Sunday evening. Blog posts written: None . Inspiration stuck fast, like Augustus Gloop in the chocolate pipe,* with barely 400 words written about what happened after that first night in London. Can't even tell if it's a good story or not. * This is not a euphemism Cigarettes smoked: 1 . And I gave up last year. I hate myself just a little bit more, which I've been working hard at not doing. Beers drunk: 2 . Not even enjoyed those. They're colder than the still memorable message from The One; telling me she'd met somebody else; and every bit as welcome. Steps taken today: 19,004 . Good, but ruined by the beer. And the cigarette. Pairs of trainer socks discarded after retreating to the arch of my foot within 50 paces: 2 Pairs of trainer socks discarded in similar circumstances over the last couple of weeks: 5 Pairs of trainer socks remaining in sock drawer: 0 Pairs of normal socks rolled down to the ankle in the hope that I wouldn't lo
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