^ The awful truth that I'm forced to accept on a daily basis.
Being massively unfit, it’s surprising that I actually like to walk quickly across the streets. Although I puff and wheeze with every pathetic flail of my legs, my brain thinks “The faster I walk, the sooner I can sit down”. Perfect logic. And yet, in London at least, every other person on the street walks about as fast as a turtle who has had one of their legs removed. There is no pavement etiquette, as swathes of slow walkers walk alongside each other in blockading rows of inconvenience. They’re not even necessarily people who know each other – rather they’re just pulled together by a desire to not walk at a pace considered normal. And any attempt to weave between these nightmarishly bipedal snails makes me feel like I’m in an incredibly slow version of the game Paperboy, trying to avoid blocky 8 bit obstacles.
Consider this entry a warning: if you walk slowly in front of me, I’m probably going to snap and punch you in the back of the head.