Fog, thick fog at 5 this morning. As I went to bed the night before, the Newhaven fog-horn sounded intermittently. Apart from a cyclist, I met no one else during three miles. On we go, seventeen miles till I reach one hundred.

This evening, I thought I might attempt a dressing-gown dash, in tribute to our founder, JogBlog. Note my tanned shin but lily-white ankle, the sign of someone who hasn’t been in the sun except while running.