Vain Pot

I have just returned from a light jog around my estate and I’ve gotta tell you, the pounding of your lungs, the sound of your feet hitting the asphalt, the wind in your face; God, does jogging suck. Some people tell me that jogging is addictive and that I’ll soon grow to like it. Plainly, they must be mad. Jogging, to me, is the single most boring activity on earth. Honestly, I’d have more fun contemplating my own navel – a pursuit which, I have been reliably informed, is known as omphaloskepsis. If I wasn’t such a vain pot, jogging would be about as high on my list of priorities as getting murdered. Unfortunately, I am just such a vain pot. And in my pursuit of abdominals, I have resorted to plodding around twice a week in ugly shoes in the vague hope that, after a couple of hundred kilometres, I will have a midriff that you could crack your skull on. It’ll happen. Eventually. Still, don’t put your helmets on just yet.