Fat Jesus. Not having a good day. Not even slightly, despite the apparent arrival of summer.
First off, I must have slept funny coz I woke up with a stiff neck. Then Mart only goes and tucks into something that looked like it had been stuck to the bottom of someone’s shoe for quite some time. No idea what it was, but watching him made me feel positively ill. I told him to leave it alone. He wouldn’t. Needless to say he threw up shortly afterwards, which only made me feel worse. Then, to top it all, there we were out and about looking for a shady spot when Brixton Del challenges us to a race. Mart rapidly recovers from the breakfast debacle and goes, “Yes please”, and before I know it, we’re off.
Del’s clearly been upping the fitness levels in private. He cleaned up. Out of order. Kid you not. Brixton Del. Couldn’t believe it. Gutted.
Here we are in the early stages. Me nearest the cam, Mart in the middle panting like a twat, and Del pulling a crafty winner on the outside:
What pissed me off the most was his post-win strut shouting, “Eh, el champione, el champione” in some fake and frankly shit Italian accent.
Probably won’t be seeing him for a while.
As well as focusing on my personal fitness issues, I’m also thinking of changing my look. So not up for the ‘Ooooh, don’t you two look alike, you boys. Are you related?’
Related, my arse.
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