hot water in the house
We are once again blessed with the modern miracle of running hot water; that was the hardest ten minutes of my entire life today, though I did get a bit of a steam burn while handling some culture media in the laboratory. Ouch. I think I enjoyed it.
Be happy, but how, when I have taken receipt of the disheartening application forms for the London Marathon? You see, the space to applicant ratio is terrible - only 1 out of 4 applicants is successful, which means the likelihood of getting a place is truly abysmal. That's not to say that all the training you put in is for nought, as it contributes aplenty to your good health, but it's such a shame that something so momentous should be so easily removed from reach. I'll put my piece in tomorrow, all the same, and hope for the best.
Mmm, chicken kievs are the bomb. Food... drool. It might be an idea to shove some great recipes on here for the good of mankind. Especially if those recipes include the most orgasmic, rich and mightily scrummy of chocolate crèmes in all the oxygen-breathing regions of the galaxy. I love cooking; Nigella can eat my scraps.
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Watch out...Nigella just might!
So, hypothetically speaking, there are people in your country that are _disappointed_ that they won't have the chance to abuse their shins, sweat themselves into dehydration, and spend a day wheezing and spitting blood running for 26 miles when they could be shopping for Jimmy Choo shoes and drinking hard lemonades on an outdoor patio with an equally beautiful person?
Boggle boggle
What is it with runners, anyway? Have you no sense that you can travel faster in a car?
It has been hard to judge the rational ever since my lobotomy, and while I do enjoy lemonades, beautiful people and shopping (Jimmy Choo doesn't really suit me - at least, the high heels don't), I like a little pain every now and again. To quote myself, "It looks intimidating, but I'm already doing seven miles, three times a week, so if I can train up to doing fifteen miles comfortably, that is apparently enough, as the rest is all based on adrenaline, will power, pride, stubborness (latter applies here, methinks; I have gallons of it to spare), mild marathon-day delirium, low blood sugar, heat stroke, the intense desire for a shower, and of course the mighty pleasant sensation of especially salty sweat on a chafing groin. Ah well, fingers crossed; who could turn their nose up at being able to experience such sensuality?" ... it's obviously juvenile-onset dementia.