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Why did I run? I can’t run. I’m no built for it. I was wearing hiking boots for fucks sake. The irony of running with roll & sausage-in-hand. The irony of running to catch the adverts. I hate the adverts. I hate that the last thing I see before every film is a Kia advert. ‘Supporting independent cinema’, echoing, battling with the dialogue in the theatre. ‘I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse: a sensible family car that can be generously financed.’

‘There’s no place like the wonderful everyday.’

‘I wish I knew how to quit you. When the fun  stops, stop.’

I don‘t think we have long before this cross-contamination of experience. pizza hut - emblazoned wacky inflatable arm-flailing tube man dancing in front of Mr. Potter.