PDA (Public Displays of Affection)

Being single – and I’m sure other singletons agree – that there is nothing worse than PDA.

Don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with holding hands on the street. A cuddle in the park is also fine in my books. Even kissing on the tube is alright.

But dry humping near Oxford Circus station at rush hour is enough to make anyone feel queasy.

I’m leaving work with my colleague and as we round the corner to the tube station the resident homeless fella (which I have nicknamed Rufus – I don’t know why…he kind of looks like a Rufus) is leaning against the wall opposite.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see that his hips are thrusting but as he’s usually drunk at this time I just blame on Stella.

But on closer inspection his girlfriend (who I call Jane. Don’t ask) has her legs wrapped his waist and is enthusiastically bucking up against him.

All this at 5.30pm on a weekday – what’s more no-else seems to mind, or perhaps care, as they continue their daily dash out of the City.

My colleague, who was also been looking on chuckles and says “Jealous?”

I don’t even dignify it with a response.

The Nike Human Race

On Sunday I ran 10km.

I don’t know how I managed it but I did it.

About six weeks ago my housemate charitably entered me into the Human Race - 10km of sheer hell for the Lance Armstrong Foundation.

Its not that I’m not charity minded but my first answer was no. I’d rather donate the money than kill myself pretending to be a long-distance runner.

In truth I did it for my housemate. He had two decades in friendship in the bank and I didn’t want to let him down, so in exchange for some running shoes I reluctantly agreed.

As part of my strenuous training regime, which only began three weeks before the start of the race, I cut back to two cigarettes a day and had take-away only twice a week.

Also I thought it would be wise if I began to run.

So every day for the last three weeks (apart from the mornings when I couldn’t get out of bed) I went for a 2k run and by Sunday it was the furthest I had ever run without coughing up my insides.

But I ran around the streets of Wembley without stopping.

I didn’t care that old men, pregnant women and one-legged midgets all sprinted past me, I was intent on achieving something for men of my ilk.

So I dedicate my time of 73 minutes (and my Nike Run T-Shirt) to all other overweight, out of shape, nicotine addicted men roped into a cause they never wanted to be a part of.

If I can do it anyone can.

My race result (http://nikeplus.nike.com/nikeplus/humanrace/leaderboard.jsp) 166,000 out of 1.1m worldwide.

Are you really that hungry?

A couple of Sundays ago I was out in North London with my flatmate, his girlfriend and his brother and on the way back we decided to pick up something quick for dinner.

We’re walking to the bus stop when my housemate points and says ‘Waitrose’ - already I’m prepared for the worst.

I never feel comfortable in that place. They should have pictures of Jeremy Clarkson outside with a sign saying ‘You have to be at least this middle-class to enter'.

Not wanting to be the nay-sayer I agree and we begin wandering around looking for the basics for a lazy Sunday lunch so I amble over to the rotisserie chicken counter.

As a basic rule I am less and less surprised by what I see in supermarkets these days. Living in London anything goes in the local Safeway.

A sight I see more often than others is children eating.

Mothers too weary to fight with their nippers give up and let their child eat a packet of crisps as they walk round the store, presenting the empty bag to an annoyed cashier at the till to pay for it.

So – with that in mind - I’m waiting for my lemon and garlic whole chicken when a man sidles up to the counter next to me struggling to open a large box.

I turn my head to see what he’s doing just as he begins to sink his teeth into a Waitrose family size quiche.

I know that food shopping on an empty stomach is a bad idea but are you really that hungry?

Just an average European nation

British sport officially died in London on November 25th 1953.

Prior to England’s football match with Hungary they had not lost a match against a team outside the British Isles at Wembley since 1901.

The visitors won 6-3 and, after such a loss, you would have thought that the misplaced belief of England’s tactical and physical superiority would have died that day too.

But it didn’t. More than 50 years on the ‘Rule Britannia’ mentality still lives on – and it is rife in almost all sports.

