Pain

So I've finally switched over the NEW blogger. There's not much of a difference, but it has some utilities that are handy.

It changed my profile to one that was already in existence for a new blogger blog, but that's OK, I quite like that photo of me, although I need to get that Philip Larkin text back.

Anyway, that's all irrelevant.

Last night I was talking with Trump about pain and the different types of pain you can experience, particularly pain that results from hurting yourself, rather than things like headaches and the like.

Here is my top ten of personal injury resulting in agony:

1. Ankle sprain: absolute stomach churning agony. After the initial shock and paralysis, the adrenaline rush kicks in that kind of turns your stomach and internal organs to a mush. You nearly shit yourself. Almost immediately, the affect area swells and bruises and the pain radiates rapidly from your ankle up your leg. It fucking hurts. And then you can't walk for days.
2. Eye poke: this REALLY hurts. It's a common injury that occurs when you pull the duvet up to your face with your thumb inadvertently sticking out. OUCH!
3. Toe stub: fucker! This is another one where you're rendered useless by adrenal activity. Everything goes really hot afterwards.
4. Cold finger bash: you know the thing, it's a really cold day and you've forgotten your gloves; your fingers are icy cold and you knock the back of them against something hard. That soon warms them up.
5. Door walking: you pull a door open, but it doesn't clear your foot that is in its way. Of course, you're already moving forwards to go through the anticipated opening and SMACK! Door in your forehead. This one is for total twats.
6. Phantom spot squeeze: you know those sore areas on your skin that feel like a spot is brewing? There's a slight lump and you just know that if you get it at the right point, it'll explode at high velocity and splatter up the bathroom mirror. You award yourself imaginary points for splatter height and diffusion. So you give it a squeeze, and another, then another. The pain is really bad, but you're determined that there's something there - right on the end of your nose or chin. Alas, without success, you are left with watering eyes and a second (or third) chin.
7. Tongue bite: Bloody hell, this is a really bad one that makes you feel like somebody is pulling your brain out through your belly button. So easily avoidable - unless you're Jamie Oliver.
8. Foo-fah on crossbar: You only need to do this once to know that falling heavily, fanny-first onto the crossbar of a bike is a real eye-waterer and to avoid bicycles for the rest of your life.
9. Pube pull: Even the tidiest pubes sometimes get caught in your knicker leg. It usually takes you by surprise as you try to stand from your desk at work. How do you explain the sudden scream and ferriting about in your pants to your colleagues?
   
10. Fingernail bend-back: The fingernails of my right hand used to get quite long when I played the guitar. I have no idea how this particularly injury occurs, but one of the worse feelings in the world is bending your fingernail back. It fucking hurts.

So those are ten things you can do to yourself to see whether your adrenal glands work. I wouldn't recommend them to anybody, but inflicted the pube pull on an unsuspecting partner can be a right old laugh! Can't it, Trump?

I've had a mouth ulcer on my bottom lip for four days. They REALLY hurt. What the hell are they?


Leave my feet a-fucking-lone!
The Trump Family Trumpamon have a family pet. This pet is a juvenile Staffordshire Bull Terrorist that goes by the name of Jazz. It actually goes by the name "BEHAVE, GET IN YOUR BED... JAZZ!". It is a fucking nuisance. It looks and sounds rather menacing... eventually, but it doesn't usually bother growling or barking at you until you've been in the house for 15 minutes.

During the summer, when I was staying at Trump Towers, I had the privilege of helping Trump look after the "Menace under the kitchen table". This hound has a foot fetish and, it being summer, I found myself sockless in a variety of summer footwear. The dog would greet me by frenzied sequential licking of the toes on both my feet before jumping up at me. Oh how I loved getting back into my shoes in the autumn.

She still has year-round fun sniffing my arse crack with her wet nose every time I bend down to look in a kitchen cupboard, but at least my feet are safe for now.

Hooligan.

Ten

I went to a £10 per head Chinese banquet on Tuesday evening to honour the departure of a close colleague. It was nice; there were colleagues from our partner organisations there and the group was split over two round tables. By accident, I ended up on the table that did not contain high-faluting profs, although those who I shared my table with were no less important or influential.

The conversation was initiated by Colleague 1 (to Colleague 2): A team of us are entering for the Manchester Run in May, do you want to join us?

Colleague 2: "How far is it, 10km? I don't know, I don't really run."

