The Early Ferd

NOT EVERYTHING THAT CHIRPS CATCHES THE WORM.

- Bruce Pinnock

RUNNING USUALLY HAPPENS during the worst hours of the morning. Before your brain has had chance to reboot from sleep mode, your body is jarred awake by a loud bang!

Once the starter has fired his pistol, you’re shoved by the impatient oke behind you, and your legs protest: “What the #*@$?!” But lurch forward you must, or you’ll fall flat on your face.

That said, the average guy or gal at the back of the pack isn’t the freshest sandwich in the picnic basket, even when he or she is awake. Try throwing in an early morning after a party the night before, and let’s just say I’ve seen road-kill dassies that appeared less brain-dead.

Then there are those who are chirpy at that godawful hour, chattering away like a cheese grater on your hangover, inducing a shudder worse than when your wife forgets to use the clutch when she changes gear.

In my opinion, those bright and breezy, downright revolting early-morning chaps should be gagged and duct-taped to a pole.

Duct-taped to a pole? I hear you ask. That’s much too good for them. They should be hung, drawn and quartered, and then their entrails should be stamped on with hobnailed boots.