7:56 p.m. - 2006-10-17
I was in a pub on North Road in Durham. I bought a pint and walked across the road to the bus station, where the timetable said that my bus was leaving in five minutes. I decided that I'd walk down to the next stop instead of waiting around, so I strolled away down the road, sipping at my drink as I went. I seemed to know a lot of people on the street since I kept stopping to say hello and exchange a few words with various individuals and groups, and I was getting a bit anxious that I might not finish my pint in time for the bus, but I got to the bus stop in good time and sat down on a bench by the roundabout. Then I heard the sound of a police siren, and saw a strangely futuristic looking bike headed across the bridge towards me, which I assumed was pursuing a vehicle, but the rider stopped in front of me and I realised then that I was in some kind of serious trouble for stealing the pint glass..........end of dream. I woke up, looked at my watch, 4.45 a.m., and realised it was time to go out for a run. A run? A fucking run???? I don't run. I don't run because it's boring and miserable and always feels like a chore. I used to cycle a lot, and I was as fit as a streamlined fiddle with go-faster stripes. I had a pulse rate so slow you could scarcely count it, I was Mr Stamina, but that was 'used to', strictly past tense. I'm a 'used to' kind of bloke. Even when I was healthy though, I hated running, as all right-minded persons should. But I found myself at just after 5 in the morning doing a few basic stretches and going out for A RUN in THE RAIN, with no idea why. I hadn't thought of it the night before, but in some way it felt like it was linked to the dream I had. Of course, it was hard work. I had jelly legs, chest pains and a strong desire to puke after about half a mile, but after a bit of a rest / a near-death experience, I finished a fairly easy circuit. And that's it.