Colleague 1: "Well most of our lot are walking it, come on, it's for a good cause."

Colleague 2: "Ok then, I'll ask [partner] if she'll do it with me too"

Colleague 1 (to colleague 3): "What about you? Do you want to join in?"

Colleague 3: "Well, I suppose so, OK, sign me up"

Colleagues 1, 2, 3: "Come on Tina, what about you?"

Me: "I don't think so."

Colleague 2 (pleading): "Awww, come on.. please??? If me and [partner] are doing it, you can too"

So, under no pressure or coercion at all, I agreed to do it. I'm going to die, I know it. Having just started back at the gym, 2km is my current absolute limit, and that almost kills me.

I have four months to get into some sort of shape that means I won't die on the 20th of May. For motivation, I have downloaded the Rocky Balboa screensaver. I shall be running around the city and up the steps of the MEN Arena with the Rocky theme playing in my head.


Step back in time
Currently, the time is 10.15GMT, 25th January 2007. Meanwhile, I am back in the 1970s at Base 2a.

My office here has hessian wallpaper, which I have covered with my photos and also Italian travel posters. Up until recently, the windows, in addition to vertical blinds, were adorned with curtains that looked and felt like they were made from an old dog blanket. In an office. It's like trying to work in a fucking bedroom. Things were looking up when I came here one day before Christmas to realise that it was unusually bright in here - the curtains had gone. Yippee!!

For a couple of months, it has been bright in here, more worklike, I almost felt like being a bit more productive. But today I came here and they were back, this time a brown floral offering that reminds me of something that we wrap dead cats in to bury them. I've taken them down again, they disturb me.

On realising the wrong curtains had been put up in her office, Cynthia came running into me and, very close to my face asked "Don't you want your curtains?"

"Clearly not, since I've taken them down."


Windy
This is my first day back here after the storm of last Thursday. I enquired as to the well-being of everybody and about their journeys home that day. Most people were badly delayed, and their tales make my 3 hour journey home seem trivial. It was trivial, a three hour journey isn't that bad when you consider that people died.

"There were a couple of deaths around Manchester" I said.

"Yes, that poor woman, she was sixty and sheltered against a wall that collapsed on her, poor thing," a colleague added.

"Yes, that was in Stockport, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but not nearly as bad as that poor little 2 year boy who died when a wall collapsed on HIM."

"But why is it worse because he was two, surely it's just as bad if you get killed by a wall when you're sixty? You can have another kid." I was puzzled.

"Oh, that's a horrible thing to say. He had all his life ahead of him, at least you've lived yours at sixty."

"Yes, and contributed something. You can probably have another child, but you only get one mum."

Idiots.


The Hitman and Hymn
As the Catholic Church in England tries to make feeble excuses for its bigotry, its leader, Cardinal Cormack Murphy O'Connor has been in the news quite a bit, saying that Catholic adoption agencies should be exempt from anti-discrimination law and be allowed to prevent gay couples using its adoption agencies. The rights and welfare of the children must come first. Yeah, that's right, because gay people are renowned for systematic abuse of children and institutional cover ups. Tossers.

Anyway, Cormack is forever going on about the Bible and Catholic conscience, but what the hell does he know? Can't everybody tell that this man is an imposter? Surely it's clear to everyone that so-called Cardinal Cormack Murphy O'Connor is none other than uber successful record producer Pete "The Hitman" Waterman!

If I ever meet "Cormack", I'm going to test him with some Kylie and Steps lyrics, he won't be able to hide from "Better the devil you know".

Still, there is one good bit of news about this "gay people are evil and shouldn't be allowed near children" scaremongering: "Reports say that Communities Secretary Ruth Kelly, who is charged with fighting discrimination and who is a devout Catholic, is considering resigning over the issue."

How can the Catholic church oppose decent people adopting children when they allow ugly fuckers like this to breed naturally?

Yay!!! Ruth can perhaps get a job as a night-shift cleaner or something instead. Something that keeps her away from unsuspecting members of the public.


US military plan to disarm enemies with sunbeds and slippery floors
It's true, the US military research scientist have developed a massive heat ray gun with a 500m range that can disperse a crowd or enemy by making it a bit too hot for them. Apparently, it heats, but doesn't harm. Eh?

They're also trying to develop artificial black ice to make it too slippery for the enemy to get about. I'm going to tell them about the people who laid the new pavements at work - slightest drop in temperature and they're treacherous.

