Normally I indulge in Parkrun in the privacy of my own county (that’s Huntingdonshire, not Cambridgeshire). BTW: this isn’t “nationalism”, when I was a nipper, Huntingdon was in Huntingdonshire, just like Melton Mowbray was in Rutland. Somehow places seemed to move in 1974. Don’t blame me, I wasn’t consulted.

This weekend I shall be dragging grandchildren around the Skipton Parkrun. Thank goodness for grandchildren – I can blame my poor performance on them! The problem with Skipton park is that it has a hill. I’m from the the fens – I get a nosebleed when I encounter a hill. I need oxygen when I go upstairs. We don’t do hills, we do sky – 180 degrees of it. Hills just get in the way. Why would anyone plonk a gradient in front of runners for no good reason?

So, I’ll pretend that Charlie needed to stop for a wee which stopped me from achieving the PB that I was obviously destined for. The problem with using grandchildren as an excuse is that Milly, who is only 7, is actually much faster than me.

The great thing about Yorkshire parkrun is that we all go to Billy Bob’s for a slap-up breakfast afterwards. With any luck followed by a pub crawl on the way to Otley RUFC. So what if the season’s finished!