Canicross sounds like my idea of hell | Zella Compton

I can’t imagine anything worse. Actually, I can but still, tying my dog to me and setting off at any pace fills me with fear.

The thing is, my dog has no speed control what-so-ever. A few years back when he was just out of being a puppy and when I was still an enthusiastic owner – not worn down by the sheer drudgery of picking up poo on a daily basis and hoovering up hair, and being pushed out of the way of heat from the fire, and never having a lie-in as his bladder doesn’t adjust to Sunday morning laziness…

Anyway, before all that when I had energy, I decided to train him to run next to my bike. What an epic disaster that was.

He set off brimming with delight only to run in front of my wheels, around my wheels, behind my wheels, to stop, to start and to occasionally jump up sideways on to me to express his adoration of this new pastime with a juicy lick.

It was exhausting which was ironic as we settled on a pace of 0.000001 miles an hour to make it manageable. It took us weeks of training to get anywhere near riding for at least 30 metres.

But then we missed a week, and it was back to square one.

That said, he was fine when off the lead, but cycling to the beach, or through fields to let him off the lead was too much like hard work to me.

Every now and then we have tried a jog too, but as soon as I move my speed up from a walk, he’s like a greyhound out of the trap and thinks he’s after a hare with absolutely no appreciation for my speed, needs or strength.

It’s like some crazy cartoon with me being pulled along by a rocket-dog. And he’s no thin little thing either, he’s packing the pounds and determination to be a husky.

So those Canicross classes can keep themselves to themselves as who needs to witness, or be part of, that public humiliation?

Not me.

Schofield coming out reveals our sad lack of acceptance

Isn’t it quite something when a national treasure comes out on TV?

I’m talking about Phillip Schofield and his admission of his sexual preferences. Really, who cares whether he’s gay (except his closest family)? And it’s none of our business anyway.

But doesn’t it tell us a lot about our society that it’s caused such interest? To me it says that we’re not half as accepting as we should be, however much we might congratulate ourselves on being better than so many other countries.

The fact he’s felt the need to keep it hidden so long, perhaps to help retain his position on national television, shows we’re nowhere near as ready to accept all people as we should be.

I am quite sure I sat next to the world’s smelliest man

Last week I had the misfortune of sitting next to the smelliest man in the universe.

I was at the theatre and every time he moved I was hit with a wall of stench. Not fresh, body odour (if there is such a thing) and not workout sweat, but dried-on bodily fluids, excretions, grimness, pain and death all rolled into a wall of disgust.

It was truly mortifying and I might have looked like I was trying to escape from potential coronavirus as I had my scarf pulled tightly over my face, and my fingers clasping my nostrils together.

But every time he clapped it sent bullets of noxious fumes straight down the line into full frontal assault. I thought I was going to be sick on my shoes.