Handbags and mad dads

I had a slight parental panic on Friday. Having spent Thursday night at Trump's, I'd not been in touch with Mother with regard to storm damage. I'd assumed that everything had been OK, since Connie hadn't phoned me in a panic to tell me that the shed had collapsed and that she needed me to come and hold it up for a few days while they emptied it. At about 11am on Friday, I decided to phone home to see what was what and whether my new mobile had been delivered (see below - if I remember) - the landline was dead and there was no answer from her mobile. Hrrrrm, odd, I thought.

After trying about ten more times, on both numbers, I started to worry: what if the house has burnt down and all records of my parents' contacts had been destroyed, so the police couldn't find anybody to contact? What if all that was left was the singed and stiffened body of Little Max? Oh my GOD! I'm an orphan!!!!!

I checked the BBC News website for stories of fatal fires in Salford - nothing. Then at 2pm, just as I was about to shut off my work PC and head home, I tried Mum's mobile one more time. After ten rings, she answered.

"Where have you been? I've been trying to phone you since this morning, the landline is dead and you weren't answering your mobile!"

"Well the phone is working, the hospital phoned for your dad this morning. And my phone was in my handbag, I've just taken it out."

"Didn't you see that there were 20 missed calls!? And why can't Dad learn to put the phone back on the hook properly? I've been worried, I thought Max had died in a fire! Did my new phone arrive?"

"Yes, it came at 9am."

"Good old Orange. See you later then, and check that phone upstairs!"



Orange five a day
I like my mobile phone operator, Orange. They're not the cheapest, the handset choice is limited, but they have fantastic customer service. I phoned up to enquire about an upgrade and a tariff switch the other day. After slagging off Samsung and Motorola, and having a general laugh with the adviser, I asked what phones they had available for upgrades and what I could have for free.

"Well, you could have this one, but they've all been recalled and they're out of stock. And this one is... oh, that's out of stock too, but I don't think we're getting any of those back. Errm, this one is nice, oh, it's out of stock. Honestly, we might as well be selling fruit and veg!"

"Oh right, well I only phoned up to enquire, I can try again in a few weeks."

"No, hang on, what about this one, it's a Sony Ericsson, very nice phone, lots of features, 3G, good camera. Oh, it'd cost you £50 though. Hang on, I'll just talk to our customer retention people to see if we can get it for free, won't be long."

various chart music...

"Hello, thanks for waiting, I've spoken to them and they're prepared to give it to for free because of what you said about leaving if you're made to pay for the handset. I'll just put you through now."

Bu'... I never said anything about leaving if I didn't get a handset for free... I was confused, then cottoned on to the fact that she was nudge-nudge, wink-winking me.

And there it was, delivered in less than 24hr. Nice one Orange! Let's just hope this departure from Nokia doesn't turn out to be as upsetting as when I tried a Samsung. Fucking horrible phones, absolute rubbish.



A photo
Here's one I took yesterday...

For fuck's sake, stay in the closet, you ugly bitch
Senior Labour politician, Ruth Kelly is a bit butch. And she's fuck ugly with it. She screams "I'm queer", but claims to be straight. She is married, has four children and probably doesn't believe in contraception because she is a Catholic. Nothing wrong with being a Catholic, until your fundamentalist (with the emphasis on mentalist) bigotry interferes with your position as "Communities Minister". This role means that Ruth Kelly has a duty to look after the interests of all sections of the community to ensure fairness, equality and all that. But Ruth Kelly is rumoured to oppose the recent bill to ban discrimination on the basis of sexuality.

I don't think Ruth Kelly is a very nice woman. I'm glad her Catholicism means that she has to hide her queerness. She can stay firmly in the closet alongside the rest of the bible-bashing queers who are so afraid of coming out that they hide their sexuality by apparently opposing it in others.

Consecutive

With nothing much to write about, I thought I'd do so anyway since I have the opportunity to post something on consecutive days.

I am going to conduct a poll amongst the readers here, the question is:

"Should Sniffy quit her job and just get something through a recruitment agency instead?"

I am so tempted.

If I did this, would I still be allowed to do the thing where I block all the fire exits and set fire to the building? Or do I still have to be employed there for that sort of action to count?

Or.... I could become a serial killer and get them one by one in a Midsomer Murders-esque killing spree?

