Resentment has this troublesome habit of bubbling away at the back of one’s mind. You don’t even need to be thinking about it especially but it’s there brewing and fermenting. Every now and then something will make you think of whatever grievances you have against the world. Then you’ll have something extra to add to the pot for that little bit of bonus aggravation.
For a particular social care chief who we won’t name (mainly because such information regarding this case has been embargoed and the only reason I’ve been granted access is because I invented every single salient point), this was exercise. For years he had an excellent metabolism and could stuff his face with whatever he fancied and not put on weight.
But age has its way with all of us and his stomach began to balloon at an alarming rate. Friends and family members were quick to tell him that regular exercise was the precise tonic for his current predicament. Eventually he listened and determined to take up running. He bought expensive shoes, a sports top with all the latest sweat-wicking technology and a spiffy pedometer.
Runners are a cruel breed. Casual joggers in the park caught one glimpse of the social care chief puffing his way round a modest circuit, limbs flapping precariously and with a face the shade of an angry tomato. They weren’t so bold as to laugh out loud or anything but their mirth was readily apparent. Safe to say the man in question didn’t repeat his exercise attempt.
The aforementioned resentment reached a peak during the London marathon. All those show offs so keen to make everyone else feel inferior. Some even insisted on doing it in ridiculous costumes as if to rub it in that not everyone was capable of such a feat. I’ll spare you the grizzlier details but he basically ran amok. There was even more carnage than when a certain dentist went on holiday.