Given that it feels like several farmyard animals have deposited the contents of their bowels in my head*, it’s probably not the best morning to go jogging.
But for some reason, I wake up with an irrepressible urge to don my white trainers and gallop around Clissold Park. This is the most idiotic urge I’ve ever had. On arriving at the park, I hobble fifteen yards and am promptly sick on the fence of a deer sanctuary.
Time for a hair of the dog, methinks.
* It’s a good job the animals didn’t deposit their vowels. Otherwise they’d be frmyrd nmls