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[Previous entry: "Told you so"] [Next entry: "Work, work" ]


17 September 2005

Hah! Ain't that just typical? As soon as I mention the notion of an interruption - without an expectation in my head, no idea of one's actually arriving - here it comes, chuntering down the track with an imperative where-are-you-Chaz? on its steambox.

Specifically, this is the weekend of the Great North Run: a serious-but-cheerful half-marathon from Newcastle to the coast, which numerous of my friends have competed in over the twenty-five years of its existence. This year, clearly, is the anniversary, so more than usual numbers are coming back; and they are not exactly led by but kind of focused on m'friend Chris, who has run every single one of them (and thus qualifies for a red number, and a place among the elite: there's only 150-odd of such veterans, among 30,000-odd runners), so when people start phoning up and saying "come out for a drink with Chris," one kind of tends to go. The only trouble here is that Chris's idea of training for the Great North Run involves turning up Friday lunchtime and going for drinks, and then drinking more all Friday night, all Saturday, and then - barring only the run itself, on Sunday morning - all Sunday too...

Still 'n'all, I wrote another thousand words today, before I let myself be tempted out; and there can't be more than a page or two more to go, before the story's finished. I'll squeeze out the time this weekend, somewhere between the drinks. And meantime, an academic Canadian wants to write about Outremer, in the context of gay & lesbian fantasy fiction; fine by me, I'm just thrilled that someone has noticed...

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© Chaz Brenchley 2005
Reproduced here by permission of Chaz Brenchley, who asserts his moral right to be identified as the author of this work.