Running like Clockwork

When we walked into the services, Tim was about as muddy as it's possible to be. He was so muddy that a family got up and moved when we sat down. Or it could've been cos I was still wearing eye-liner. Who knows?

It was Hellrun this morning, and as they've been using pictures off us to advertise for the last few years, we thought it was about time to Hellrun again. There are two rules for cross-county races:

1. Wear fancy dress. This is a no-brainer. If you wear lycra and you're rubbish you look like a fool. If you wear fancy dress and do well you look like a hero.

2. If you're going to get muddy start as pristine as possible.

We went dressed as droogs. We beat more people than beat us.

Oi, people we beat. You were dressed in brand new waterproof ironman gubbins. I was wearing a 99p boiler suit and bowler hat. You belong to running clubs and did training and slurped energy gel; I ate a bacon sandwich for breakfast. Shame on you.

Didn't even see Batman

So, Gothenburg. That's not a place that's anywhere near as cool as the image of it I had in my head. I was thinking all gothic and artsy when really the whole town looks like it's come out of an Ikea catalogue. Being brutal, it seemed a little bit soulless.

The art gallery worked for me - who doesn't love a 6m tall, upside-down, rotating pole dancer? - and Haga had heart, but the rest of the town was just a constructionist patchwork of dreary straightline burbs and ugly industry. So today's top travellercliche tip - if you're going to Sweden, go to Stockholm.

In other news saw Scroobius Pip last week (sample line - 'a moustache is for life, not just for charity'). He was supported by B Dolan who I'd not heard of (despite him guesting on a Scroob song - I'm getting ignorant in my old age) but is really rather handy.