What is the collective noun for a load of Santas? A sleigh? A sack?

Whichever it was, last Sunday I found myself taking part in the annual Salisbury Santa Fun Run, a 5K charity race to raise money for Naomi House (www.naomihouse.org.uk), a brilliant organisation who run hospices across the region for children and young adults.

The key to the event was that everyone taking part was dressed up as Father Christmas. So having signed in at the bottom of the Cathedral Close, I was given my Santa costume to get changed into.

There followed the surreal sight of a couple of hundred Santas, large and small, and even a few Santa dogs into the bargain.

After a few warm-up exercises, we Santa runners set off through an icy blast of a snow machine: last year, participants had real snow to run in, whereas by the time we finished, the weather was somewhat soggier.

 This wasn’t the first time I’d done a sponsored run in fancy dress. Back when I was at school, I raised money to teach overseas for my gap year before college by doing a five-mile run in a gorilla suit. That seemed a good idea at the time, but when the costume arrived, the face mask’s mouth was sealed shut, leaving two tiny nostril holes to breath in and out of.

The furry costume was hot enough, but with that mask on, I soon found myself doing an impromptu Darth Vader impression as I ran.

To add to the surreal nature of the occasion, among the other runners was Jimmy Saville. Like most people back then, I didn’t know what he was really like.

Even so, halfway through the race, I took great satisfaction in overtaking him, to which Saville said, to giggles from his coterie of hangers on, ‘Oh look, there goes a shaggy dog.’ ‘I’m not a shaggy dog,’ I wheezed back, ‘I’m a gorilla.’

Back at the Santa run, I’d barely passed through the fake snowstorm before I sensed a wardrobe malfunction, with my red trousers beginning to fall down.

There followed a slightly complicated manoeuvre of running and tucking them into my shorts before carrying on.

But from then on, the run was lovely: we ran past the cathedral, through Harnham, down the town path and back via Fisherton Street to the finishing line in the Close.

My friend Dave and I even found a Santa to run behind who’d brought along a speaker to play some festive tunes.

As we turned back into the Close, the heavens started to open, which meant we finished more impressively than we would have done otherwise.

But rain aside, a great event. I’d thoroughly recommend.