So this morning, I look across The Common. It still had a good smattering of icy snow, not like the dense duvet-like stuff from earlier in the week, no it was dotted about, just enough so that a walker could see if a dog turd lay on the grass.
Whilst surveying this green and pleasant patch, I saw a mad man.
A fellow dressed in tracksuit bottoms and woolly hat was jogging about whilst punching the freezing cold air. He wasn't even doing this in a discreet manner, he was along the path merely yards from Plumstead Common Road - at rush hour!!!!
Care in the community (doesn't exist - ed.), or the next welter-weight champion of Welling? He was there for quite some time, jogging about, punching the air, dancing around trees and shadow boxing with them. The highlight of his display were his under-whelming high kicks. He'd stick out his hand at high level and kick his legs up. His feet came nowhere near his hand and I'm sure his legs should be straight too; Steven Segal's legs were straight when he demonstrated that he's much more than a chef in that seminal classic, Under Siege.