A miserable time had by all

Runners. God, they're everywhere. Jog jog, wheeze wheeze, wobble wobble, pant pant. Often they come singly, sometimes in twos, occasionally in their numbers. Wouldn't it be marvellous if all the flat-footed fools fell down a hole?

The only redeeming feature is that they all look as if they're having such a horrible time. Ruddy-faced rictuses point at the very least to considerable discomfort and, in extreme cases, to what seems to be a right here right now near death experience.

Is there, though, some element of showing off, particularly among gentlemen of more mature years who should have enough decorum to know that displaying their stringy limbs in public is quite revolting? Put on your coat and trousers, sir, and walk upright.

The younger ones are certainly showing off, especially if they're wearing make-up and going slowly enough to avoid working up a sweat. They'd no doubt argue that they're just giving their smugness muscles a work-out during the lunch break - but why can't they do it at home in the evening where no one can see? Maybe it's something to do with the Daily Mail and the sort of keep-fit fascism it propagates.