Wednesday, 2 February 2011


It was delayed, but they finally processed the plastic version of my membership card. I'd been using a flimsy paper one before that. This arrived by post yesterday. 

But what's this?

Pray tell, who is the individual named on this card? 

I have never met this person. I have never heard of this person. I am disgusted by the suggestion that such a person may be anywhere in my vicinity. I flew into a rage and marched over there to demand an explanation for this grievous offense. 

They couldn't explain what had happened or why this person has the same birthday and home address as me, but told me to use the card anyway. At least "until they process a new card." 

I stomped over to the hamster wheel and proceeded to watch "May the Best House Win" on one of the selection of unavoidable wall screens. Unavoidable because I need to run staring straight ahead or I risk falling off the machine. The best house prize of £1,000 was split between two winners! Nice, respectable young women with the best taste in tastelessness.

I commend the facilitators of the facility for providing such a thoughtful and considerate selection of television programmes suited to everybody's needs. There's always a generic for-everybody one (usually game shows), a news-related or talk show one, music videos for the youth, and reality tv and/or dangerous nature adventures - digitally manipulated, of course. No sound, only image, but script for the hard of hearing is available, so one can never miss a moment of antique teddy bear auctions. The sound, otherwise, is digital radio and whirring machines, and the occasional slamming of weights when posturing idiots realise they can't hold the ridiculously excessive weight they've selected. 

Last week I watched that most enthralling piece of  daytime programming: "Loose Women". Oh so naughty, these unattractive women who babble to distraction about s-e-x and other commodities, as if it were 1969, or whenever it was that sex was invented and became just another trendy, edgy word for sex. The gaggle were featuring a prolonged interview with someone who claimed to be a pole-dancer. 

Her physical demonstration demonstrated that she had clearly never pole-danced in a real pole-dance environment. Who would pay to watch such uninspired motion. It was like watching a dried-up winter tree in Marks & Spencer trousers stiffly navigate around a dried-up winter tree coated in stainless steel. The Loose Women team were tickled pink by the s-e-x-iness of this display and had a go on the pole. I nearly fell of the hamster wheel.

Then, bursting with Wellness, Health, and Fitness, I proceeded to go home and eat a Sainsbury's Chocolate Choux Bun. For dessert I had a second one, followed by a coffee, and a piece of toast with Marmite.