’were ’is next door neighbours, like. To make things worse, he were sick on their cat.”“Aye. He ran a crackin’ race next day though. Knocked three seconds of t’ Commonwealth 10,000m record, as I recall.”“Four, actually.”“Ah,” says the angel on my left

Hollywood movies. It was fine: I lived a chaste, quiet life, free from the madness and mayhem of Tinseltown.But you know how it is. Barely a week had gone by and there I was, stumbling out of Kate’s boudoir again at 11am, two hours late for my screen test

for myself, but for the entire region. Were I to topple or roll accidentally into the river, for instance, it could cause serious flooding in low-lying areas of the Thames Valley. And so I shall be renouncing alcohol again, immediately after the Viennese

In the last 20 years, running has become inextricably entangled with fund-raising.Correct me if I’m wrong, but until the first London Marathon we ran only for ourselves. When we turned up in the rain to plod round the Cabbage Patch 10, the last

bush. Here I was spotted by Tim, ex- treasurer of the Totteridge Tossers, who spent the next three, excruciating miles telling me how he got lost during the Rhubarb Patch 10K in 1983. The sun was like a great, bronze gong, ringing in my ears. Tim

“This is WKLA, comin’ to you from the heart of downtown Santa Monica. It’s another beautiful morning here by the ocean – and this is Steely Dan.” I turned up the radio and wound down the windows of the absurd, grey 1965 Oldsmobile as it wallowed