Things are very tense with Victoria. She is not leaving me… for the moment, but we have to both go see her shrink next week. This makes for a stressful existence so I went running. I have never run before (except from trouble) but everybody says that it’s the best stress-buster there is. I got some running shoes off Ben but they are totally useless. They are some cool brand of what he calls “trainers”and are clearly not made for any form of exercise as they are uncomfortable and start to fall apart pretty smartish. After half a mile in Holland Park my feet hurt so bad that I take the shoes off and throw them away. Suddenly I’m doing a Zola Budd and I’m running barefoot through the park and I feel really good. I start to feel like an Olympian, my chest is out, my head held high. I can see women stopping and staring at me as I move with the elegance of a panther and the confidence of a peacock. I’m surprisingly fit and I’m really getting into the whole thing when…disaster…I slice my foot open on a piece of broken glass some chav had left after a cider session. It was a really bad cut and blood was spurting out of my foot and I go white and faint. I woke up in an ambulance with some fat guy holding a bloody rag against my foot and the sirens blaring. I get to the hospital and get taken past rows of drunks smelling like skunks into a booth where they patch me up. The doctor gives me a real talking to as though I’d murdered somebody. This has been a weird week. Cooper Out.