And before anybody says something to the tune of "I wouldn't want to live in that village; about ten people get murdered there each week", Midsomer is the name of a fictional county, not a village. And it's a telly programme so don't even think about being so obtuse as to draw a parallel to real life.

I could never be bothered killing somebody, I couldn't do with the hassle of a court appearance and unwanted media attention.

Ideally, somebody somebody would sponsor me to take a year out to go on a tour of the civilised world and report back to the masses via the medium of my blog. But I don't see that happening in the real world.

Anyway, on a lighter note, readers failed to spot that the photos in yesterday's post were in fact stalker shots of Trump. Either that or it wasn't interesting enough to make note of.


Exercise
I'm going to get serious about getting back to the gym. It's already started with me organising my collection of jogging pants, buying a new sports top and attempting to change my gym membership to allow me to use any of the gyms in the chain (there's one near work and one near Trump's).

All that remains is for me to actually go to the gym and do some exercise. Easy peasy.

I went last night. The woman on reception didn't know how to change my membership over so I have to go back again. Fuckers. But I suppose that's the idea.

"Stop if you feel out of breath or any pain", the warning labels on the machines tell you. I'm sorry, but when you're in as bad a condition as I am, you get out of breath and feel pain just by moving your eyelids. For fuck's sake.

I ran a mile and a bit.

I did a couple of kilometres on the cross trainer.

I was losing the will to live by the time I got to the rowing machine and managed to do a kilometre. My arms ached, my knickers were cutting me in two up my arse crack.

The indignity of it.

Right, I'm off to check out the jobs on the Guardian website!

Kill them all!

I've gone past the stage of wanting to kill most of the morons I work with and now I just want to get out leave them to it.

But what to do? I've realised that I don't like having colleagues. I like having people to talk to while I'm at work, but I hate having to work with people, having to rely on others who are generally too busy trying to make themselves look good to be bothered getting on and doing some work.

Why are most people we work with utter cocks?

I think I'll take myself off somewhere to be a professional Blogger Photographer. For this, I need to be able to;

a) Write
b) Take interesting photographs


Thinking back to the post about photographic portrait studios taking interesting and novel shots of people, I'd like to start taking photos of people as they go about their daily business. Sort of a consensual paparazzo where the subject pays me to take photos of them while they're at work, or filling up with petrol, or trying to put Nescafe in their shopping trolley without being noticed by their fair trade-evangelising colleague who they've just bumped into in Tesco.

Here are some interesting shots:

Of course, a related theme would be to actually stalk people and take photos of them and them send the proofs through the post with a demand for money. I wouldn't put it past Venture Photography to try that trick.


4OD
It's not called OD for nothing. Channel 4's TV on-demand service - which allows to view any of a number of their programme - requires users to be in the UK. Before you download the player, it checks your PC settings for you to see if you have all the necessary requirements to use the service: YES, you have Windows XP; YES, you have Internet Explorer somewhere on your PC; YES you have Windows Media Player; YES you're in the UK!

Fantastic.

So off you trot and download the player/downloader thing, but when you come to download one of the programmes, it tells you that "you have to be in the UK to use this service". So, despite the pre-download checker confirming that I'm in the UK, the actual programme thinks I'm not.

Eh? Pile of shite.

Who wants their crappy service anyway. Pile of shitbumtitwank.


Four letter word
Excluding the usual expletives, guess which four letter word is dominating my conscience at the moment. Yes, it's:

D - I - E - T

Fucking bollocks. I can't do dieting. I know dieting won't work because, when I was at my skinniest a couple of years ago, I ate half what I do now and did loads of exercise and still didn't lose much weight. So what good is "being good" going to do? I suppose I'm expending a few extra calories hulking my oversized mass around, but it's not the equivalent of a 4km run.

Bollocks.

I don't like healthy eating. Healthy eating usually means zero flavour and lots of artificial additives in things like yoghurts. Sugar is replaced with stuff that gives you brain tumours and anything that brings flavour out in food is absolutely forbidden. Healthy option is not necessarily good for mental well-being.

So exercise it is. Deep joy.

Sniffy is fed up with the world.

On the lope

After thinking - and writing - about the different ways people pronounce certain words the other day, it struck me that I'd forgotten my absolute pet hate:

envelope

It's pretty clear to me that the word begins with an e, therefore, when followed by the consonant n, you'd generally pronounce the combination, en, as en (unless you were French, or stupid).

