swimmingly until I signed up for the Dartmoor Vale 10K, which took place last weekend, and was introduced to some fellow obsessives. Welcome to a world in which blokes strip down to their underpants and openly, nay ostentatiously, rub something (baby oil? Vaseline?) down the front of their Y-fronts. For ages. I appreciate there may be chafing issues, but please, the gents loo is just down the corridor. There are other chaps in shorts which make the Cheeky Girls' hotpants look restrained, and silver surfers - in skin-tight shiny purple Lycra - fitter than

people (OK, me) half their age. There are ladies raising money for charity with bottoms so large you wonder how they can bear to leave the house. The whole scene is enough to make you run screaming to the nearest pub for 20 B&H.

So I've learnt my lesson. From now on it'll just be me, Whisky in the Jar on my iPod and those adorable lorry drivers.