Tuesday, 1 January 2008

Turn of the year

There’s nothing like a forced lay-off from physical activity to give you a good excuse for bodily abuse. My last kick of my last game of football in 2007 not only saw me score a stunning winning goal (watch out for it on Goal of the Month) but also turn my ankle at entirely the wrong angle to my leg.

That kicked my ultra training schedule into touch, and the planned Boxing Day and New Year’s Day runs along with it. Since I’d already booked myself into Punchdrunk’s Masque of the Red Death new year party, I now had no cause for moderation as the wild hedonistic delights of the Battersea Arts Centre took hold.

Two firsts, even for someone who’s led as debauched a life as me – and neither of them had anything to do with the consumption of Class A drugs, honest officer. First, I was chatted up by a gay witch, who only slightly spoilt the full effect by turning up to the event on a mop. And second, I saw in the new year in the company of two naked women who turned up on a white horse. Really. There are things to be said for turning your ankle.

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