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Somehow we are back from the darkest reaches of the north, smelling like knock-off jaeger and nan's old chair. We look back in anger at 2024, when Baz was guilty of partaking in the posh PE, John refused to wear period pants, Rach tripped over thin air, I left without saying goodbye and Lew had a very long wee.

We talk kissing men with OBEs (under the radar), the most drunk man at midnight mass, a potential dog Doris, googling thumb extensions and much much more including:

• Parkrun Tourism
• An overly lengthy recounting of Rachel's birthday party weekend
• Guess Who?
• Would You Rather?
• Bandit Clothing
• Abbott's milking the cash cow til it's udders run dry
• Carrot
• The Fourth Worst Running App
• and Fact Hunt

before finally saying fuck you 2024 and hellooooo to 2025 over a jug of something festive as we all sing Africa by Toto.

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To tide you over until John is out on day release here is the Fact Hunt compilation so far. More red cards than a 1970s Leeds game and more jokes than Miranda's whole career. Adele in, Wenger out for the Fact Hunt fun bus japes.

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Ho-Ho-Ho! And that is just John’s last three Dorises.

Welcome to this, our festive offering. Now you may be saying, but D-Dog it is still only mid November. Well, there have been mince pies and tins of celebrations on the shelves of Tescos for 2 months already, and the BBC have announced their tortuous line up including surprise-surprise, more Mrs Browns racist Boys, and Miranda is back to somehow have her skirt caught in a taxi door and then ripped off on the way to… I don’t know… keep it festive… a children's nativity play…how droll so we are roasting the Chestnut Massives on an open fire, and who can stop us.

We have a box (hill) full of crackers this week including, but no limited to:

A Barry bib bandit
Mr Motivator
Paul Chuckle
Mr Methane the worlds only performing flatulist
And Ste Southern is back to shout “snake oil” at insta ads

So cum on ye faithful, and welcome to the 10th episode of the Fourth Worst podcast on running.

Always remember to wipe thoroughly.

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We are back for episode 9, and are about to send a strongly worded email to England Athletics and the Beachy Head Marathon organisers (dictated but not read) before Lew goes against protocol and questions the Fact Hunt facts, marathons are back on the shelves and November Rain is declared a tune by Mr Kennedy.

We rattle the charity tin with Mike EU Marathons Harley and empty chair John for the way home from a debauched weekend racing.

Also, John Kennedy from the Posh Universe pops in for the drinking game, we coat a few of the bad uns in the community and Baz breathes in a worldie's flatulence.

Enjoy. If at all possible.

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The fun and games return with former international rugby referee Nigel Owens replacing Junglist musician General Levy (no one has ever said that before) for the drinking game, Lew loses his shit at the Casualty theme tune via Endel, a dubious world record at Chicago, and a sad end to the Camille Wikipedia story.

We give 5 star influencer shoe reviewers a good shoeing, we drown a few in their free ice baths, and the snake oil is thrown in the bin before being thrown in the sea along with Parkrun Tourism posters wondering if we are going to Slovenia and Austria or getting lost in Dulwich, and the Stay Toxic guy fucks up the intro.

John invites Felicity Kendall to a Spoons curry night bunk up, Baz's acorn sized bladder gets the better of him, Stefan goes bananas, Strava goes down, and Knees makes a red card choice of celebrities who ran the London Marathon. Now then, now then! And we have a live question from Keith and Kyla who grace our lug holes with Flight of the Valkyries played on the Kazoo.

Big up the Chestnut Massive! Gola on Bullseye!

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After f*cking a wide necked bottle filled with ravioli (scientifically the most f*ckable pasta) we feel guilty about not following our "don't be shit" mantra and start to build up the progressive junk miles for Beachy Head marathon and the Kent 50.

General Levy and Tefan Tromboni return, John burns the candle out of all three ends in Barcelona, a lazy dog gets carried down a mountain, a fat cat walks for likes, and we go on the Fyre Festival Sandwich Run. Lewis cleans up a poonami of kitten shit and does some squats whilst running the bath, Baz drops a dress size and Darren throws up at 36,000 feet above Africa in a plane toilet, ticking off a bucket list item and then asks arguably the worst Fact Hunt question ever.

A social media villain gets his button mushroom knob out, influencers do anything for a jar of pickled onions and a woman gives birth on Strava.

Just you average day here at the Fourth Worst Podcast on Running.

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This week Eilish McColgan joins for a heel kick and double thumbs combo as Stefan Tromboni pipes us into episode 6, in which we talk too much London marathon TV coverage, race shoes, spray on shoes, shoe subscriptions, and Cape Town marathon giving vouchers for shoes to try to become a major.

We learn about Lew's deep deep love for Clare Balding, and John's hatred for clanky cups and cheating sticks on the South Downs, and me and Baz nip to the pub during Steve Southern's Ted Talk on supplements and VO2 Max.

And thanks to Ste for a fantastic performance. We do have to question if he was on the juice too as he even out-performed himself.

Who need's greens when you've got Guinness? And who grows up wanting to be a triple jumper.

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It is the musical episode, pop pickers. Now then, now then, we have the old and the new of the music world with us - we have Tony Blackburn, East 17's John Hendy, General Levy, Kanye East, Terry Giant Cock and Balls Rosoman, and The Run Chat Hour with their Eurovision entry Evening Bill. Sadly no Chesney Hawkes. I guess he isn't the one and only after all.

We also learn that Lewis is a shy pooper, Baz recorded this naked, Knees needs a new cleaner and John is between run clubs, marriages, and eBay short shorts listings.

We cover the Abbott's Marathon organisation, £2 race discounts, unboxing wankers, renting moon shoes, raw dogging, A-races, and have a question from Kyla Miller accompanied by her husband Keith on the underwater bagpipes, so stuff this in your bomboclaat raasclaat club shorts and join the Chestnut massive. Wicked wicked!

C*nt warning - high to moderate (89)