on becoming a grumpy old man

Pic caption: A vision of the not too distant future.

The novelty of working in the 'virtual office' is clearly wearing thin as I am becoming more and more annoyed at the fools I have to suffer around me.

And the fact I have to keep buying lunch and coffees at various venues in order to justify sitting in there and using their wi-fi is making this all quite expensive. Perhaps I should send my bills to Orange and get them to reimburse me for every day that some nerk has failed to flick a switch and give me my broadband back.

I made the mistake of ordering an orange juice and lemonade yesterday and for the first time in my life retorted 'how much?!', when the child behind the bar informed me it was £3.10. Then, just like my dad would say, I mumbled 'could've had a pint of lager for that' as if making the point would result in the barman realising how overpriced a simple soft beverage is these days and charge me less. He just looked at me and said: "Yes, you could've".

I think it says more about the number of times I've ever ordered orange juice in a bar than the pricing structure at the particular establishment.

I think I am bit more reactionary these days. I was sat at the junction at the top of Blackboy Hill last night, on my way to meet Marc for a run, when the passenger in a 4x4 going past me started waving frantically. My immediate reaction was to scowl angrily and gesture dramatically that I had done nothing wrong, what the hell was her problem? I then realised it was a friend of mine and she was merely waving to say hello and all she got in return was a load of silent verbal from me. Perhaps I shouldn't always assume the worst.

Today I discovered one of the most annoying things about having to work in public places is the amount of silly young ladies, and boys, almost always students, who are engaged in the most inane and fatuous conversations, punctuated with shrill giggling and noisy exclamations. Whatever happened to furious political debates or plotting the downfall of the capitalist regime over a few pints of very worth lager. Jeremy Kyle and the best websites to nick essays from seem to be the topics these days. How dare they sit there having a good time, being young and beautiful and disturbing my peace by laughing so much? Don't they know the world is is full of pain and misery and people who don't pay you for work you did weeks ago!

Of course I'm just jealous and bitter about not being 20 and taught any more.

Apologies to any students who may read this, no real offence meant, I was almost certainly as much, if not more of a tw&t when I was a student. I just choose to conveniently forget that as I start my descent into early middle age.

Of course my girlfriend likes to remind that far from beginning my slide towards becoming a grumpy old man, I propelled myself headlong and arrived at Grumpsville some time ago.

But what the hell does this have to do with running?

Well, I weighed myself unofficially this morning and appear to be slipping under the 17st mark now and was 16st 12lbs. I'm pleased with that.

This followed a two mile run around Clifton Downs last night with Marc and Sarah, a friend who is only an honorary member of the Fat Bastards' Running Club, on account of not being fat, or quite obviously a bloke, or indeed a bastard.

It was still pretty hot but we managed a lap of the Downs, about 35 mins, and only a couple of stops on the way.

I'm still not feeling totally sorted after the move, the flat is still chaos, although less so, and somehow it affects my mental state as well.

Which is why I rewarded myself with a plate of seafood pasta, with half fat creme fraiche and chopped chives. Which is fine but it was followed by a couple of double chocolate cookies, I couldn't resist.

This morning I had a banana, and two more cookies for breakfast, but have been quite good for lunch with a hot chorizo and new potato salad on a bed of rocket and red onion, at the Prom.

Very nice, if a little heavy on the balsamic vinegar.

Tonight could be tricky though. Think we may be headed towards a take out from Rocco's, the Italian restaurant which does take away, which is just perfect. The excuse it that we still have lots of sorting to do in the flat, so can't really get to the cooker.

But I am planning a five mile run tomorrow, so really I need those pasta carbs.