An email plopped into the inbox at DAL Towers
earlier today, from London 2012. “At last!”, I swiftly and prematurely
concluded; my application for The Olympic Sports Collective of Great Britain
and Northern Ireland (I
refuse to call them “T*am GB”) had reached my friend Sebastian, and
he had responded to let me know that yes, I’d been accepted for the
position of Running Man.
Sadly upon further inspection, all but a millisecond later, I
realised that the subject matter appeared to be “Thirsty For More?”.
Having just polished off the third of four mid-morning liveners, and having
unscrewed the fourth ready for a jolly good eyeballing, I then assumed it to be
Sebastian offering me an exciting cut-price offer for some form of delicious
hooch-booze in a bottle.
Sadly sadly upon further further inspection it wasn’t
Sebastian at all, and I would have to wait another few hours for the delightful
clink of bottleneck-‘gainst-lens. It was in fact an underling –
possibly his Squire or a minor baronet – asking me if I was thirsty for
more gulps from the drinking bottle of inspiration, in the comfort of my own leafy locale. Whilst initially disappointing, I took a moment away from pounding the
side of the nearby bookie’s window with rage to reflect that at one
point during that Glorious Summer Of Sport, I actually responded to an advertisement
displayed on the television in the gap between ITV News and ITV Central News
and asked HM Government to make me Fit For Life. They'd said they could, provided I could Change 4 Life (because 4 sounds like fore, geddit?)
This was no ordinary call-to-arms; it was an insistence that
yes, there is more to life than watching ITV News and ITV Central News. Go out
there and fling a Frisbee! Frolic in the sunshine! Get a dog! It provoked some
deep soul-searching, and made one wonder if indeed following the C4L programme
could:
-
Prevent the plasticine around my
midriff literally turning into a Continental 185/60R14, with actual tread
detail?
-
Abort the truckloads of white-tac
currently hurtling towards my ailing ticker along the little rubbery corridors?
-
Turn me into a smiling orange clay
man?
-
Sufficiently please the omniscient
cockney voiceover man, and prevent him from poking me in the side and randomly stealing
the dinner from my plate?
-
Get me a dog?
Being, at heart, a man of science, instead of actually standing
up and launching into the programme, it was the opinion of the DAL editorial
staff that an experiment would be more suitable. And therefore, instead of
actually completing any of the activities suggested it will be up to the
applicant, Zeus Blitzkrieg, to complete the tasks and compare the successes, failures,
and crisitunities befalling him compared to The Control (i.e. the author) who
will continue to exist as if walking up two flights of stairs whilst eating some
raw broccoli was a madman’s fevered dream.
