Never trust a man in a shell suit

I was being a bit slow this morning – in more ways than one, as Liz and I headed off on our morning run. So, of course, I was wearing tracksuit bottoms, and at the weekend I had bought a black windproof top with a hood, which I was sporting as we headed out of the village. We were jogging past one of the outposts of the Royal Agricultural College just as a carload of ruddy-faced students drove out. Winding down the window, one of them cried – in a friendly enough way I should add – “I assume you’re running!” I responded with in a suitably nondescript manner and we went our separate ways.

It was only ten minutes later when I realised the alternative – horror of horrors – was that I had actually chosen to be dressed like that. With some relief the rain hit and I managed to muddy myself up enough to justify my purchase. Oh well.

Never trust a man in a shell suit

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