’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

As the Trans 333 looms ever closer, a frisson of pure terror is rippling through our little band of British ‘disties’ – we who are either too old, too fat, too lame or generally too congenitally useless to run anything under 100 miles in a time

lake for the 200m Skinny Dip and you got arrested for frightening the Muscovy Ducks?”“Yes, but…”“And what about the time we did the Midsummer Madness race and Roger had six pints of Tanglefoot and a cream tea and we had to carry him over the finish line