GOVERNMENT guidelines allow Britons under lockdown to leave the house to exercise. How can you pack every minute with high-fibre wankerishness?
Whereas most of us knock-kneed mortals are meekly observant of distancing, stepping aside or even crossing the road out of consideration for fellow pedestrians, none of this for the jogger. Visored, ears clamped with headphones pumping out motivational rhythms, they deviate for no weakling, leaving an aerial trail of sweat and mucus as they thunder past.
You see them, but not until it’s too late; a tiny ‘ting’ of their bell to alert you that they are 0.15 seconds away, hurtling round the corner of the tow path, leaving you with little choice but to dive into a hedge or into the canal. But his strong thighs exempt him from the usual rules of courtesy.
32 going on 12, the skateboarder weaves and slaloms along the park pathway, cutting through those two-metre gaps like invisible ribbons. You think they’re gone, but no, up and down the same 20-metre strip they proceed, each time upending their board with a tedious clatter.
The electric scooter kid
What the f**k is this f**ker about? It’s not even exercise. But they’re dressed in full-body lycra gear, elbow and kneepads and helmet, like they’re about to attempt a skydive from the edge of the earth’s atmosphere.
“I’m just stretching my back, officer. It’s yogic.” Yeah, right. For four hours? You’re nicked.