The day approaches…

Sorry to sound a bit like a broken record (that saying's a bit passe these days, isn't it...? How about "sorry to sound a bit like a corrupted mp3?"), but I'm going to talk about the run again. It's tomorrow, y'see.

After a day of doing nothing but visit Sainsburys (where I bought far more than the bottle of milk I initially stopped in for), hoovering (look - I'm domesticated! To be honest, even I was a tad disgusted at the amount of dust that was accumulating; I'd actually begun telling people I had a new shag-pile carpet), and lolling about in bed, I feel about as ready as I'm ever going to be. And before anyone says "lazy arse - you should've been out for some last minute practise," Sweatband told me to have a rest day.

So the iPod is loaded, and on Simon's brotherly advice I'm currently "hydrating" myself. And as I'm a little addicted to Cranberry and Raspberry juice at the moment, if nothing else it'll leave my urinary tract as clean as a whistle. I'm also watching Invasion Iowa, and I just heard William Shatner shout "hit me with that penis!" That man never ceases to amaze and surprise me.

Anyway, all that's left to do is attach my number to my vest, get a good night's kip, and try not to die tomorrow. Hopefully I'll be able to post tomorrow about how I've got on (Ooo! I hope I get a medal!) - although if anyone finds a handsome dead person bearing the number 74 in Richmond-Upon-Thames, please shoo the vultures away - ta in advance.