This is entirely fiction. Completely. Utterly. Except for any true bits
August 17th: 08.12am. Am informed while buttering toast that the wedding countdown has begun and ‘we now have to focus on the fine details’.
08.13am: Attempt sage expression while trying to avoid eye contact. Fail as am forced to consider First Of Her Name is having a coronary, if the noises emanating from beneath the table are anything to go by.
8.27am: am making similar noises to those emitted by First Of Her Name. We are exercising as apparently we need to ‘get in shape’.
8.28am: am horrified when shown exactly what ‘my shape’ is to become. Protest that my stomach is visible proof that there are still opportunities available to the shrewd investor that will grow whatever the market conditions viz a couple of swift pints and a ‘sharpener’ before dinner every night ensures I continue to represent, graphically, the benefits of globalisation.
8.29am: am mortified when First Of Her Name says the only thing about me that represents any connection with globalisation is how after said pints I look like I’ve swallowed a planet.
9.14am: First Of Her Name announces we have become members of a gymnasium and we will need to undertake an assessment at lunchtime.
12.42pm: am introduced to Gervais who appears to be devoid of various standard body parts, viz a neck and the ability for his arms to touch his sides. He is wearing a stretchy top with the words ‘Fit Me’ emblazoned on the front. Wonder if this is a description or a direction.
12.45pm: Gervais queries my attempt to guess at the appropriate dress code viz a pair of fawn slacks and a cricket pullover. My loafers are also ‘non-standard’.
12.46pm: Gervais points to a whippet thin woman who must be in training to play a novelty hamster in some upcoming interpretation of the Nutcracker as she is practicing running in a wheel. She is wearing ‘lycra’ which I need to acquire. This is far too much of a reminder of the Spanx farrago and have to be revived. Come to with Gervais about to give me mouth to mouth. Faint again.
12.53pm: Gervais decides I might be best trying a bicycle. This machine has an encouragingly familiar structure and am happily pedalling when Gervais informs me we will be undertaking a HIIT programme. Assure him, as a pacifist, I will be doing nothing of the kind. Gervais explains the meaning of this confusing acronym. ‘Shall we give it a try?’
13.04pm: peer at a sea of faces from horizontal position on floor, including Gervais and First Of Her Name. Assume I am about to be berated for my failure to master the HIIT concept when hear First Of Her Name say, ‘I asked you to get him ready for our daughter’s wedding not accelerate her inheritance.’
13.09pm: sitting with First Of Her Name in trendy wine bar sipping a rather good white Rioja. Admit to being pleasantly surprised at this turn up. First Of Her Name states we will not be going back to ‘those charlatans’. Make suitably mollifying comment about their lack of obvious Health & Safety considerations for the novice user such as us, only to be corrected brusquely ‘they said they didn’t have enough time to tone me up’.
13.10pm: make fatal mistake of levity (note to self: always think twice before attempting to lighten First Of Her Name’s mood). A light-hearted reference to ‘bingo wings’ and the fact no one will notice on the day is rebuffed with ‘My outfit is sleeveless’. Offer to seconds of the anaesthetic by the glass which is also rebuffed.
13.27pm: Comeuppance is delivered unusually swiftly. We have joined a running club that caters for all ages and all levels which is based at said wine bar. ‘This will be much more effective.’
13.28pm: am left wondering in what way the running club might be more effective: preparing me for my role in the upcoming nuptials or for my early demise. Judge that the jury to be still out by the time of the wedding.