So why do some people say onvelope? Do the same people say onvelop when describing something that is wrapped or enclosed?

Tits.


Accosted
I can't go to the local shopping centre without being accosted by people trying to sell me things. Today it as AXA Healthcare. Despite my best efforts to ignore him by trying to send a text message,the young Scouse lad called me over:

"Scuse me love, do you use the NHS? Do you have an NHS dentist?"

"Yes, and I'm not interested in anything you're going to try to sell me."

"OK, but did you know [The Mysterious They']re privatising dental services?"

"Funny that, I just signed up to an NHS dentist a couple of months ago, there are loads of them where I live. And I work for the NHS, they're not privatising dental services."

"But for 32p a day, you can have this (he points to a laminated card) much dental work. If you fall and smash your teeth, we'll pay for up to £10,000 worth of restorative dentistry. Those are expensive glasses, you could have £70 towards your next pair! And you get this much life insurance too!!"

"You get restorative dentistry free at the dental hospital - it's one of the biggest in England you know. And my glasses should be expensive, but they were only £100 from Costco. I don't need life insurance."

"What about if you have kids and they get ill and you need to stay with them in hospital?"

"I'm not going to have any children.

"What? No kids? Ever?"

"Certainly not! And if I'm clumsy enough to fall down the stairs and knock all my teeth out, I shouldn't be looking after kids anyway. Look, I'm not going to sign anything, request any further information or give you my contact details because I'm not interested, but it was nice talking to you anyway.... love!"

I left him to it. On other occasions it's photography studios, peddling once-novel ways of taking family photos, but which now seem a little naff. I take better photos than they ever could. Their photographers would never come up with this:

This:

Or even this:

There's nothing difficult about taking interesting photos of your loved ones, you just need a camera and a bit of imagination (and perhaps Photoshop if you can take the stress).


Wasted
I spent all of yesterday trying to install my lovely new PDA onto the PC at Base 2a. It wouldn't have it and everytime I tried to sync, it crashed the PC. Now, the PC here is a bit old, but it's OK. But because it's old, the USB ports are around the back and I used an extension cable to plug things - like the Hotsync cable - into the machine. After more aborted attempts and uninstalling/reinstalling the software, deleting registry keys (eek!), I'd almost given up when I had the bright idea of plugging the Hotsync cable straight into the USB port rather than using the extension. Hey presto! it worked!

This means that, because the Palm is now recognised as being properly installed, it can get recharged via the cable after I've worn the battery down playing games on it. Fantastico.

This bit of the post isn't at all interesting, but it might help some poor fucker who, like me, is Googling to see why their Palm keeps restarting their PC when they plug it in.


Y viva Espana
I ordered some software from an international website yesterday and was a little puzzled when the online order form was in Spanish. I've just checked my site stats and the IP address for this machine is showing up as coming from Spain.

How's that then?


iPhone-your-solicitor
Nice to see Cisco systems are suing Apple over their use of the name "iPhone" for their new supergadget.

Ha ha ha ha ha. Stupid twats at Apple always thinking that people would flattered to have their patents and trademarks stolen.

MeeeGRAIN

I was poorly last night. I think I had a bit of a migraine, although it might just have been a bad headache that made me throw up and feel like shite. Having been asleep from 10pm, I woke up at 5 this morning, wondering whether I felt well enough to go to work with the remnants of my head. I decided that I felt too washed out by the entire experience. Those sorts of things leave you feeling weak for a day or so afterwards; like you've had stroke - in the medical sense.

I should have gone back to sleep; I don't get enough, but the radio came on and stirred me fully from my half-waking state. As I pondered my intentions for today, I wondered what had afflicted me yesterday evening. And then it happened, I thought:

Why do some people pronounce migraine, meegraine? It sounds ridiculous. It's like when people say margarine with a hard g, or data as darta. Do they do it to get attention, as if saying "I had a migraine" isn't enough to make people realise they had a bad headache with nausea?

Titoids.


It's an iPod, a phone AND an internet communicator! That's right, an iPod, a phone AND an internet communicator!!
Steve Jobbie, head honcho of Apple or Mac, or whatever they're called, announced their wunderprodukt for 2007 at some sort of convention in America yesterday. I heard it on the radio this morning, his self-congratulatory tone, accompanied by gasps of wonderment and delight from thousands of applauding, adoring MacGeeks.

Wankers.

