Land of the great white weirdo

Everyday on my way to work, from the top deck of the double-decker bus, I see a man jogging around the City. Not so unusual, you may be thinking, except that this guy jogs backwards, occassionaly turning around to give a few high-leg karate kicks at his invisible enemies. No, seriously, he jogs backwards, turning his head now and again to check that he is on course for wherever the hell he is going.

This is even weirder for the fact that his chosen stomping ground is smack bang in the middle of the City, literally in the Square Mile, amongst the most corporate crowd in the UK (and possibly the world). It is a veritable sea of grey suits and knee-length skirts with sensible heels, and everyone has the grim, pinched look of a person who would all too happily trample right over you if you got in their way.

It is only middle-class fear that keeps me from stopping him and quizzing him. I would love to shout him over and ask him, first off, why are you running backwards? And secondly, where are you going? And have you ever considered that it might be faster/safer/more normal to run facing forwards? But obviously a man like this doesn't care about things like "normality". Reality is for us uptight, workaday losers.