Wednesday 21 January 2009

No more chocolate for breakfast

Last week, most Londoners would have read about the Astoria, an incredibly historic music venue being closed to make way for Crossrail – the tunnelling project under London that won't be open for years and is costing billions of pounds, and will probably result in a train service that's too expensive, breaks down and is always late.


I was sad, for a brief moment, and then I looked on the bright side – at least Crossrail wasn't affecting me (I blush to confess that I'm a bit of NIMBY at times), and at least by 2017, I would have a chauffeur-driven car, or be writing from home, the shelves of my study lined with my best-selling novels.

*ahem, back to reality...

Anyway, so on Tuesday, I got up at stupid o'clock and made my way to my gym. I actually love going there – the walls are bright purple and it closes for 4 hours at lunch for absolutely no reason.

It has the laid-back feel of a 1950s holiday camp – like the one in Dirty Dancing and the friendliness of the bar in Cheers where everybody knows your name. Do you know, it's the first gym I have ever enjoyed going to, too! no more slacking off and wasting my membership fee – I finally thought I'd cracked this exercise lark!

Rather crucially, it's also my solution to eating chocolate for breakfast and not bursting out of my clothes like a blonde, non-green Incredible Hulk.

Crikey, I am rambling this morning – perhaps the lack of post yesterday has given me every such a lot to say today.

So, as I was saying, imagine my dismay when I discovered that my gym is closing!

*mental note to self – no more chocolate for breakfast until a solution is found.

Apparently, Cross-bloody-rail are knocking the building down to make room for a swanky new station.

But how is that going to help me maintain my nearly-almost single-figure figure? Must I resort to running up and down the escalators of this swanky new station in 2017, when they finally finish it?

By then I will be the width of an escalator from lack of exercise and will probably get wedged between the moving handrail and need to be winched out by the fire brigade...

*ahem, again… back to reality.

Rather than be faced with this uncertain fate, I am joining the fight to save my gym...

I'm off now to compose a carefully-worded letter to several big wigs to say how cross I am with um... Crossrail (how apt)…

so, watch this space

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