ON FRIDAY it was own clothes day at school, for £1 each, so I spent the rising dawn rummaging in odd nooks and crannies scooping together a grand total of £2.50 in loose change, and wondering which child would volunteer to go to school only half clothed?

It’s a good job I don’t have to find a pound to wear my own clothes each morning or I’d be very chilly, and shock any unexpected callers with inappropriate nudity.

At least we didn’t need to spend much time deliberating about what to wear yesterday. The Children and I ran through Oxford in sponsored Santa suits as the mad dash for Christmas began en masse with runners raising money for Helen & Douglas House.

I did worry, though, about losing The Children amongst the herd of Father Christmas hats, and wondered whether to buck the trend and instead rein them together in antlers like Prancer, Dasher and Dancer.

I’ve also struggled with wardrobe dilemmas for Oxford Tri (Athlon) Club get-togethers on Tuesday nights. I don’t know whether to be proud or appalled that I belong to a group that circulates an email with the oxymoronic phrases ‘social session’ and ‘hill sprints’ in the same sentence.

Either way, on receipt, I laughed so hard that half a cup of tea splurted onto my laptop. I stopped laughing fast when I realised it wasn’t a joke. And so, I have found myself trotting up and down Headington Hill for pleasure, strapped beneath a head torch, torn between running kit and skinny jeans for The Angel and Greyhound afterwards.

But it’s all good training for their Christmas event next weekend, a fancy-dress duathlon with competitors dressed as Bart Simpson or the Sugar Plum Fairy.

I’m excited because it’s the only thing in which I’ll have any chance of being remotely competitive – with costume, not speed. I’ll also find that extra bit of effort to cross the finish in good time – because there’ll be a mince pie and mulled wine instead of a medal.