I haven't blurbed on about the wonders of nature for ages, so permit me to share with you my delight at encountering a family of foxes during my run today. I use the term 'encountering' lightly - actually, they legged it as I approached, but I had the satisfaction of seeing them tiptoe over a stream on a log and disappear into the undergrowth, brushes twitching in irritation. Next attraction was a stork; not unusual for this area, but I don't often see them at such close quarters.
These wonders were blitzed momentarily from my mind, however, as I jogged past our local lake and, lo and behold, there stood the nightmare of all prudish Brits, a naked man. A naked, OLD, FAT man, and if that were not bad enough, he was staring straight at me, holding his bicycle up with one hand and slowly scratching his private parts with the other. Mortified, I looked in the other direction (hoping he hadn't brought a couple of friends). To his cheery 'Grüß Gott!' all I could manage was 'hi!' through gritted teeth. I mean please. It was four o'clock in the afternoon, a time when most people are decently attired and sipping tea on their balconies. Or coffee, or Jägermeister. But clothed.
I recovered myself quickly and ran on, mildly comforted by the sight of some cows galloping round a field - this spectacle never fails to amuse me, they are so ungainly - and reached our front gate just as the heavens opened and the umpteenth thunderstorm so far this year started with a fanfare. Only time for a few press-ups before I start baking for CG's work sports day tomorrow (aren't they a bit old for that?). In a moment of weakness I agreed to make a giant quiche. As I always say, there's no rest for the wicked. Speaking of which, I hope the old guy is back home by now, in a warm jumper and pair of corduroys, and that his wife gives him a right old rollicking for exhibitionism.
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