(no subject)
Went into town yesterday evening for Pete's birthday drinks. At the Windsor Castle, a charmingly old-fashioned and cosy wood-pannelled warren, marred only by a clientele of cool young people. Place like that shouldn't be trendy. Should be the drinking den of retired pirates, jovial Dickensian gentlemen and salt-of-the-earth working men played by John Mills. Was a good gathering, though I did feel a bit out of place when the conversation turned to marathons and half marathons, and everyone's times for the above and training plans for their next ones. Then on the train home, four people got on at Clapham Junction and squashed me into my corner seat - while talking loudly about their marathons. Apparently I was the only fat, slow-moving guy in London last night.