Back in the autumn of last year when the nights were drawing in and the street lights were switching on earlier each evening, I promised Lazy boy that I would join a running club once I’d done my half-marathon so that I wouldn’t be running around in the dark by myself. Four months later and I’m still not ‘in the club’.

Basically, in the words of Groucho Marx: “I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member.” Well, not just a club that will have me as a member but any club full stop. Book club, running club, nightclub – I’m not interested and I’ll tell you why.

I’m a lazy, stubborn, procrasitnator that likes to go at her own speed. I refuse to get up at 7am on a Sunday to go run with a group of strangers on a route that they dictate and be ‘encouraged’ to go at a speed that is faster than I’d like. No, I’ll lay in bed and put off going for a run until the last hours of daylight are fading and then rush out the door to get lost in Richmond Park on my own.

Running fits my lifestyle perfectly. Well almost – obviously the running part is in direct conflict with my lazy nature. But in so far as I can do it when I want, as much as I want and on my own – it’s great. So, for the time being at least, you won’t see me sporting a club vest. I’m already the chairman, secretary and tresurer of my own exclusive club and our membership is capped at one. Sorry – try applying again next year.