Off to health club this morning with 'I', in a vain attempt to get fit. Much as I enjoy it, I have to admit that I do get cheesed off that I am giving monthly money to that pompous git off Dragon's Den. To further add insult to injury there is a large picture of the aforementioned in the lobby taking smugness to a new level. When I look at it I am always inclined to rush forward with a sharpie and draw a Hitler moustache and set of devil horns on it. Aquafit was it's usual - a dozen or so ladies sloshing about in the pool, causing a tidal wave that would wipe out half of Scotland, ably urged on by a camp male instructor who still hasn't got the fact that his poolside disco moves aren't so much hip as shit. ' I' tried to draw my attention to Mr Speedoman who tends to frequent the pool at this time. Not because he is fit, but because she knows my rules on Speedos are this: Rule no 1. Never on anyone over 30. Rule No 2. No beer bellies. Rule No3. Unless you are David Beckham they are OUT. What is it about middle aged men that makes them think that squeezing into next to nothing is alluring? All I can think of is Peter Stringfellow in that white thong. Frightening. This guy thinks he's David Beckham but is more David Brent. Couldn't make out much as I had no specs on, but the speedos were bright pink and had SPEEDO emblazoned across the butt cheeks. Or maybe it said spanner, as I say I couldn't really see. As we exited the pool 'I's comment was 'Did you see Speedoman? He's got a huge packet!'
Yeah, and a beer gut and a hairy back, think I'll pass.......
Am extremely proud of recent deal I struck with other half. In return for having inlaws for Christmas dinner (eleven of us in total), I have managed to claim the following: a replacement dishwasher for the old broken one which has been fermenting for the past 3 months. No way am I doing dishes for eleven when I could be watching the Doctor Who Christmas Special. Also the previously mentioned and much revered carpets, and a new telly unit.
Lord Sugar would be proud.