Hence "The Nettleman" a 'race' held locally, with only one other competitor.
Then the 'other' competitor who was, by all accounts, enjoying the fruits of a new romance first thing, turned up halfway through the bike, promptly broke a spoke on the first incline of the Ballbreaker, then disappeared to the cycle shop.
The Other competitor reappeared an hour and a half later at the start of the run, managing to break off from txting long enough to get under way. We met Isabelle coming down from the bus stop who made fun of the gay sports apparel.
The 13.1 mile run route followed a clearly defined path according to the Ordnance Survey of 1973 possibly 1957, inevitably the 'path' petered out on the banks of the Tay. The run degenerated into a farce involving bare legs, new season nettles, old brambles and getting lost amongst a swamp of bullrushes.
"This river don't go to Aintry.
You boys done took a wrong turn.
See, this here river don't go nowhere near Aintry."
2 comments:
One question remains unresolved. Why did I get 10 times more nettle stings than you? Do my legs have 10 times the surface area, or are you just 10 times more nimble?
Is this about blundering into things ?
As JF once said about someone or something - "With all the grace of a Wart hog..."
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