I know you all think I spend my time drinking Champagne and eating canapés. Yes, well, to be perfectly honest, you’re not far wrong. But it’s all going to change. Call me a damned fool or call me brave, but I’ve signed up for the New York Marathon. It’s not until November 2, but given that my fastest run so far has been a race between me and a bus, I’ve got to start limbering up now. In preparation, I went to a meeting this week at the charity offices of Refuge (for whom I’m running) with the runners who’ll be attempting the London Marathon. Just a few weeks away from pounding the capital on foot, this hardy bunch came with a litany of injuries. Hamstrings are the least of it. Chafing is rife.

There’s no messing with the wrong liquids, and the proper kit is essential. It was when they started talking about timed trials in parks every Saturday at 9am and how many half-marathons they’d already completed (one man is running 13 miles three times a week) that I started to quake. Still, I’m determined. Cheer me on if you can. I’ll be the one at the back.