This week, readers, two miracles have occurred. As things always come in threes when they are bad things, I do not see why the same rule would not apply to good things too, therefore I am confidently expecting Miracle Number Three. What might it be? Will elves come and deal with the garden while I am sleeping? Will someone push an anonymous donation of a £50 John Lewis voucher and a slender Alice Starmore volume through the letterbox? Will Vogue ring and beg me to do a regular column for huge remuneration which just involves criticising things? I am quite agog. These are the existing miracles.
|Holes that line up miraculously|
You have to understand how bad I am at running. I am so bad, when I was at infant school, I was once so long finishing the egg and spoon race that they couldn’t wait any longer and they had to start the next race behind me. And I didn’t even win that one. However, rather tragically, I would like to be a good runner. I see myself, slicing silently through urban environments like an elegant blade in my Primark tracky bottoms. Therefore I have been chugging away at Couch to 5k for longer than I am going to admit, and yesterday, I had a breakthrough and I ran for 10 minutes. 10 minutes! This is 20 times as long as I could run when I started! This is a proper distance, where you can run round the corner before the dog walkers you have passed see you collapse! This is unprecedented, and I almost feel like doing a version of Father Ted’s Twats and Liars speech: ‘well, Mrs X who said I would never be an athlete after the egg and spoon debacle, very much has egg on her face now that at the age of 36 I have managed to run for 10 minutes! Consecutively!’.
What will happen next? The rules are being entirely rewritten.