It's A Treat Being A Runner, Out

All I'm Out For Is A Good Time - All The Rest Is Propaganda.

Well, It's A Good Life And A Good World, All Said And Done, If You Don't Weaken.

The Long-distance Run Of An Early Morning Makes Me Think That Every Run Like This Is A Life- A Little Life, I Know- But A Life As Full Of Misery And Happiness And Things Happening As You Can Ever Get Really Around Yourself

For It Was Saturday Night, The Best And Bingiest Glad-time Of The Week, One Of The Fifty-two Holidays In The Slow-turning Big Wheel Of The Year, A Violent Preamble To A Prostrate Sabbath. Piled Up Passions Were Exploded On Saturday Night, And The Effect Of A Week's Monotonous Graft In The Factory Was Swilled Out Of Your System In A Burst Of Goodwill. You Followed The Motto Of 'be Drunk And Be Happy,' Kept Your Crafty Arms Around Female Waists, And Felt The Beer Going Beneficially Down Into The Elastic Capacity Of Your Guts.

Government Wars Aren't My Wars; They've Got Nowt To Do With Me, Because My Own War's All That I'll Ever Be Bothered About.