This rather shamefully puts the scores on the doors to:
K 4 - DNS 3In other news, I started a new job at the beginning of the month, which has kept me off the streets for the majority of time I spend awake; however, work is now much closer to home and allows me to commute by bike or foot - result!
Last night, I heard Hugh Preece-Williams speak about his 50 in 50 challenge earlier this year. Think Eddie Izzard, only more marathons and less eye-liner. Inspiring stuff indeed. Made me think I should HTFU really.
Lucky then that I got home to find a mysterious red cellophane envelope waiting on my doormat.
Now, I've been watching the post like a hawk for the past week or so because, year after year, I have entered the London ballot and, year after year, I have received the "Get Lost, Sucker" edition of the magazine and a "Ha! In Your Face, Loser!" fleece (the reason for the fleece has always baffled me: are you supposed to wear it so that people stop and say "Oh have you run London?"?. That would just make you feel bad. Unless you're a bit of a turd and just lie. Hmmm. See? Baffling).
This funny red plastic bag seemed different this year, so I hurriedly tore it to shreds to find I have the "Hey you! Come and run our great big flippin' marathon!" magazine and a nice acceptance letter, where they had my date of birth wrong (7 days too old. Tsk).
I've always thought these magazines were the stuff of legends, an urban myth, like alligators in sewers and scuba divers in trees. But no, I am in receipt of one this year, like Charlie and his golden ticket (only he can probably run faster and I eat more chocolate). And inside? It's pretty much the blummin' same as the rejection mag. Hey ho, I'm in.
Now I just have to find away of making sure that the nasty DNS doesn't score an equaliser.