Seventeen, Eighteen

The school that I teach at on Saturdays has started its mid-term break (the others start theirs a week later) so instead of lugging my inertia- and gravity-bound self to work in the morning at half-six, I was free to run today. On Thursday work and life overspilled into the time allocated for running, and I didn't get a chance to make it out the door, so I wanted to make up for that this morning. I was hoping to run for slightly longer, but only managed 5 miles at Pig Pace (that's 8 mins/mile for you). My trotters refused to go any faster. I didn't really feel comfortable until about mile 4.5. It was almost as if with the extra break from running, I'd forgotten how to run.

Anyway, slightly disappointed, I put on the household apron, became the good Hogs-band and gave the Pig Pen the spruce-over, then headed out again for 20 minutes and did the loop in 11:20. 6:45 mins/mile. That's more worthy of a snout.

Britain's ex-foreign secretary caused a stir last week when he suggested that Muslim women remove their face veil. Jack Straw wrote that a veil was "a visible statement of separation and difference" and that he was more comfortable dealing with female visitors to his local political office with their faces uncovered. I've got half a mind to write to him and tell him I don't feel uncomfortable or threatened by niqab-clad women. The only people I feel discomfort at are boys that wear hoodies and have their trackpants pulled down to mid-thigh so we can all see their boxer shorts, and who waddle from side to side like a drunken Emperor penguin. Any boy who wants to dress like a male J-Lo is a seriously dangerous looney. I'm familiar with the term "muffin top", but I'm not sure I've heard of one for men that dress like that. What should we call them? Ma-Los?