I like to run. When I started running semi-seriously, I would go out in the evening for a couple of miles of huffing and puffing – sometimes alone, sometimes with friends. I usually ran two or three times a week, and (this is an estimate because I never kept a diary of it) once or twice a fortnight my run would be attended by some form of moronic heckling.
Sometimes, that meant a car horn beeping as the vehicle came up behind me. Sometimes, a driver or a passer-by shouting something leery or critical. Bizarrely, a pizza delivery moped once made two circuits of the park so the kid riding it could bark – proper, gutteral dog barks – at me and the friends I was running with. Continue reading