Yo! It’s me…famous but very nervous broadcaster (well it made me laugh out loud!). Here’s the link to my stint on the radio today although it wasn’t all that impressive. Nerves and I mean, real nerves, shaking hands, sweaty arse, perspiring lip, nerves kicked in quite badly the minute I got to the studio.
Not like me. Not like me at all really, although I have been somewhat under the weather since the weekend so I’m going to happily blame my giggly nervousness on that. (This is the part where everyone assumes Scotty Boy has knocked me up. I have to quash this immediately and would like to remind everyone of the copious amounts of raw alcohol I consumed over the weekend.)
And it fears me much to admit but I probably sounded like a complete weirdo live on the BBC today. Boo hoo. But that’s enough of the wallowing. I’ve got to concentrate on diary entries via the microphone, after I’ve run, for some future work. HOLY SHIT! Even more sounding like a weirdo live for the nation. GO HANNAH!
Anyway, I haven’t run today but I really wanted to. And I’m not just saying that because there was no way I could afford the time to run today, I have actually driven past joggers/runners in their snazzy waterproofs and really wanted to be out there in my daps, in the rain.
Funny how it gets to you, ey?
Anyway, tomorrows another day and if I’m going back to the plan (Am I? aren’t I?) I’m due a nice little four miles tomorrow, which quite frankly, sounds like a piece of piss given my adventures on Saturday. Piece of piss minus the geese that is.
I do have to comment on the weather at this point, or I have to comment on the weather warnings, that’s more apt. The blackberry has warned me on several occasions today that the weather is looking particularly grim over the next few days. By grim I mean its bollocking cows and sheep over Wales. (Dogs and cats just don’t cut the type of rain we’re getting at the moment.) So, my haste for pounding the pavement tomorrow could very well be cut short due to drowning!
‘I’m so sorry Mrs Evans.’ The paramedic will tell my mother, ‘There was very little we could do given the depth of water Hannah fell into.’ My mother howls, cursing Merthyr Tydfil’s puddles and Scott is overly concerned that he’ll have to pair his own socks from now on. The funeral will include ‘Keep on Running’ and everyone will drink Guinness. And they can play the disaster that was the BBC recording of my radio interview.
Anyway, I really have had enough of wallowing now and would like to get back on track.
So, four miles in the rain tomorrow. Cool. I’m thinking I’ll run to Cyfartha Park, say hi to the ducks, run round the pond twice and then home. That’s a perfect four miles, that’s a perfect run in the rain, which will be the perfect start to my Wednesday.
Off to lick more wounds now.
Not literally.
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