The scene - last Sunday, the garden of my Dad's house, idly watching my father and my The Uncle create a fireball on the barbecue the like of which would have impressed the late Red Adair.
I am surrounded by women either married or about to be married to various cousins. I am also about to get stitched up.
She: "More beer?"
Me: "Oh no, I think I've had enough"
She: "How about some champagne?"
Me: "Oh, go on then... hic"
She: "You know how you used to do running?"
Me: "Yeah, a few years back now. I mainly cycle now"
She: "Do you think you could still do it?"
Me: "Running? Yeah..." (puffs out chest) "'Course. A few months training and I'd b fighting fit"
She: "Really?"
Me: "Oh yeah. I'm sure it would all come back"
She: "Oh thats great. Why don't we run a 10k for Cancer Research in October?"
Bugger. It seems she'd been looking for a running partner and everyone else had found other places to be.
Which is why I was out this morning, doing a tentative mile. When I made it back to the house, I looked like I was having a seizure. My previously grey t-shirt was black and I was steaming gently in the morning dew.
The dog, who normally jumps up wagging her tail whenever a member of the family appears, looked at me, shook her head sadly, and pottered back to bed.
