IT might be difficult to regard jogging in the buff as a magnificent obsession to match train-spotting, stamp-collecting or brass-rubbing.

But there are those - maybe even the ones seen crossing Castlemorton Common by a startled driver - who'd tell you it is. Who are we to argue?

Indeed, so long as the joggers aren't causing a commotion by exercising at a more public time, and in a more public place, there's a case for thinking that it's not only a magnificent obsession, but a healthy one as well.

Over the years, we've tried to encourage and applaud people who harbour deep fascinations with unusual subjects.

We live in an age where, by and large, our interests are fashioned and controlled by what marketing men tell us.

Frustratingly, the way we live has long dimmed the ability of many people to find something to light the inner spark.

Television has nibbled at our patience and attention spans come in three-minute bursts.

Anyone who's managed to survive the onslaught of the modern age by immersing themselves in an unusual hobby risks being dubbed an anorak. It's a lazy term used by people who talk faster than they think.

Everyone needs an absorbing passion, whether it's a sanctuary from the gloom of war, top-up fees, the sudden cold snap, a tedious boss - or simply for its own sake.

Such people normally find contentment. In a world where too much is geared to confrontation, and dominated by the idea that everything must end with a winner, how many people can boast that?