I love Christmas morning. Always have, always will. But coming a close second is Great North Run morning.

Last Sunday, I sloped out of bed, armed myself with a brew and an extra-large bowl of Coco Pops and flicked over to BBC1.

There's a multitude of reasons why the Great North Run is... err... great. Of course, it raises millions for good charities and it puts the North East in a very, very good light, but what I like most about it is the fact it makes unbeatable viewing.

Last year, I was taking part in the run, so got an entirely different view of it, and there wasn't a chance to enjoy a weekend-sized bowl of Coco Pops then, I was too busy getting on a crammed train from Darlington at eight in the morning.

I was about ready to pass out by the time I stumbled to the finish line last September. My legs could hardly move and I was chafing in places I really didn't want to.

But watching it, you can't fail to be impressed.

Firstly, the elite athletes, who set off at what seems to be a sprint, and as far as I can gather, carry on sprinting for 13 miles. They finish before some people reach the Tyne Bridge.

And then you have the fund raisers, who come in all shapes and sizes. Some can hardly run, some are dressed as carrots.

Nowhere else do you get such ends of the sporting spectrum. On Sunday, at one point we were focusing on the battle for first place in the women's race. Highly tuned athletes pushing themselves to the limit for a place in the record books. Then, in an instant, we flick to an interview with a man dressed as a shark. "This is Steve, and he's a shark."

Both are deemed to be equally important, and quite rightly so, they're both pushing themselves to their own limits, the only difference is that one has to run with a pair of fins for hands.

It's like an F1 race, with McLaren and Ferrari drivers battling it out at 200mph whilst towards the back of the pack a man who has made a cart out of an old beer keg is rumbling up to the first corner.

For it to be really fair, the Great North Run should be a handicap. I have nothing but respect for those turbo charged runners who can reach South Shields in under an hour, but I would seriously take my hat off to them if they could do it whilst strapped to their best mate dressed as a panto horse, or whilst carrying a bucket full of coppers which gets progressively heavier as more and more people contribute money.

I'll apply for the run again next year, I may not get a place, but at least I'll be able to console myself with the fact that I can look forward to a good morning of entertainment in front of the telly.