One of the views from my running route Sheffield, as any fule kno, is built on seven hills, like Rome.  This has implications for the jogger.  It's brute physics, I'm afraid.  I was never much good at physics at school.  We were badly taught.  Actually, to be fair, we were badly behaved as well.  As badly behaved as grammar school girls get, that is.  We had a young newly qualified physics teacher who drove a yellow TR7.  It had hidden headlights that reared up out of the bonnet like startled eyes.  The 6th form once attached crepe paper eyelashes to them.  Well I remember the day when he darkened the lab in order to demonstrate a cathode ray oscilloscope.        'What colour would you say that is, girls?'        Well, duh. (An anachronism. Duh hadn't been invented back in the 70s, but it covers the semantic range of what we all thought.)        'Come along 4B.  What colour is it?'        'The colour of your eyes, sir,' replied Katy Staples,