Day 292: Display Buns

The best sort of morning for a run.  Crisp air, bright sun, dew sparkling on the grass.  So lovely that I'm not surprised I hit my fastest average time yet (yes, I am still in thrall to the GPS slave-driver). 

By afternoon any crispness has long since disappeared, to be replaced by proper summer heat.  The Abbey orchard is full of people lolling in the heat.  Ice-creams, and vests and indolence.  Down one of the paths comes a youth - top off, jeans precariously hanging at half-buttock, boxers proudly displayed. 

'Pull 'em up, mate!'  Surprised and amused to hear this loudly and clearly shouted by a lad in a group sitting behind me.  His tone is admonishing and pitying in equal degree.  Youth-on-youth heckling. 

On the whole you don't hear much street heckling these days.  When I was a teenager, if you were fat (as I was) you were an immediate target. 

These days my teenage self wouldn't even register as a contender.  Fat standards have changed.  More and bigger. 

The youth in St Albans have got used to fat.  But I'm proud that they're still holding out against buttock-riders.