My better half told me off for calling myself a FLM reject. Being rejected, apparently, is different from being a reject. This little bit of Jesuitical sophistry distracted me from my sulking, but not half as much as my mother, who went 'Ballot? What ballot? I thought you just turned up and ran these races. You mean you have to enter beforehand?' then went on to add kindly, 'Anyway, you don't want to run all that way. It would really knock you about, and anyway, you might not be able to do it, you know.'
Hmmm. Actually, Benz, I think I preferred it when I was waiting for the postman ;-)
