A Foxy Running Tail
I mainly run at night these days. I like the solitude it brings and running in the cooler temperatures is much easier for me.
Tonight I ran around Motspur Park at just before midnight. The media tries to make London out as a very dangerous place but I’ve never had any problems apart from arseholes calling me fatty. I can handle that. I just try to keep myself to myself as much as possible.
I tend to encounter foxes a lot and I try to get them to come over to me when I see them. This backfired somewhat this evening. I heard one in a bush and I called it. I don’t know whether it was my B.O or my heavy breathing but the fucking thing looked at me and BOLTED in terror across the road into this garden where a lady was unpacking shit from her car.
I heard this loud scream and someone or something DROPPED. I hope it was her shopping or an exercise bike and not her otherwise I’m a wanted man tonight in South West London. I had to stop because I was laughing so hard.
That woman will no doubt be wondering what the fuck shook the fear of Christ into that ginger feral half-mutt that came screaming into her garden tonight. If she’s dead, I’m sorry I killed you. It wasn’t intentional. Foxes can’t be classified as weapons. Unless you actually pick one up and throw it. Then you’re just a cunt. Or a fox hunter. Therefore a cunt.