I was surprised that I slept in my Kings Cross hotel. I remember thinking it would be a struggle with sirens squealing in the hot night. But there it was, 5:45am and I was as fresh as a sweaty daisy. I got my running kit on and was heading along Euston Road by 6:10am. Wow, this city never sleeps. Whilst the pavements weren't packed, the roads were already laden with all forms of transport.

I was soon in the relative tranquility of Regent's Park, mouth wide open, not with effort but with seeing the vast terraced houses that border the park. I felt I was in a film. A couple of Chinese people were doing Tai Chi, either that or they were trying to catch a slow moving fly without squashing it. I then passed a young lady in an all orange running outfit.....the temptation to tango this pretty satsuma was great; however, I resisted. There were plenty people out doing pointless barbell lifts as they were watched by their fashionista personal trainers.

Then I past the zoo, over the ornamental canal and then I ascended Primrose Hill to view London with the sun starting to rise above it. Two photographers with massive lenses and professional (camera) bodies were capturing the view. I then headed back to Regent's Park, towards the boating lake. I ran down a few steps hoping to follow the banks. A startled a down-and-out sleeping on a bench, and I smiled, wishing him a good morning. "F**k off you bald c**t" he responded, in an Eastern European accent. I smiled, delighted by the fact that this man had proved the Tories wrong again by demonstrating that he had learnt English culture well.

After completing a loop n a half, I headed back to my hotel, via some very posh streets and less solubrious ones too. It was now nearly 8am, so I swapped t-shirts and headed for a quick breakfast. Then, I did the three s's and then headed off to the City where I was working for the day. Why I didn't take the tube, goodness knows as it was around a 4km walk.

I was delivering a workshop to a group of trainers, one who was a professor and had travelled from Portugal the day before, and another chap from Belgium who had been a national coach in a racket sport. No pressure! We were based in a studio in a gym with an altitude training room full of Watt Bikes and treadmills. Goodness me! Maybe, One less glass of Chateau Mouton Rothschild 1982 a day would be a better way to get fit but hey....if there's a placebo benefit, who am I to argue?

After ways, when everyone had gone, I headed down to get changed and was presented with a glass of juice and a fluffy white towel. Oh well, may as well have a shower too. It was bliss. Then, I headed out into the warm evening air and had a wander round the grounds of St Paul's. What a majestic and beautiful building. What an ironic building. I imagined Jesus being born in the Aga Khan's stable beside a stallion, a kobi beef cow and a fois gras goose.

I then walked along the Thames, via the Tate Modern and the Oxo Building, getting a few photos as I went. Sheesh, I was now starving but I couldn't find anywhere that looked suitable for a lone diner. I eventually found a wee place that sold artisan sandwiches and then plonked myself in a park to chomp merrily and wrote this!