Morons at the gym

After looking around said gym - which is but a stone's throw away from Piggott Place - Lady P. and I decided on the spot that we would both join up. Lady P. has put on a few excess pounds and we thought that it would be a good idea to encourage each other along, though we can only ever go together at weekends due to our busy independent workloads.

Our new gym is situated in a very nice old building and comes complete with all the usual equipment needed to tune one's body to perfection. As well as the treadmills, rowing machines, exercise bikes and weights there is a rather splendid whirlpool, sauna and steam room downstairs. This immediately took my fancy as the thought of slowly cooking myself in a relaxing atmosphere followed by a rejuvenating jacuzzi has always appealed to me.

So delighted were we with our new memberships that we took a stroll up there on Sunday morning to enjoy a sauna and a few bubbles. It was very quiet, perhaps due to the other members recovering at home from the dire England football match the previous evening.

After a couple of hours of alternating between sauna, steam room and whirlpool, we made our way home feeling not only cleaner but also extremely chilled and pleased with ourselves that we had made the excellent decision to get in shape and perhaps make some new friends along the way.

Yesterday afternoon, I thought I would repeat the experience by going there on my own. As I've already said, Lady P's work commitments prevent her from attending until later in the evening but I thought it would be nice to pop along and treat myself to a bit of self-pampering all the same.

After half-killing myself on a couple of the machines and sweating more buckets of sweat than Tom Jones on a good night, I made my way down to the sauna area. I thought I might be lucky and have it all to myself but alas this was not to be.

Upon entering the sauna I was slightly dismayed to find a middle aged couple already in residence. As I quickly closed the door behind me and asked politely if I might sit on the lower bench next to the man, he said loudly, 'Sure, no problem mate. Careful when you sit darn though cos it's a bit 'ot and you might burn your arse.' At this the woman - whom I correctly presumed was the better half of this obviously quite obnoxious couple - laughed outrageously and slapped her sweaty thigh. I smiled nicely and sat down on the seat, which was quite hot on the buttocks as it turned out.

After about five minutes of sweating, the man of the couple announced, 'Bloody 'ell. That's enough for me. I'm gonna go and 'ave a sit by the jacuzzi.' Obviously, this meant I was now stuck with the rather large lady and her bulging, vulgar swimming costume. The costume was so tight that her breasts were at the point of almost overflowing, but I averted my eyes to the clock on the wall, as any gentleman should.

Out of the corner of my eye, I couldn't help but see that my companion was staring at me and it made me feel rather uncomfortable. To alleviate this tension, I decided to make some smalltalk. 'How nice it is to come in here where it is so hot', I said. 'I wonder where the sun has got to', I added. The woman replied loudly, 'You won't get no sun over 'ere. If ya want sun, you'll 'ave to go abroad.'

After a second or two of contemplating the lady's rather tired reply, I said, 'Well, abroad's all very well and good if you don't mind the airline staff going on strike and the plane falling into a volcano'. Unfortunately, I had mistimed my little quip. Jumbo Woman had, at that precise moment, just taken a huge swig from a two litre bottle of water she had brought with her. She found my remark so amusing that she spat the contents of her gob all over the bench I was sitting on, guffawing with laughter in the process. Like any decent News Shopper reporter, I thought it best to retreat to the sanctuary of the steam room and leave the lady to chuckle by herself. Not that I am a News Shopper reporter, I hasten to add.

Once in the steam room, I settled myself on the bench and closed my eyes. 'Peace at last', I thought to myself. How wrong.

Through the frosted glass of the door, I saw a man enter into the jacuzzi area just as Fat Woman made her way out of the sauna. 'Ohh, I ain't seen you for a while', she boomed at the newcomer. 'Is Batman and Robin wiv ya?'. 'Nah', replied the man who was in his thirties and heavily tattooed. 'They're out flogging that van I told ya abart'.

To my dismay, the new arrival and the woman joined her partner on some seats right outside the steam room. I then heard, in about twenty minutes flat, Tattoo Man's news and how 'his bird' has fleeced him for 'abart five grand', plus some other gems that only creatures of his ilk experience on a daily basis, including his trips to court and his being done for speeding. As you can imagine, twenty minutes of this was quite enough and I decided to shower and return home.

This afternoon I decided to persevere and return to my new club. Again I used several of the torture machines available and then made my way to the relaxation area. If I thought yesterday had been bad I had been sadly naive. Two youngsters in their early twenties were waiting for me in the sauna. One was a skinny little individual who enlightened me as to his spell in jail, even though he was not actually talking to me. The other was a bit better built with a celtic tattoo on his left upper arm and a union flag on his right. Their conversation consisted of what birds they should have shagged and they named them one by one. 'I should have boned Lisa but her nose is too big. I'm fussy. I know I shouldn't be and should get hold of the first thing that comes along'. Laugh. 'Nah, not me, man. I'll do any bird. When I was in jail it's all ever I fawt abart.'

This went on for abart - sorry - about ten minutes before they left me and jumped into the whirlpool. Their language would not have been out of place in a Liverpool dockyard and I was amazed by how many effings they could fit in one sentence. Effing this and effing that. Un-effing-believable, man. Effing 'ell, are you effing serious, you effing effer?'. Well, you get the picture.

When I had finally had enough of this demonstration of Anglo-Saxon, I headed to the changing room. After a refreshing cold shower, I went to my locker and, to my further dismay, discovered the two miscreants had entered the room. It was then that I noticed the tag on fatboy's ankle.

Ah, the joys of the gym. I simply can't wait to go back tomorrow.

Erastus