After boxing last week I was walking up Winthrop Street when I felt compelled to ask this question of a gaunt, pale skinned and dark eyed woman walking towards me. What's that about? I didn't ask of course but what sort of person even thinks that sort of question let alone asks them? A temporary blip you may say but at the next junction I was walking past an opticians and saw through the window a young woman trying on a pair of glasses with someone who looked like her Mum. My instinct was to tap on the window, point at her and laugh. Not the actions of a nice person.
One might think that I'm coursing with testosterone after a few hours of boxing but I'm actually spent afterwards and need a few moments to focus on which way to go and how to walk. Maybe that's the problem, my usual temperance is worn ragged by the press-ups, sit-ups and all the rest of it.
Maybe it's a creeping grumpiness which will see me swearing at imaginary companions and punching underground posters in years to come.
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