If we really that great we would surely have more than one football and one rugby world title to show for it.

And with the Olympic games just days away there is talk of Britain bringing home a record medal haul.

Aside from the talents of Colin Jackson, Sally Gunnell and Linford Christie there has been very few world class British athletes to shout about in the last 15 years.

Like most people I’m sick of pretending to be interested in rowing or the ‘brave’ efforts of Paula Radcliffe – who will probably quit again if she can’t make the podium.

For the first time in half a century let’s be honest about our prospects.

We won’t win the World cup.

We won’t win the Ashes

And we won’t bring home a sackful of gold medals.

It’s about time we accepted our true place in the sporting world as an average European nation and not a global superpower.

People watching…because humans do the strangest things

The Vikings

I’m on the tube with my brother and we’re coming back from watching the Emirates Cup. I’m happy that we’ve got seats until he reminds that we’ve just lost to Juventus and I put my stern face back on.

I remind him that we need to change at Holborn so we amble towards the doors. As the train pulls into the station we notice three girls dressed as Vikings complete with horn hats and extra small Scandinavian smocks (which I doubt were ever worn during that era).

My brother tells me that it must be a hen party, we both shake our heads and tut and such behaviour. As we get off the train I sneakily crane my head to get another look until my I receive a sharp brotherly nudge in the ribs for being so obvious.

As I walk up the platform I notice two older women sitting on a bench on the platform talking in quiet hushed tones.

As we approach, I realise they are also staring at the three Norse woman but for quite different reasons.

The train finishes pulling out of the station, the women’s whispers suddenly become audible. Without warning the lead Viking drops her purse and spins around to pick it up.

We’re all caught red-handed.

Thinking they’ve been caught bitching about strangers the waiting women begin to grin guiltily.

I pretend that the green laces of my Adidas are the most interest things I have ever seen.

Meanwhile, my brother struggles to contain his laughter…

The non-awaited return of the world’s least read blog

Those of you who thought that I had given up on blogging due to popular demand were sadly mistaken.

I have not grown tired of ranting or having a pop at the US – I just moved house and have been without the internet.

And now I’m back online I’m ready to take aim at things that have been annoying me in my absence – namely parents with pushchairs.

Ok, you’ve got children! We get it! It doesn’t mean that you can run your prams into the back of my legs when I’m trying to get into work.

Also, I’m trying to get out of the way - so don’t tut and roll your eyes when I don’t move at the speed the of light when you wnat to get past.

But the worst is pushchairs at rush hour. Unless you need to move your children during 9am or 5pm teach them to walk. What’s wrong with travelling between the hours of 10 and 4 anyway – everyone’s a winner.

Glad I go that off my chest.

People watching (Amusing things that you’ve missed in my absence)

My estate agent revealing that his hand was bandaged because a cat bit him.

A tourist with a cigarette asking a confused native if he had any ‘fire’ on him.

An angry mother in a Chinatown cake shop threatening to beat her hyperactive children ‘in every way possible’ (you had to be there!)

A man tiptoeing on a chair to fix an air conditioning unit and saying to his colleague ‘safety first’.

A grown woman crossing her arms and stomping her feet at her disobedient husband in Asda – and him promptly walking in the opposite direction pretending not to know her.

Too little too late for Olympic protestors

Citizens of some of the world's biggest cities have been out in the streets over the past few days in protest of the China's Olympics.

There has been global outrage as the Beijing parade marches on to its final destination but are all of the protestors genuine?

It cannot be denied that China has one of the worst human rights records on the planet but where were the protestors back in 2001 when Beijing was chosen as the host city?

The world's leading governments saw an opportunity to gain investment in one of the up and coming superpowers and couldn't resist.

When the decision was made I can't remember people taking to the streets by the hundreds.

The real nub of the issue is that too many people get behind a cause because they believe it is the right thing to do, not because they actually believe in the cause itself.

And that makes a mockery of the whole notion of protest itself.