HAVE spent all week trying to avoid computer programmer, who boards at Haywards Heath and does incomprehensible things on laptop for rest of the journey.

This week, apparently inspired by the fine weather, Haywards Heath has left laptop in office and instead arrives resplendent in jogging pants and trainers and armed with backpack (presumably contains smarter computer programming clothes to change into at work.)

Have previously seen Haywards Heath making for tube and heading northbound on Victoria line. This week, he's positively leapt off the train and proceeded to sprint in the direction of Green Park.

The first morning I saw him race up Buckingham Palace Road I was impressed by his determination to turn daily drudge to work into productive fitness routine. Fitness Editor in office is constantly urging self and colleagues (not to mention magazine readers) to forgo the gym (if anyone actually goes in the first place) walk to work, take the stairs and shun all feats of modern engineering, which get you out of having to make a bit of physical effort yourself.

The problem with Haywards Heath's new routine (and hence need to avoid him) emerged on return journey. I was sitting by window feeling pleasantly relaxed after unuually spring like day when my nose became aware of another person in the vicinity before a sweaty body placed itself on the seat beside me.

Trains are not exactly fragrant places at the best of times. Allow them to sit in the sun for much of the day, before adding a few work sodden commuters and their accumulated grimy belongings and you've got a recipe for rancidness. Haywards Heath fresh (or rather not so fresh) from a jog back from work was the ingredient which soured the recipe further still.

Ignoring his exceedingly heavy breathing, I pondered my choices. Should I open carriage window, forcing fresh air into the carriage whilst risking making it obvious that he was the cause of need for fresh air, or forsake seat and move further up train, risking no seat elsewhere and danger of spending journey standing with nose pressed into armpit of fellow sardines?

In the end remained stoially in my seat, consoling self with fact that at least he'd be off at Haywards Heath and then I could open the window and fumigate carriage. Also reasoned that, if own brief flirtation with fitness were anything to go by, Haywards Heath would have lost his few found enthusiasm for jogging to work by tomorrow and would be back to binary calculations by end of week.

However, he is, it appears, a man of iron will and great self discipline and on Friday was still arriving hot and breathless and in the same clothes (which looked and smelt suspiciously as if he was saving washing them as a special treat for the weekend).

While this continues, have decided to sit in different part of train and am considering asking Railtrack whether the money they're thinking about spending on introducing double decker carriages might not be put to better use in the form of trains with showers?

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.