m an inspiration, then I’d better inspire myself and do my running commute home, although I am also quoted as saying I decided to give up smoking and run a marathon when at the time, my ambition was simply to get round the block without collapsing in a heap after coughing up a lung.
While I’m at work hoping that the annoying bimbo in the office next door hasn’t read the Metro this morning and developed a sudden interest in jogging blogs and found out that I called her an annoying bimbo, a girl who is also leaving comes over to me and asks if I want to have a joint leaving drinks thing. Uh oh. I was planning on making a quiet exit and would rather have rusty nails hammered underneath my fingernails then spend my lunch hour with some of the annoying fuckwits in here, so I say yeah, great, when? I can’t do Friday and she says on Monday, her last day and I say cool. Bollocks.
I set off for my running commute and as I’m going down Essex Road I pass a pub that has a sign outside saying pizza two for one. FREE PIZZA?! Woo hoo. I must investigate as free pizza sounds almost as good as free alcohol and outside the pub is a man smoking in a wheelchair and it reminds me that on the way to the Post Office this morning there was a man smoking in a wheelchair and it occurred to me that I didn’t think I had seen anyone in a wheelchair smoke before and wondered how he got into smoking and then I wondered why I wondered that and why shouldn’t people in wheelchairs smoke and maybe he started smoking before he was in a wheelchair.
And all the lights are on red this evening so I get back quite quickly and I see the same man walking over the marshes that I saw last time but he didn’t murder me last time so I assume he won’t murder me tonight either and my assumption is correct and I get home without getting murdered. Hurrah.
Distance: 6.13 miles
Pace: 11:00 m/m
Claims to fame: 1
Men smoking in wheelchairs: 2
Leaving drinks arranged: 1
Jesus & Mary Chain
Nine Inch Nails