I asked a friend to write my 10k fundraising page and another friend to create a profile image. Here are the results of that:

When I think of Adam, I think of a pigeon.

Bear with, dear reader, bear with.

Firstly I should say I’m Adam’s friend (possibly past tense) and he wanted me to write something about this 10k business he’s gone and signed up for.

I have no idea why, but let’s crack on. Time is money.

My mission is to cajole you to donate cold hard cash in sponsorship. For me, this isn’t really about the ridiculously amazing cause Adam’s running for; it’s about making sure we all pledge so much money he has to do it. Otherwise I give all his sponsors permission to:

1. Help achieve a new Guinness World Record for a collective-sucking-of-teeth and tutting – think impromptu clash between Kwik Fit and the WI on steroids.
2. Nip round Adam’s and take whatever you want! Furniture, cash, design books – the world’s your lobster! Other than the wine collection. That’s ahem, reserved.
3. Decide Adam is not worthy of pigeon status. More of a disappointing thrush.

But nobody need worry (Sabia) as ADAM WILL DO THIS. Because he is a pigeon. And a mighty fine one at that, complete with intact feet and everything. Which are helpful for running I find.

You see, pigeons are impressive, resilient creatures that ought not to be underestimated. They might get the odd knock along the way and an occasional battering from the crows but they carry on regardless.

I’d put the humble pigeon in my top three birds to enjoy a drink with at the bar because they are kind, friendly, interesting and just a little bit random. Much like Mr Jennings.

None of this flashy show-off hawk nonsense. Or a peacock. Imagine! It would sooner steal your vodka and pork scratchings rather than have
a nice chat about the pantone possibilities of its feathers.

So really – vote for Adam! Oh, sorry, sponsor him! For the run thing. Because he is ace and you are ace and the charity is ace. And get your megaphone and seeds ready to cheer him over the finish line.

Come on, Yorkshire, don’t be tight.