The luck of the Irish

Today's run took an unusual turn when I became part of a St Patrick's Day parade.

Should you ever run into central London and find it closed to traffic, don't think 'ooh, how convenient, I can run down the middle of the road and avoid all those people on the pavement'. Because fairly soon, it will emerge the crowds are waiting for a parade and they think you're the warm-up act.

As I turned down Whitehall, barriers on either side of the road prevented me from correcting my mistake so I just kept running. One man tried to give me some money 'for the charity I'm collecting for'. Another decided to vault over and join me: he kept up for a good two minutes, which was impressive given he was wearing a large green hat, smoking and had been out celebrating since yesterday.

I escaped the throng at Westminster Bridge and sought sanctuary in the cafe at the BFI. I had been toying with the idea of running home again, but got cold so jumped on the tube with a pasty instead.

On reflection, today was an interesting lesson in how the energy of the crowd can carry you through. Let's hope there's a massive crowd in Brighton and they've got an awful lot of energy.

(Stats: 8.5 miles; 1.45 minutes; 12.21 minute/mile; but that includes some time spent chatting to leprechauns.)

It is an offence to remove your trousers

Went for a massage at the weekend. It was in Chinatown and the place was rather 'spit and sawdust'. A world away from spas like the Sanctuary, but all the better for it. After half an hour of vigorous pummelling you emerge feeling ten feet tall. I've been going on and off for a couple of years so I know what to expect. But I still wasn't prepared for the lady to climb completely on my back and ride me round the massage room. Then she pulled my arms so far backwards over my head, she lifted me off the table. Given I was half-naked and facing out of the open booth, this provided an interesting view for my fellow massagees. Afterwards, she made me do some stretches. It was while semi-naked stretching that I noticed a small sign on the inside of the booth declaring it was an offence to remove your trousers during the massage. I was somewhat perplexed as to how this would be achieved. Particularly if you have a confidently-built masseuse tap dancing on your back. Anyway, I have to say that two days on and I am still feeling the benefits. I feel lighter and taller and when I went for a run this morning, it was relatively easy. I will certainly be booking in with her again soon. And when I do see her next, I can return the thumb she's left in my spine.

(Stats (re this morning's run, not the massage): 8.1 miles; 1 hour 24 minutes; 10.22 minute/mile.)