This product is going to be a mugger's dream. Already folks are warned not to advertise that they're walking the streets listening to their iPods; we're told not to use our mobiles where onlooking attackers might be lying in wait; this iPhonicator is everything bundled into one handy, and no doubt ridiculously overpriced bundle that is probably set to autocrash every ten minutes.

Well done Apple.

Let's face it, there are already mobile phones available that can play music, connect to the internet and take pretty good photos and video clips as well as, surprisingly, make telephone calls. Why would anybody want an iPhone? Probably because they've got more money than sense and prefer style over substance.


We don't cater for your sort
It's nice to see that the House of Lords has passed the Bill to prevent discrimination based on sexuality in the provision of services, despite protests from "faith groups", i.e. big-mouthed homophobes who align themselves to certain religions. This should prevent, for example, a hotel refusing to give a room to a gay couple because of their sexuality. It's odd that some of the so-called Christian protesters would like to refuse service to a gay couple, but wouldn't seek confirmation that a straight couple were married (to each other) before handing over the key to a hotel room. Hypocrites. Bizarre too that, despite laws banning things like "No blacks, No Irish" signs on hotels being in place since the 1970s, similar signs for "No gays" are essentially still legal.

I suppose the new legislation is a good thing, equal rights for all and that. But I think people know where they're welcome and I wouldn't want to give any of my money over to some crackpot bigot who lives their life based on fairy tales and superstition anyway.

Of course, there's a BBC News Have your say online debate about this. And it just gives the world's biggest bunch of backwards bigots an excuse to crawl out of the woodwork (yet again) to spout some hate-filled bile in the name of Allah. Just look at the sort of tits exist in this world:

Added: Wednesday, 10 January, 2007, 20:41 GMT 20:41 UK

Shame on parliament that has passed the regulation.The members of the parliament are the rebellion of Allah. They will be punished by law of nature very soon.Those who believe in holy books understand well that a entire community was stoned to death prior to Jesus,moses and the last prophet Muhammad( pbuh)simply because they were homosexuals.I think we should be aware of the fact that aids is the ultimate result of homosexuality. Shame Shame Shame.

Syed Aliyazdan Raza, Karachi, Pakistan

I'm sure if they looked hard enough in their holy books, they'd find some reason to stone themselves to death too. Prats.

I suppose this law brings an end to the days of "We don't like strangers round 'ere" and "This is a local shop for local people, there's nothing for you here", although I don't think it's discriminatory to refuse service to a potential customer on the grounds of them "looking a bit funny".

Prolonging the agony

I was supposed to be back in work after my Christmas break today, but I couldn't face it so I extended my leave for a couple more days. It's so depressing going back after a break. It should really make me more determined to get off my arse and get another job, but it just sends me spiralling into another depression that only lifts for a couple of months from May onwards.

There's got to be more to life than going through the motions of a job that brings little satisfaction or financial compensation. Thank goodness for the love of Trump and my friends and family... and my love of them... and gadgets.

My latest favourite gadget is a little FM transmitter that makes it possible to listen to an MP3 player through my car's stereo (some people refer to them as iTrips, but iTrips are supposed to be a bit rubbish); a fantastic little device that saved many hours of boredom on the drive to and from Norfolk over the past week.

There's something about Lincolnshire that makes me want to see it flattened, if it's possible to flatten the flattest county in the land. I'd travelled half way across the county on my way back from Norfolk when I looked at the trip clock to see that it had taken me an hour and three quarters to travel all of seventy miles. Lincolnshire's only redeeming feature is its pig farming heritage that brings us some wonderful pork products, the rest of it can be sacrificed as a chemical weapons test site or nuclear reactor for all I care.


Clicky
At the time of year when I really ought to be getting my arse down the gym, I'm actually scared of going because my left knee has developed a rather worrying and uncomfortable click whenever I descend stairs and things. I'm just worried in case it gives way completely while I'm on a treadmill. Let's face it, it's undignified enough as it is without my collapsing in agony.

I'm trying to persuade Trump to take up a bit of exercise with me. We're thinking of hanging out on bikes and doing jumps on the field near her house. I'm sure it would do wonders for our respective credibilities amongst the gangs of local ne'er do wells and car thieves who use the same field to drive stolen cars on before setting fire to them.

Ah well, I won't know whether my knee will hold out unless I give it a go.

Fuck, why did I let myself go?