No, nothing to do with one of the best dance anthems of the 1990s.
It was 5am before sleep came this morning. A kick in the cock that meant I didn't get up until 11.30. This in itself not unusual for me these days, but this morning was special because I decided to go for a jog around my rather beautiful local park.
A few weeks back I could only manage to complete a circuit of the perimeter path with three pauses. This time I got almost the entire distance before nearly collapsing. I sat down on the roots of a tree panting like Rik Waller on a treadmill. But I had to ignominiously walk the last 200 yards or so, even if I did feel better for having done some token exercise. Now where's that cake-topped lard and lager pie?
Gutted. Not only has the dog-tossing oven packed up but I can't go to some Red Bull-sponsored blag with a fellow ligger par excellence as I'll be in Norfolk. Still, how about a tune to up the mood?