So I've joined. Paid up for a full year which will probably work out the same as the cost of my Barcelona trip per visit when averaged out.
You see, I loathe gyms. I hate the posturing at the weights. I hate the expressions of grim determination and misery of those on the cardio-machines.
And most of all, I hate the changing room. But thats another story.
Jane, on the other hand, was unflappably enthusiastic in spite of my dour demeanour.
J: "And here we have the main area; as you can see there are lots of machines available - John! How are you doing?"
(she paused to slap an unfortunate man heartily on the back while he struggled on a stationary bike. He shot me a glance of pleading: "Please - kill me now")
J: "And all around the room are the weights! Good for those biceps and abs, what?"
(she pinched my arm in a playful fashion and moved on)
J: "The pool is down there - full of water you know, ha ha!"
("Ha Ha" I dutifully replied)
J: "And there are the badminton courts, and squash courts. See - they're playing badminton and squash! There's a thing, what?"
Me: (internal) "If I pay you money, will you shut the f**k up and let me leave?"
Me: (external) "It sounds great! Where do I sign up?"
J: "Good man! Just here! Visa will be fine! Can I interest you in any of the classes? Hello?"
But I had gone.
In a final act of defiance on the way home I bought some of the greasiest bits of reformed chicken I could find at KFC and ate it while surfing the net. The kebab shop was closed you see.
On Thursday I get inducted. It sounds painful. I suspect rubber gloves may be involved (with any luck, yellow marigolds.)
