Gym Dandy

Imagine, if you will, a hippopotamus wearing a tight pair of men's leggings, a XXXL t-shirt with some vague motif on the front and a pair of slate grey plimsolls. Please, bear with me on this. Imagine then that same hippo cavorting about the place like some prancing great behemoth attempting to get fit, lose weight and breath normally. What you have just imagined, gentle reader, is the lummox in his gym attire. Funniest thing I've seen in a long, long time. He's actually convinced himself that by investing in some moderately priced gear and enrolling himself into the local gymnasium that he's really going to do it this time. That'll be the bloody day that will. He comes home from the gym more breathless than when he went and in pain the next day to the point where he doesn't actually want to go to the gym again. It's all a pointless exercise (pardon the pun) if you ask me. 53 years of gluttony and ale isn't going to just vanish away by a handful of visits to the treadmill and rowing machine. No! He should instead look to me for inspiration. I have a healthy, varied diet and enjoy plenty of fresh air and sleep in equal measure. And look at me. Just look at me. As svelte and as sleek as I've always been. Hale and hearty as any cat you could mention. I don't need to spend a small fortune lining other peoples pockets do I? But no, he insists on dressing in that ridiculous dandy-prat garb and putting himself through the kind of torturous regime that one could have expected from the Witchfinder General and then sits there counting calories when he comes home as if he's got nothing better to do. The big ponce!

PPP x