I ran a 23 minute 5k yesterday (3.1 miles). It equates to a 7:30 mile pace.

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Driving back from the comedy club on Monday night, I passed a building called the ‘Kolache Factory’. Kolaches, for those even less knowledgeable than me are sweet pastry rolls filled with savory or sweet stuff. They started out in Czechoslovakia, which used to be a country, and and are pretty popular in Texas. The Kolache Factory of Austin produces millions of Kolaches every day and provides employment for hundreds of former Communist orphans who would otherwise be destitute.*

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Why do I always get out of the way? Ok, I don’t weigh 300 pounds, and that’s a good thing, but does it mean I should step into the gutter just so that a bunch of drunken twittering girls linking arms, oblivious to anyone else, can go past? Or that I should manoeuvre my shopping basket around the idiots that have stopped in the supermarket aisle to have some inane conversation with their pals from the golf course. Yes, I am pretty good at manouvering around people and other obstacles, it comes from living in London. I’d have probably made a great agility dog. But London was always so crowded that it was easy to get revenge if someone pushed you or got in your way. A punch in the back or a kick on the shins is easy on a crowded tube train or when jamming through a group of French exchange students.

That’s not so easy here. Sometimes when I see someone headed towards me that’s making no effort to allow me room to pass, I square up my shoulders and flex my imaginary bicep and it becomes a game of chicken. But I just end up bruised. Whacked in the face by a backpack, or a real bicep. And then I apologise, while mentally pulping their pig-ugly face.

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Did shows at The Velveeta Room last night. Before the start of the show I was bragging to another comic about my trapeze exploits and how brilliant it all was.

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… and sort of do it anyway.

I did my first trapeze class on Saturday. It was terrifying, in a terrifying kind of way.

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I remember when I first heard Erik play the guitar. We were sitting in the living room of his incredibly spacious flat in Belgravia, a few nights after we got together at the AOL staff party. By this point, half my toiletries were already in his oversized bathroom and I was mentally packing up my flat in West Hampstead and getting ready to move in.

He started playing ‘if we never meet again’ by Jules Shear and I sat and watched him and drank wine. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier. I know, it sounds a bit kumbayah-ish and maybe it was, but it beat sitting around at my place listening to my neighbour’s TV on at full blast or drinking Ernest & Julio Gallo with my sexually dysfunctional pretend-friend Stella.

That was over 9 years ago. Erik doesn’t pick up the guitar as much as he used to, but he did this afternoon and he played me the same song. He does know lots of other ones, but it was at my request. It was just a wonderful ‘take you back’ moment and it hit me with an overwhelming sense of love. And a bit of a hankering for that old flat.

I’m just off to skin and boil a rabbit.

Not really, but this was becoming a little nauseating. So tonight we’re going out to dinner, it’s a fancy one because we’re celebrating my birthday. Actually we’re celebrating my last two birthday’s, because I was too grumpy to do so on the actual day. I’ve starved myself for the last 3 hours in preparation. I’ll be wearing a dress. And possibly some make-up.

I’ve just started a new training program with a local group called CrossFit. I was doing the CrossFit bootcamp for a while, which was as much fun as working out at 5.30am can be. This program is in the new Crossfit gym and I’m one of the pioneers, which makes it sound more dramatic than just being one of the first people to pay the monthly fee and turn up 3 times a week.

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Driving back from my morning excursion to the park with my dog Storm, I was stopped at the lights at the intersection of 5th street and Lamar. Not sure why I’m writing in the style of court testimony, but I’ll cease now, or cessate. Which isn’t a proper word. The corner of 5th and Lamar is a popular location for homeless beggary types and sometimes attracts the more creative ones. Like the amputee holding the sign saying ‘Just need a leg-up’.

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Ran the 3M half marathon last Sunday. Just got the photos from the official photographer, who captured my race brilliantly.

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My nemesis, Maggie Gallant, is at it again. Today I got an email from a producer wanting to talk to me about my views on cowboy boots for a film she’s making. Apparently she had read my great quotes on cowboy boots in the Times last February.

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