I think I might quite like to be a cyborg. But then I remember printers.

Once again I have proved my brain WRONG and had a VERY EXCELLENT run. 8k. Naked run tonight (not allowed watches for some reason I presume to do with cheating). 30 people of all shapes and shades and persuasions and ocassions (I was trying to think of a pithy way to say ages - nailed it) all running about in brightly coloured sports wear. People of advanced years, many of whom would never describe themselves as runners. Joyous. Life affirming. I ran with my little mate who NEVER EVER STOPS TALKING, but actually I'm quite fond of him and he hasn't run in months and would only come out if I did it with him. Lovely stuff. Felt like he got a lifeforce boost and got to talk about one of his best friends who's seriously ill and is worried about. It's quite difficult in my experience for men to find a space where they can talk openly, honestly and safely. So that was very nice and positive. I also saw a guy I'm very fond of who is light years ahead of me running-wise, but just had major heart surgery and isn't able to run - his wife lives separately in France (which apparently works for them?), but the running club is his lifeline and he's clearly a bit lonely without it so came to just say hi, and I've arranged to go for a coffee. Feeling very very good about being there for other people. Gives me an enormous sense of peace and validation and faith in humanity.

Blah.

Importantly I only bloody WON and I got a TROPHY (and also £30, which meant when my wife told me I needed to stop at the shop on the way home for a bunch of stuff, I only 'really' spent £3.20.......Charlie Sheen winning).

Trish said what the fuck is that hideous trophy you're not putting that up in here, and when the kids asked why their father - their hero in many ways - had returned home with a trophy for excellence in the field, she told them it was stupid and just guessing how fast I'd finish in. I gently corrected her and explained to them it's because I was the best person - attuned to the universe and the movement of time. Very much like a sort of Earth spirit. Trish called me a dickhead and said she's going to bed. But I know she's secretly super impressed.

I'm now being forced to watch the last Peaky Blinders with kiddo who is obsessed and keeps talking red-faced and breathless about 'how good an actor' Cillian Murphy is. Yeah yeah yeah. We all know what you mean.

I am in fine fettle and feeling pretty darn great. Peace and love and power to you, you ruddy bloody gorgeouses. May all the good things come to you. And thank you. X

Maybe we're not scrolling enough. Perhaps if we all try to scroll harder, that'll fix everything.

Wishing everyone who works for the Telegraph just the absolute worst day. Bunch of ghouls.

I appear to have woken up in a bit of a mood, angry about the usual things. So I do what I always do and look for the positive. Which this morning comes in the form of..... some mould?....

The Wildlife Photography Awards 2026 winning photographs: Slime mould ‘work of art’ takes top spot

https://www.discoverwildlife.com/enter-to-win/competitions/wildlifephotography-awards2026

TIL that America has an actual Wienermobile race. The Wienie 500.

https://news.kraftheinzcompany.com/press-releases-details/2026/Start-Your-Grills-The-Oscar-Mayer-Wienie-500-Heats-Up-Year-Two-With-Delightful-Race-Day-Traditions-and-First-Ever-Fan-Pick/default.aspx

I would prefer to do more of the stuff I quite like doing and less of the stuff I don't like doing

Insects find me absolutely irresistible. I must be like a giant sexy bug.

Listless today. Downright mardy. Just came to the shops because running was cancelled due to prolific lightning, and heard a 'my wifes cooking' joke in the wild for the first time since maybe the early 90s? The man, in a broad cockney accent, said 'Oh, not wiv ma wifes cookin!', and she looked at him in faux outrage like 'what is he like' - proper hands on hips, Terry and June style. Cheered me right up. Not sure why. Maybe I love sexism? Maybe it reminded me of childhood television sitcoms. They seemed very much in love. But who can tell from that brief exchange. Maybe they have someone chained to a radiator in their basement that they're slowly exsanguinating. Who knows the ways of the world.

Keep seeing breaking news about someone called Claude going down, which I don't think is very appropriate before the watershed