FRIDAY night was quiz night over at the cricket club, where they kindly hosted a gaggle of runners without a social home of their own.
The rain poured down and gales swept in from the sea, over the headland and across the outfield and the square to hurl drops at the glass doors.
But people came despite the rain, and we were snug and warm inside with pints and Terrys Chocolate Oranges to give away.
The Caerphilly Kid and I set some tough questions.
They were no problem for the finest brains of the running club though, and the scores were high. The chocolates went to the right people, and Bazza did heroically go to the wrong runaround corner on purpose so one of the youngsters could gather the prize.
The big winners were Help For Heroes, who get nearly £300 as a result of the club's generosity.
On to Saturday. An old mate of mine once said there was no such thing as a bad football match as long as you were actually there. The atmosphere, he said, made up for any shortcomings on the field. He was wrong, because Torquay United v Barnet on Saturday afternoon was dire.
Nigel the Magician led his Sunday morning running group out into the wet and windy lanes through the deep puddles and the leaf mulch, and over the course of six-and-a-bit miles we ran off our hangovers and actually started to enjoy ourselves quite a lot.
We must have run right through the 11am silence. We said we would stop when we heard the maroons go off at Brixham but the wind must have been in the wrong direction because we didn't hear a thing.
No disrespect was intended.
