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Training Mantra of the Gingerbread Girl

What I say to myself whilst I train for a charity walk dressed as a Ginga girl.

This poem only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.Run, run,And I'll let you pass;You can catch me,I'm the gingerbread lass.But I don't care if you're fast;I'm slow,'Cos I'm going the paceThat my feet can go.You said I couldn't,But I say "I WILL!",Whether it's downOr all up hill.And you can take itUp the big, fat shitter,'Cos I am strongAnd I'm not a quitter.Walk, walk,Walketty...

V-Sign to the Sunshine, Stripy Socks and Gingas

How does a gloomy grump see joy where there is no joy?

This musing only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.Sometimes I feel that the world is a graceless place. Well, alright, I always feel that. For me, every day is a task that I cannot look forward to. But there is no way to rearrange my knickers drawer in procrastination of meeting the morning (or afternoon, on my days off), and I am lacking the ability to pull a sickie and tell...