North America

It Was One of Those Days

It really was. The kinds you hold to the bosom and say, ‘Oh please do stay, for another day.’ I was indulging in a spot of self-pity which has the tendency to spread itself out like a dab of ink on blotting paper, you know, so I decided to kick it and head out for a run. The legs were a bit wobbly — was it the DayQuil I wondered. It is this medicine that is less potent than its night version, NyQuil, which knocks you out within one hour of popping it in. I trudged even on plain ground and when I ran up and down the gentle slopes I wanted to flop down on the grass with the sprightly squirrels. Naturally I took breaks in between because you have got to listen to the body after all. Yet it was a long run and it feels good now that I am back home, sipping on red wine to welcome Friday the right way, with fairy lights and Diane Lane on the telly.

There were dogs resting with their masters on benches along the river, a boxer who had done a good deal of walking up and down the hills because I ran past him twice, and then a labrador who demanded a cuddle. I had to hold myself back. It’s difficult business being a dog stalker. One little fella tried dragging his owner to a little enclosure where dogs are allowed to go crazy. But the man resisted because he was enjoying his smoke and he knelt and said something to him. I wanted to bop the man on his bald head. He held the poor thing back with all his might. Also, I wondered why they do need to have an enclosure for dogs in a huge park. Should they not be allowed the run of the entire park just like us all?

At one point as I was photographing the sight of the dreamy blue water gleaming across the park, I noticed a chubby squirrel chomping away. But he was watching me and he straightened up on his legs just like a meerkat does when he notices you. I decided to stay away and zoom in as always. Foodies are not to be disturbed in their serious quest for happiness, right?

The perfect end to the run was a cup of cappuccino which was just right. Not too hot, not too strong, for you know there is science to serving the perfect cappuccino. I could write reams upon it but I shall curb such alarming notions and just tell you that it was chased up by a flaming sunset and leaves collected in the fading light of it.

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Hit me up, buttercup

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