I go for a walk for an hour, earlier in the morning today, than yesterday. I head off in my shorts, changing to the sunny side of the street on my way to the park. It is hard to wear a mask when you are walking for exercise, but I persist, as it is protecting me as much as it is protecting anybody else.
I’m listening to The Rolling Stones, Beggars Banquet, and then Get Yer Ya Ya’s Out
10am, in the park, I can take my mask off as I cross the museum plaza as the coast is clear of any people, that is until some fat jogger jogs up from my left, and settles into a pace just ahead of me. I mean who is he kidding, judging by the shape of him he has never jogged a day in his life, before today. I put my mask back on.
A cute boy on the tennis courts bends over to pick up a ball showing me his lovely arse right on queue. Baby!
I raid the dog pooh bad dispenser on my way passed.
There is hardly anyone in the park as I walk up the path closest to Carlton Street, so I take my mask off. Then a jogger runs past me, again, settling into a rhythm just in front of me. Grrrr. I put my mask back on.
10.20am. Two strapping fathers in black track pants and in blue track pants come toward me, and cut in in front of me from another path, both pushing prams (is that what they call them?). The one in blue track pants has a particularly nice arse going to waste.
There are people with matching dogs, not that that is a bad thing. A couple of small wire-haired black dogs that look like clones of each other, and a couple of Westies.
There are women with matching prams (pushers?) come from the other direction, yacking away.
A woman on a crutch hobbles in from Rathdowne Street. She has a lot of park to cross in her condition. I have never been able to go further than 100 metres on a crutch, so props to her, I thought.
The old bloke who looks like he is on his last legs, who, I assume, is doing doctor ordered exercise, he looks so pained, comes walking towards me. He is often walking in the park when I am.
The woolly haired jogger, with the muscular arms, who always seems to be out jogging when I am walking, jogs up, staring at the ground as he always seems to be doing. Nice legs.
Over by Victoria Parade, there is a man sitting on a bench smoking, seemingly liking every drag on his cigarette. Those were the days.
A girl on a scooter comes zipping through.
There is a greyhound up ahead in army fatigues, with a woman in track pants with an arse the size of the rear of a small hatchback, walking with another girl ✌up the Victoria Parade side.
There is the handsome Indian guy with a huge cock flopping from side to side in his track pants, doing circuits opposite to me. I find my head bobbing from side to side, as he jogs up and goes past.
There is a second person in a crutch, have we had a clumsy lockdown, I wonder?
As I head back up Nicholson Street side, there is a woman with babies in a double decker pram talking in baby talk to them. I always find that somewhat unsettling.
A fat boy in blue harem pants and a green mummy knit jumper with a fez on his head, whizzes by on an electric scooter, as I cross the road out of the gardens.
10.56am. I’m home.
11.11am. I’m finished with my shower.
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