and sacrifice. Blackford, they said, you must run up-country, into the very heart of darkness, and persuade Seaton to give himself up.For days, I jogged along forest tracks with no sustenance except two pieces of string and a sackful of unpronounceable medicines
, the Geordie failed to show up and Bunk feared the worst.It turned out he’d tried to hang himself from a wooden beam placed across the trapdoor to his loft. He’d kicked away the chair, the beam had snapped under his weight and the two jagged ends had fallen
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
